The cinnamon roll with my name on it wanders the world incognito these days. She sports dark glasses, an assortment of fake moustaches, and a heavy spirit. Shunned and shamed for her contributions to artery-clogging and glucose-spiking, she dreams of better days, the golden past of grandma’s kitchens and church potlucks. The days when she reigned supreme, gooey and oozing with caramel and cream cheese, packed with sugar, cinnamon, and butter. Those were the days.
But alas! Her gluten-free and paleo contemporaries have taken center stage. Their understudies are sugar-free, fat-free, preservative-free, and artificial coloring-free young things. They wait in the wings, chanting, “Free at last, Free at last, Thank God almighty, we are free at last.” (Many, many apologies to Martin Luther King Jr.) Packed with free radicals, antioxidants, and who-knows-what, they strut their stuff and bask in their newfound glory. Raw almonds and coconut flour are in, sugar and butter are out. Humiliated and dismissed, the cinnamon roll has gone into hiding.
My grandma made the absolute best cinnamon rolls for which there is no recipe. She said she just added a pinch of this, a handful of that. But oh how her pinching performed! Piping hot from her oven, they slid decadently from the pan onto a serving plate, and from the serving plate right into our mouths. We didn’t wait for them to cool; we risked burning the tops of our mouths. They were just as good frozen and popped into the microwave. Heck, they were just good period.
And in the day, we ate shamelessly, reveling in goo. Our only fear was that there wouldn’t be enough for seconds. Or thirds.
But today, no self-respecting man or woman would be seen reveling in goo (unless you host a program on the Food Network that features an episode on comfort foods of the past). The food pendulum has swung decisively to the left–or right. I’m not really sure which side cinnamon rolls, chicken fried steak, and homemade noodles are on. Let’s just say that the pendulum has swung to the other side. And what a swing this is!
Every restaurant publishes nutritional information on its website and/or menu. The day I scanned the McDonalds’ menu and read that a medium chocolate shake had 800 some calories was one of the worst food days of my life. One shake contains 1/3 of a woman’s daily suggested calories? Say it ain’t so.
The testimonies of those who are eating healthy are certainly meant to inspire and encourage. But couldn’t one eat relatively healthy and still enjoy an occasional cinnamon roll without shame? Couldn’t one rest on the 7th day, refusing to count calories and study nutritional information? Couldn’t one scrape the remaining caramel from the bottom of the pan and lick the spoon before returning to greens and lean meats on Monday? Would the pendulum allow just a small adjustment for cinnamon roll lovers?
It’s not just cinnamon roll lovers who have felt the shame. What about soap opera and romance novel lovers? They don’t dare show their faces in classy crowds. Feigning disdain for such formulaic programs and stories, they smile through their teeth and join in the public shaming of soap opera and romance novel fans. Until they are behind closed doors in their homes where they escape through characters, exotic places, and incredible stories that they know are not realistic, not universally enlightening, and not respectable. Still, they offer momentary escape from all that is real–and often all too painfully enlightening.
Couldn’t one who loves a respectable film or novel also occasionally partake in a popular one? Would the social pendulum allow just a small adjustment for soap opera/romance novel lovers? (And lest we become too smug, we shouldn’t kid ourselves. What are Game of Thrones and House of Cards but dressed-up soap operas?)
Truthfully, I think we like pendulum swings. Decisive swings make things neater. What once was good is now not-so-good. What once was true and right is now not-so-true-and-right. It’s that simple. When we subscribe to the swing, we abdicate choice in favor of giving ourselves to new and better things and causes. Whether it’s love of cinnamon rolls, soap operas, dead white European male authors, or laminate counter tops, when the pendulum swings, it’s out with old loves and in with new ones.
American blues singer Robert Johnson said that History has always been a series of pendulum swings, but the individual doesn’t have to get caught in that. Writer and philosopher G.K. Chesterton wrote:
The whole curse of the last century has been what is called the Swing of the Pendulum; that is, the idea that man must go alternately from one extreme to the other. It is a shameful and even shocking fancy; it is the denial of the whole dignity of mankind. When Man is alive, he stands still. It is only when he is dead that he swings.
These are serious words for the likes of a cinnamon roll blog. Still, the greater issue of the Swing of the Pendulum is, indeed, a serious one that, like Chesterton and Johnson, I believe is a shameful and even shocking fancy and the individual doesn’t have to get caught in that.
Most of us live somewhere in the middle of most pendulum swings. And if we are honest, we should own this more generously with less shaming and shunning of those who have not made the most recent swings.
This kind of generosity would bring the cinnamon roll–and those who love them–into the light. We could once again share company with others who lick frosting from their fingers. We could throw calorie counts to the wind and choose a breakfast of cinnamon rolls over egg whites. If only for a moment, we could eat, view, read, and embrace what we love without fear of social and political shame.
This would be cause for genuine rejoicing. And these days, those of us who have been dreaming of a great cinnamon roll could really use some.
