Do you remember that Seinfeld episode where Elaine goes crazy for muffin tops? They are crunchy, explosive and, without a doubt, the best part of the muffin. She inspires her boss to open a bakery that sells only muffin tops, and he's left with loads and loads of "muffin stumps." No one wants the stumps, so Elaine tries all sorts of crazy schemes to get rid of them. Hilarity and legal consequences ensue.
Well, just as Elaine fell for the muffin top, I am in love with the cinnamon bun center. The heart of the cinnamon bun is really the only reason to bake them, imho. This fascination must be something I inherited from my father. He goes straight for the center of everything -- hamburgers, candy, pizza you name it. It drives my mother crazy.
The cinnamon bun center reveals its true magic only with the passing of time. When cinnamon buns first come out of the oven, they are warm and springy, and universally awesome. Sadly, as the day goes on, the edges get stale and the glaze hardens over the top. But, as you uncoil the cinnamon roll, you find that the center has becomes magically more delicious. The glaze has dripped down between the swirls and mingled with the cinnamon and dough in a kind of alchemy. What you find is something halfway between liquid and solid, a state of matter which science has yet to classify. Dare I call it "goo"?
Wouldn't it be great if we could just bake cinnamon roll centers without the edges? Alas, there is likely some sort of philosophical conundrum or law of physics that makes that dream impossible. But what about those brownie pans that only turn out crispy "brownie edges"? Perhaps the brilliant entrepreneur behind that invention is tinkering away right now, and I will learn about it one sleepless night as I peruse the Home Shopping Network.
Until then, I will just have to find a way to illicitly dispose of the outskirts of my cinnamon buns.
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