Dawn had not yet reached the English countryside horizon when the local village baker, Samuel, got to work. In its stead, fluorescent lights flooded the bakery’s backroom to give him a full view of the surroundings. While gathering his ingredients, he hummed a little tune to himself, that his mom and dad used to sing.

“Breads, buns, and biscuits.

Cakes, puddings, and pies.

Sometimes, these are the perfect things.

To put light into someone’s eyes.

What kind of icing is your fancy?

Buttercream, Royal, or Ganache?

Whatever your most beloved,

We’ll make a nice fresh batch.

Welcome to Crimpton Bakery!

The best this side of Britain!

You’ll see why they say so

the moment our food is bitten!”

Samuel took great pride in his baking abilities, especially during special times of the year. For fifteen years, this man’s Christmas pudding was a Crimpton favorite. In spring, however, came the most beloved and anticipated of the village’s dessert menagerie, hot cross buns. These soft, spiced, and fruit-filled buns fill homes every week before Easter and eaten during Good Friday. Crosses of icing adorned their tops, commemorating Christ’s crucifixion. Regardless of religious beliefs, everyone devoured these treats.

Sweet whole milk from the local dairy farmer boiled on the stove and accompanied by softened butter from the same place. Flour, yeast, salt, and sugar combined in an industrial mixer along with liquids and beaten eggs until the mixture becomes sticky.

Like a confident mage waving their arms during an incantation, Samuel cast powder onto a workbench, then turned the form upon the surface. Strong hands kneaded and folded it for several minutes, being cautious not to overdo it and creating tough bread that’s a pain for even the strongest teeth to chew on.

The next step involved moving the dough to an oiled bowl in a warm place to rise. An hour would pass, and if a dent formed from a pressed finger, it would be ready.

In the meantime, spices and fruits mixed together, including sliced apples, orange zest, cinnamon, and sultanas. One ingredient, mace, wasn’t available, so Samuel substituted nutmeg. He smelled them all, confirming their freshness and appreciating their scents. He remembered learning about cooking and baking from his dear parents. His mother was a formidable force in the cooking, even for weeknight suppers. She couldn’t stand the sight of frozen dinners, insisting that everything cooked at home is better for a proper meal.

More leniently, his father also taught him the basics of baked goods, not to mention secret hacks and alternative ingredients for someone with allergies (Later in the day, he would have dairy and gluten-free hot cross buns for certain customers). Passed down from generation to generation, the couple worked in this shop like the father’s parents and theirs before them, along with recipe notes and advice. He cherished their memory; they always remained within his heart and the kitchen.

Time passed, and he added the fruits and spices when the dent test was successful. Another hour of kneading and rising, he portioned the dough into fifteen hand-rolled balls. Set on parchment paper sheets, the buns, covered with a cloth towel, sat to rise again.

By now, the sun became more visible. A postman van rumbled past, and the local milk float made its usual rounds with the dairy farmer, a close friend of the family and Samuel’s tennis partner. Daybreak approached the outside world.

The goodies sat in the warmed oven to bake for twenty minutes. Meanwhile, icing sugar, vanilla extract, and double cream combined to create tasty crosses.

It wasn’t long before the heavenly scent wafted through the bakery, reaching the neighboring post office.

A timer’s ‘ding!’ signified Sam that the first set finished. He took them out with the care a proper father has for their newborn baby, letting them cool before decoration. Sam added another batch before heading to the store’s entrance. He smiled at the sight of eager early bird customers lining up at the door, some of whom still wore robes. The baker opened the door with a nod and a wink, welcoming them inside.

Quickly icing them, the first hot cross buns greeted them. Each customer thanked Samuel and then savored each bite. Sam beamed returning to work. He knew he’d be making more for Good Friday.

Editor: Lucy Cafiero