A few months ago, I had my first-ever meal at Texas Roadhouse, the steakhouse chain with over 600 U.S. locations. One day I'll wax poetic on those brothy green beans with bacon and onion, or impart the pleasures of visual steak doneness guides like those Roadhouse servers carry in their aprons. But today I want to talk about the tender, buttery dinner rolls with sweet cinnamon butter that began our meal.
After checking us in, the hostess led us to our table with a black plastic basket of warm, pillowy rolls she'd selected from the pass; almost like the rolls were guiding us too, in their butter-scented wake. Tearing into a fluffy, sweet roll, its glossy crust barely tinged with caramelization, was like an instant nostalgia injection. Suddenly I was sitting at a Midwestern dining table, ripping a tear-and-share butter roll at the seam — so satisfying! — to dunk into a bowl of chili or perhaps sop up the juicy remains of peppered beef roast.
