I had a weird day on the weekend. Over breakfast, I checked Instagram and noticed four different friends flaunting the cinnamon scrolls they had made. A little later in the morning, I rang my partner, who told me he was munching on a cinnamon scroll his mum had baked the previous day. Then, in the early afternoon, the doorbell rang. The trio of red-headed children from next door gifted, from a safe social distance of course, the household with a plate of cinnamon scrolls that they’d whipped up. It was extremely adorable.

As I chewed on a scroll (which was light, fluffy and expertly spiced – well done kids), I wondered: why the heck is everyone making these things? Is it just me? Is it a sign from the universe that I haven’t eaten enough carbs this quarantine, not that I need justification? Was this a weird glitch in the Matrix? And more importantly, does that make me Neo?

There were too many pressing questions and so very few answers. I decided to do some yeast-based research and found that my hypothesis carried some weight. The cinnamon scroll (or cinnamon roll, or cinnamon bun, depending on where you’re from) seems to be having a moment.

The frequency of Pinterest searches for cinnamon scrolls has more than doubled within Australia since the start of April and Google searches for cinnamon scroll recipes spiked by over 90% over the last month. Publications everywhere are dropping new cinnamon scroll recipes this week – the immensely popular Bon Appetit YouTube channel released a video tutorial for cinnamon-date sticky buns; even dinky American restaurant chain Papa John’s revealed their “famous cinnamon scrolls recipe” in the wake of nationwide quarantine.

The global phenomenon of iso-baking has evolved over the past few months of quarantine. First, obviously, came the sourdough craze. Then there seemed to be a movement toward focaccia. Banana bread has been the baked good of choice in queer circles. Now, the cinnamon scroll has blindsided the rest from left field.

What intrigues me about this particular link on the iso-baking chain of evolution is that it’s just so specific. Pre-quarantine, no one batted an eye at the humble cinnamon scroll. It strikes me as a cold-climate baked good, hardly something Australians have historically felt compelled to create, unlike the unfussy Anzac biscuit or luscious lamington. So why here, cinnamon scroll? Why now?

I think it could be to do with a number of things.

This past week I’ve noticed a real autumnal change in the air. Perhaps home bakers are sensing it and grabbing for the seasonal comfort of cinnamon.

Some casual bakers are also finding that they have way, way more time on their hands. Homebound, the weekend muffin maker or late-night banana bread baker are working up the courage to attempt more committed, yeasted, baking experiences. It’s probably also a great school holiday project for those at home with kids, like my talented ginger neighbours.

Or perhaps Australians are getting in on fika, a traditional Swedish mid-afternoon pause from work, to be spent with friends or family over a cup of coffee and cake (or, notably, a cinnamon scroll).

I think, in the midst of a quarantine period filled with stress and uncertainty, exploring another culture’s style of comfort, cosiness and calm by noshing on homemade cinnamon scrolls is sort of a substitute holiday.

Either that or people are realising that they’ve got to use up their 30kg bags of flour before restrictions are lifted and the weevils appear. But I’m a romantic. Now, where’s my rolling pin?

Julia Busuttil Nishimura’s cinnamon buns

Makes 15 buns



80 g unsalted butter, softened

13⁄ 4 tablespoons caster sugar

275 ml full-cream milk, plus 1 teaspoon extra for brushing

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

10 g active dry yeast

450 g (3 cups) plain flour, sifted

1 teaspoon freshly ground cardamom

Pinch of sea salt

1 egg

Pearl sugar, for topping (see note)

For the filling

100 g unsalted butter, softened

2 ½ tablespoons brown sugar

2 ½ tablespoons caster sugar

2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Cream the butter and sugar together until pale and fluffy. Warm the milk and vanilla in a small saucepan over a low heat until lukewarm, about 35°C.

Stir in the yeast then add to the butter and sugar mixture, stirring to combine. Add the flour, cardamom and salt and mix with your hands until a shaggy dough forms. Tip out onto a clean work surface and knead for about eight minutes or until the dough is smooth and elastic. Transfer to a clean bowl, cover with a cloth or plastic wrap and allow to prove in a warm space for 45 minutes or until doubled in size.

Meanwhile, to make the spiced filling, combine the ingredients in a small bowl and mix to a smooth paste. Set aside.

Preheat the oven to 220°C. Line two baking trays with baking paper.

Knock the air out of the dough and tip onto a lightly floured work surface. Roll out to a 40 cm × 30 cm rectangle. Spread the filling evenly over the dough, right up to the edges. Starting at the longer edge, roll the dough into a sausage shape. Using a sharp knife or pastry cutter, cut into 3cm wide slices. Place the buns, spiral-side up, onto the prepared trays. Whisk the egg with the extra milk and brush over the buns. Sprinkle generously with the pearl sugar.

Turn the oven down to 190°C and bake for 15–20 minutes until golden and puffed. Eat warm or at room temperature on the day of baking, or on the following day lightly warmed under a grill.

Note: Pearl sugar, sometimes called nib sugar or hail sugar, is a coarse white sugar most commonly used in European baking. It typically doesn’t melt during baking so is perfect for scattering over buns, waffles and cakes. Pearl sugar can be found in select baking supply stores; substitute demerara sugar if unavailable.

Julia Busuttil Nishimura’s Ostro cookbook. Photograph: Plum



• This recipe has been adapted from Julia Busuttil Nishimura’s cardamom bun recipe in Ostro, Published by Plum, RRP $44.99, Photography by Armelle Habib.