My mom was a teacher which allowed the two of us to spend several weeks each summer traveling around the country in a car stuffed with everything needed for a successful multi-month jaunt through America; sleeping bags, a tent, a cooler filled with provisions such as summer sausage, braunschweiger, a block of aged cheddar, a jar of Dijon and a few loaves of bread, board games, a deck of cards, an atlas and one nice outfit just in case we decided to splurge and eat somewhere fancy. Although I don't remember that ever happening since KOA's, national parks and forgotten mountain villages rarely provide anything more elaborate than vending machines, sundries stores and the occasional community fish fry.

Stacked in the glove compartment were tapes of my mom's favorite music that included a lineup of sixties and early seventies classics including The Moody Blues, Beattles, Diana Ross, Beach Boys, Rolling Stones, Cream and the occasional offerings from Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin. Stuffed into the corners near my feet were several books that we both agreed upon beforehand. Between jam sessions I would read to her as we drove for long stretches to wherever we were going; California, Arizona, Oregon, Colorado, Montana, Utah. We typically completed every single book we brought with us for the journey and frequently stopped in the little dusty towns we passed along the way to ask for directions to the nearest book store, where we chose a few more books from the musty stacks to get us through another state or two.

Our collie Miss Tigerlily accompanied us on these trips and while she was one of the most agreeable dogs I've ever come across, she refused to sleep in the tent with us at night. She preferred instead to sleep unleashed (for she would never stray) beneath the stars at the door of the tent. It made me feel safe to know that she was there protecting us through the night from whatever creatures might be lurking nearby and I never stopped to consider that she might not be much competition for the wolves, black bears and occasional mountain lion or grizzly that prowled around Yellowstone, The Rocky Mountains or wherever we found ourselves that summer. In the morning, our faithful dog would enthusiastically  jump back into the car, promptly stick her face out of the open window and let her tongue fly back in wind as we drove deeper into our summer adventure.

I loved these road trips with my mom and one of the things I most looked forward to most was breakfast for the first few mornings of the trip. My grandmother, always fretting about our safety and lamenting the distance the would soon find its way between us, offered us the thing she knew would inspire tender thoughts of her; food. She baked obscene amounts of cookies, muffins, bread and brownies for the trip. This stash explained the reason that in spite of hiking for hours each day over the mountains and pathways of western America, we each gained an average of five pounds by the end of the summer. My favorite thing that my grandmother sent along was unfortunately also the most perishable. Always stuffed into the car somewhere was a container of her German sour cream twists which only lasted for a few days but made each breakfast special while they were around and inspired loving thoughts of my grandmother and made me miss her desperately, which of course, is exactly what she wanted them to do.

Baked like a roll but twisted into a crescent moon that delivers a bright, tangy flavor with a toasty finish, walnut orange sour cream twists are simple to prepare and their unique shape lends a bit of whimsy to any breakfast table. Inspired by my grandmother's traditional German recipe, the sour cream creates an incredibly moist pastry with sunny notes of citrus streaming through it. Toasted walnuts add welcome texture and a sprinkling of sugar just before the twists head to the oven gently caramelizes the crust and provides a tender snap with each bite. Bake these up for your next lazy Sunday morning and I guarantee that whoever enjoys one will bestow upon you the same gratefulness and adoration that I showered upon my grandmother each time I ate one. I might have been far from home but the second I bit into one, I found my way right back to her heart.