Brown and Serve rolls remind me of Thanksgiving and of my mother. She prided herself on her roast turkey and homemade stuffing and she always served Brown and Serve rolls. She would take the whole pan of brown little rolls out of the oven, so hot they burned your finger tips, and she would split them and insert a slab of real butter in each roll before she brought them to the table.
Once my cousin's girlfriend came to Thanksgiving dinner. She picked up a roll and said, with much surprise, "It's buttered!" She picked up another and said, "It's buttered!" She started laughing so hard as she inspected each roll that she peed herself right there in the kitchen.
I wasn't there for that occasion, but I heard about it. It became a family story since my cousin married the girl. I haven't seen them in many years, but I have to believe that this story still comes up every year. I know it crosses my mind every time I eat Brown and Serve rolls.
Many years after my father died, my mother got remarried to a long time bachelor who had been in the Navy. It didn't last, though. I should have known when she made a magnificent turkey dinner for him on their first Thanksgiving and he came in the kitchen 1/2 hour before the dinner was ready and made himself a ham sandwich.