Vanilla is the ultimate comfort

I came across a Nigel Slater recipe for vanilla cream buns a few days back. The buns were vanilla flavoured, the cream was a whipped vanilla and butter concoction. It sounded fabulous, so I made it immediately, and it was fabulous. As a thing to eat, frankly, it wasn't a showstopper. But that's the thing about vanilla, isn't it. It's not meant to thrill. Vanilla is an essence that takes you back to childhood, duvets and plump pillows, frothy baths, fluffy socks, your first teddy bear, flowers in full bloom, and black and white movies on a Saturday afternoon. Vanilla is the ultimate expression of comfort. And I note that, among the array of cakes, cookies, puddings and tarts that I roll out at home, the vanilla based ones are always the ones that move the fastest. Vanilla cheesecake. Vanilla breakfast buns. Vanilla custard creams. All of them conjure unctuousness. Brilliant with a cup of tea, that makes you linger over it. So it's no coincidence that vanilla is prevalent in my baking right now. I am after anything that induces comfort in what feels like a very comfortless world right now. Unremitting grief is a nasty train ride through the darkest scenes, that I did not pay to take a ride on, and have no idea when I'll be getting off, or when the scenery on the ride will begin to change. I wake up with it hovering over me, I go through my day bowed by it, I go to bed, my shoulders sagging with it. Baking a batch of vanilla cream buns does not just provide me with a ten minute break, a pause to reward myself with something that brings back memories of better times. It fills the house with an aroma of warmth and positivity in a way that nothing else quite captures. It's like a Harry Potter inspired Patronus, chasing away the Dementors. So. I'm in the market for any great recipes involving vanilla. Any that I haven't already tried, that is, and given my baking productivity recently there cannot be many more out there.