Women who say they will, and do, know better than to try to go it alone. Success is dependent upon building a network of supporters, and nothing speaks support better than a rave review.

Long ago I discovered a sure-fire way of garnering testimonials, and I’m about to unveil my recipe to readers of Business Heroine magazine.

Here’s how it happened.

It was December of 1971 in Southern California. Newly married and 2,000 miles from my Midwest home, I craved snowy days and lighted pine trees.

Instead, it was seventy-and-sunny, and colored lights winked from rows of palm trees, trying to seduce me into this foreign setting. I wasn’t buying it. Yuletide wasn’t Yuletide without flurries, firs, and fires in the hearth.

I had to do something to save my favorite holiday.

What, I wondered, would fill this apartment with magical, twinkling warmth?

Enter Betty Crocker.

My tentative, newlywed fingers thumbed through the pages and eventually stumbled on cinnamon rolls. Hmm, thought I. Could I possibly?

Fumbling around my kitchen, I managed to gather enough wedding-gift pans, bowls, and measuring cups to start the project, and away I went. Soon, the scent of yeast wafted through the kitchen as the dough rose to exhilarating heights. A little punching, slicing, smearing, and sprinkling later, and my treasures were ready for the oven.

By the time my graduate-student husband came home, our apartment was alive with the warm, sweet aroma of my first batch of cinnamon rolls.

“Well, do you like them?” I asked when he’d finished his treat.

He brushed the crumbs from his shirt and gulped the last of his Yuban coffee. I’d gone fancy for the feast. “Yeah, they’re good.”

“So… would you say they’re the best you’ve ever tasted?” I teased.

“Of course.”

Little did I know that the legend of my cinnamon rolls was about to take on a life of its own.

A few weeks later, we had friends over for brunch, so once again I made my pastries.

“SOMEONE told me these are the best cinnamon rolls he’s ever had,” I announced, waving the pan of hot pastries past our guests’ noses.

“They are! They are!” was the group response.

So now I had the endorsement of more than one person.

The next time I punched and rolled that dough, I had my line ready.

“PEOPLE say these are the best cinnamon rolls in the world.”

“I would agree,” said one, then another, then another until everyone in the room had felt sufficiently pressured to concur.

Within a few years, my favorite cookbook was smudged with oil, caked with flour, and stained with spices. After tweaking my original recipe, I was now serving huge, flaky, buttery blocks of golden dough swirled with cinnamon and sugar that rivaled anything the Cordon Bleu could create. I continued to corner guests for a testimonial, and sure enough, every single person obliged.

Before I knew it, my cinnamon roll pitch was this: “EVERYONE says they’re the best cinnamon rolls they’ve ever tasted. What do you think?” The tributes practically flew from their mouths.

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Definitely.”

“Without a doubt.”

It was a winning strategy: my guests were happy, and their pleasure in my product heightened my own enthusiasm about baking.

Now, forty years later, EVERYWHERE I introduce my signature talent, I hear nothing but fervent agreement. They are the best cinnamon rolls anyone has ever had.

So there you have it: a kitchen-tested recipe for getting superlative testimonials. Find a product or service people value, in my case, gargantuan homemade cinnamon rolls, and follow these steps:

1) Make ‘em big, the best product or service you have in you.

2) Serve ‘em warm, the most appealing presentation you can design.

3) Come right out and ask your clients if it isn’t the best they’ve ever seen. They’ll catch your enthusiasm and won’t want to let you down.

And you’re on your way to distinction.

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December 2014 Issue