Aroma -- and cinnamon buns -- draw smiles at Isles

Forget Prozac, Paxil, Wellbutrin and Zoloft (wait, doesn't that sound like a law firm?). The most effective anti-depressant I know is Isles Bun & Coffee Co.

Just getting a whiff of the shop's fresh-from-the-oven perfume sends my serotonin levels through the roof. Sometimes I tell myself that I'm going to just walk in, take a deep hit of that ultra-aromatic alchemy of butter, cinnamon and bread dough and then leave. But one foot in the door, and I stop kidding myself, scope the surrounding area to to see if anyone I know is watching, furtively order a softball-sized roll and then attack it.

There are only two varieties: frosted cinnamon and caramel-pecan. Choosing is a little like that ageless Mounds-Almond Joy quandary, because sometimes you truly do feel like a nut, and sometimes you don't.

Both start with the same subtly sweet dough, still warm and slightly elastic as it pulls apart, releasing that mouth-watering scent. One is topped with an unlawful amount of sinful cream-cheese frosting (those with a death wish can dig into the bowl of frosting that's always parked on the counter, a cruel taunt to waist-watchers everywhere); the other is packed with a fistful of pecans slathered in a gooey caramel glaze. Cinnabon just can't compare; the buns at Isles taste like the real thing, the very definition of comfort food.

And the price? $2.50 for the plain, $2.75 for pecan, both worth every penny.

Isles changed hands a while back, and when I heard the news, I feared for the inevitable alterations that would appear in the name of progress. Luckily, co-owners Jeff and Catherine Veigel are graduates of the if-it-ain't-broke-don't-fix-it school. While they've added a few items to the mix, they've wisely retained the recipes of original owners Steve and Terri Havig. The buns haven't changed a bit. That collective sigh of relief you heard is from Isles fanatics everywhere.

The Veigels also deserve a mail-carrier's bag full of thank-you notes just for preserving the Havigs' chocolate-chip-cookie recipe. It's a pinnacle of the genre, with a crisp, dark-brown outside that yields to a moist and tender inside. They're jammed with top-of-the-line chocolate, and before a single taste you can smell the butter and brown sugar front-loaded into these fat, palm-sized beauties. Oh, and they're a steal at a buck a pop.

I also like the sweet breads -- a moist banana bread, a snappy pumpkin bread and a walnut-packed cinnamon coffee cake, all $1.50 -- as well as the Veigels' new assortment of fine muffins and scones. They've added a deadly cake-like brownie ($2.25) slathered with a fat layer of fudge frosting. There's a decent biscotti, too, and the Veigels bake up a decadent carrot cake.

Weekday lunch is a favorite time of mine to slip into Isles. Get there early enough and you'll luck into one of two sandwiches ($4.25), both made on house-baked breads and piled high with either fresh-baked ham or roast turkey. The menu's one thud is a "pizza" ($3), slightly sweet house-baked bread topped with artichokes, red peppers and provolone. When it's hot, it's fine, but when it's not, it's a dry, dull dud.

The Veigels are hoping to expand their lunch offerings in the not-so-distant future, a few salads perhaps, or maybe another sandwich or two.

"But our focus will always remain on the cinnamon buns," Jeff Veigel said.

That assurance is born partly from quality concerns. You know, get too big and quality invariably suffers. But practicality also plays a role, since elbow room is definitely at a premium chez Isles. With floor space rivaling that of a college dorm room, mass production is just not an option (selling buns this past summer at the Minneapolis Farmers Market pushed the shop's capacity to its outer limits). The dining area is similarly tiny, just a half-dozen stools crammed along a narrow granite counter. Funny thing is, anything roomier wouldn't feel quite right.

Two weeks ago, on a bitterly cold winter afternoon, I snuck into the shop, dived into a slice of pumpkin bread -- moist and springy, filled with golden raisins and still a little warm -- and watched as a bundled-up woman manuevered through the door. Her eyeglasses immediately steamed over, although she didn't seem to notice. She appeared to be caught up in a deep inhale, and sighed.

"It smells so good in here," she said, not really speaking to anyone in particular. She inhaled again. "Someone really should bottle this."

Although she couldn't see me, I nodded, pondering the healing powers of baked-goods aromatherapy. And smiled.

Isles Bun & Coffee Co., 1422 W. 28th St. (at Hennepin Av. S)., Minneapolis, 612-870-4466.

-- Rick Nelson is at rdnelson@startribune.com .