Every weekend, the owner of the Omaha Cheesecake Bakery dons an old-school vintage bowler hat, puts some Cole Porter on the hi-fi and bakes some serious cinnamon rolls.

These rolls are so serious, and so old-school, that each one includes more than a half stick of butter. Customers who know about them line up and wait as they're baking, and then snarf them down while they're still warm. The rolls, like much of the bakery's other goods, are no joke.

The Omaha Cheesecake Bakery, not to be confused with the Cheesecake Factory, serves up vintage sweets and atmosphere amid west Omaha mini-mall modernity.

Its suburban location contrasts with its antique decor. Its soundtrack of 1940s tunes contrasts with the iPad the staff uses to check out customers. Half the place is a charming dessert haven, the other half a busy modern bakery.

Its desserts are anything but mass-produced. Think delicious baked goods from bygone eras: buttery, rich and most likely sinfully caloric.