When I was 4 I can remember very clearly sitting at the dinner table enjoying fresh biscuits that my mother had made. Fresh hot biscuits right out of the oven. Could anything be better? Yes. Fresh hot biscuits that taste good. Even decent would suffice. While my mom is probably one of the best cooks I’ve ever known and will ever know (no I don’t say this because she’s my mother, she’s actually won awards) she lacks a few skills in the biscuit department. Her biscuits were beasts, without beauty.
Now while for normal people this could be easily overlooked, since she can bake and cook like a pro and can rival Paula Dean, for my father it just didn’t cut it. So for a 4 year old, who adores her mother and her cooking, to hear her father say: They’re just not like my mama’s biscuits; it’s quite confusing. What the heck does that mean? And how about you just enjoy the things since we didn’t have to make them.
Side Note: My dad isn’t a complainer by any means. I can only remember two meals my mother made that were anything but perfection. One of them was stuffed peppers. She and I both knew they were horrific hurl-inducing anomalies but she wanted to see what my pops would say. So like nothing was amiss she placed them on the table and served em’ up … … …
Me: What do you think Dad? Do you like them?
Quizzical brow: Delicious! Can I have seconds?
The Cook: Peals of laughter!
Holy smokes we laughed. Finally we let him in on the joke; and sheepishly he just grinned and refused to admit that were anything less than perfection.
But back to the biscuits. Biscuits were a precious thing to him. My grandmother had since passed and so for my father… fresh hot morning biscuits…. that tasted delicious= GODLINESS.
Fast forward 25 years. I’m home visiting and surprise, surprise, wake up to find my father has finally decided to make biscuits himself. After hearing his complaints for the first ten years of marriage my mother finally gave up and only ever served store bought biscuits. They sufficed. But after another 20 years of marriage… they wouldn’t hold the butter any longer. He decided he was going to take the biscuit by the bowl and make them himself.
Round 1: Disaster. Hard balls of dry dough. Poor guy. He had such hopes and dreams.
Round 2: Never a quitter… He watched some videos online… ever the researcher… and turned his newly found skills, mixed with memories of seeing his mama make them every morning for 20 years… and voila! Whoa. Stop the presses. Did this just happen?
You can bet your buttered biscuits that just happened. Or should I say honeyed biscuits? Because with a dabble of honey, not butter… we’re still on a diet remember… They’re just what mama/grandma ordered, and my father for that matter too: GODLINESS. He turned her biscuit beasts into ones that even Belle would fall for. Beauty and the Beast style.
Round 3-6: Just kept getting better. We had waves of people over every morning since my parents house is like Grand Central Station for everybody in town (they love it.)
While visiting for 4 1/2 days I ate like a queen, like my father when he was 5, and enjoyed biscuits with sausage gravy EVERY SINGLE MORNING. Yes of course my mother made the gravy… its perfection. Pure perfection, no videos or training needed for her.
And thus the two of them have yet again become a perfect pair. Beauty and the Beast. Sausage gravy and biscuits. Perfection personified.