Over the weekend, I found myself standing in the middle of a freak snowstorm in Buckhead, 10 minutes of substantial blizzard conditions in April, wondering if the locusts were next. My sister's voice booming through my head as I herded drunks off the sidewalk, "Is this where you want to be when Jesus comes back?"
Faced with the certain impending armageddon, and hoping that at least one of the four horesmen was going to be an eligible bachelor, I found myself preaching the Gospel of the Buttermilk Biscuit to a northerner. (I swear I've never done a single illegal drug in my life).
Allow me to share my prosetylization.
How much do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
After a brief session of Wiki'ing I learned that biscuits used to be hardtack back in the 1800's and the word is from a latin origin meaning "twice baked." There are all kinds of phases in the evolution of the biscuit, all of which were boring me to tears (making me second-guess this whole blog, actually) and really I had no idea that background info on something I love so much could be such a turnoff. Well, besides hearing about your boyfriend's past lover who I am pretty sure had crooked overplucked eyebrows and in general looked like an off duty dragqueen, and makes you wonder what on Earth he finds attractive about you? But I digress.
No self-respecting southern woman doesn't know how to drop it like it's hot when it comes to makin' biscuits.
One of my favorite childhood memories is my mom whipping up a huge Sunday morning breakfast and my grandfather coming over to eat with us, al fresco, on the back porch. The cornerstone of this meal? Homemade buttermilk biscuits. M'Lynn and I would swarm around like little birds and our mouths open hoping for a crumb of the baking soda dough that kinda stings your tongue.
The biscuit deserves its own set of grammatical rules. A bifurcated biscuit with some meat in the middle a sandwich does not make. Any other bread would be a sandwich at this point, I believe. But a biscuit is still a biscuit. Now it might be a sausage biscuit, or an egg and cheese and ham biscuit, but nothing else. You can see my point.
Biscuits can be eaten with any meal. It is not limited to breakfast. You can't really order a bagel with your fried chicken, or corned beef either for that matter.
See what you've done?
One of the more romantic things a man has ever said to me was, "Can we spend more time together? I just want to buy you a biscuit." (God, I need to get out more)
There are entire restaurants named for this culinary miracle... The Flying Biscuit being the glaringly obvious. And the myriad of fast fooders who hitch their wagon to the biscuit star: Mrs. Winner's Chicken Biscuits, Popeyes Chicken and Biscuits, ad nauseum.
My personal favorite way to eat a biscuit is when it's warm and you put a little mustard and sausage on it. Deeee-lish.
Was not just whistin' dixie, mmm hmmm.
So there you have it. Now go do yourself a favor and buy some Martha White Self-Rising and a little lard and do with it what you wish. It will be good times had by all, I guarantee.
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