Saturday, June 03, 2006


I can't fix biscuits. Never have been able to not that I haven't tried. Repeatedly. Repeatedly for many years until finally Hubby and Da Kid convinced me to stop and just buy the phoney ones in the refrigerator case. They might not be as tasty as homemade scratch biscuits but they most definitely are tastier than the lethal, tooth-breaking hockey pucks I've made. Repeatedly, over the years.

Still, in secret I continued trying when neither one was home so that I could hide the evidence of my latest failure in the bottom of the trash before they returned, until I finally accepted the truth. I can't fix biscuits.

Herself does not accept that. Easy for her to say. She's been fixing scratch biscuits since she was tall enough to reach the counter top in her parents' kitchen. The way her mother taught her, and her father, too. The way both of their mothers taught them.

"Flour, lard and buttermilk! That's all!"

Ha. Ha-ha. Ha-ha and ha!

Herself called the other night. After a bad day at work she needed some comfort food and asked if maybe I might fix some Chicken Parmesan for her in the next few days.

"You want a pan or . . ."

"Just a square . . . a portion. A little bit. My family doesn't cook food like that and . . . and I need some. Bad."

When I reminded her that I'd given her the recipe, she reminded me that she can't cook. I reminded her that she can to. Not that, she said. It's too complicated.

Ha. Ha-ha. Ha-ha and ha!

I reminded her that I can't fix biscuits, and so the deal was struck. She'd try to teach me how to fix biscuits; I teach her how to fix Chicken Parmesan.

Herself's mother seemed impressed when she finished eating. "That's good," she said then looking at her daughter asked, "You did this?" Herself was pleased, thrilled even. She'd done it! Herself!!!

The biscuits? Well . . .

While the sauce was simmering for the Parmesan, I watched Herself fix a batch of biscuits. Then it was my turn to do the exact same thing she had as step by step, she talked me through it, her mother supervising both of us.

"What the heck happened?" Herself asked when they were done.

Instead of two pans of fluffy, golden brown biscuits we had two identical batches of lethal, tooth- breaking hockey pucks.



Blogger Norma said...

I have similar problems with biscuits--they aren't hockey pucks, but they aren't as good as McDonalds or Bob Evans. I used to think it was because they had little old ladies in the back fixing them, but now I'm a little old lady. . .

9:03 PM  
Blogger GUYK said...

Hey, try Bisquit and after you make the dough just flour a piece of wax paper and roll the dought out with a rolling pin. Then knead the dough with the flour back into it and roll it out afain. Cut the bisquits out with a greaded water glass and bake' em. But I have found the easiest way is to get those frozen ready to bake from Super Wally World Grocery..they turn out about like KFC bisquits..not the best but damn good with gravy.

8:25 PM  
Blogger doyle said...

I'm a disaster with a rolling pin, too, Guy. The dough becomes wrapped around the pin and . . . it's bad. So it's gotta be drop biscuits.

One thing I did learn was how to pinch off the dough to form them. That part I've got down. In fact, I made a pan of biscuits yesterday . . . not that they were edible (Herself said too much lard and not enough milk.) BUT they actually LOOKED like biscuits!

4:47 PM  

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