I am a biscuit connoisseur. The fact that I was born and raised in Sloss Holler, Al. qualifies me as an authority on biscuits
I am not a biscuit snob, because I like all kinds of biscuits. I do disqualify the ones that come in cans and the ones they eat in the UK with tea, those are just cookies.
Here in the South, those are the biscuits I’m talking about it. The ones my mom use to make were crunchy.
There was an old green bowl she kept on the top of the fridge used only for making biscuits. She’d sift the flour with a hand-cranked sifter, toss in some baking soda, a dash of salt, fresh buttermilk and a chunk of lard.
She would slowly mix the concoction together. She would fold the dough over and over until it was just right. She would roll the dough out with a rolling pin, and then use a tea glass to punch out perfectly round biscuits. She would arrange them in an iron skillet greased with lard of course and pop those babies in the oven.
Those biscuits came out of the oven golden brown with enough lard in them to make your heart flutter.
In fact many of mom’s recipes started off with “ take a chunk of lard.”
Many folks bought lard in a gallon bucket back then, but not my mom. Hers was delivered in bulk by a truck once a month. Hogs feared her.
When I was drafted, basic training was in Fort Campbell, KY Unfortunately the cooks had not perfected the art of biscuit making. I pointed this out to the mess sergeant; he was not amused so I found myself on KP for three days. My job included peeling a mountain of potatoes and then after lunch clean the cracks in the kitchen floor with a toothbrush. I learned to keep my culinary comments to myself.
When I got to Fort Monmouth, New Jersey I had a feeling that no one there might know anything about biscuits. That feeling was confirmed when I asked the cook for one the first day. He looked at me as if I were speaking Swahili.
I had learned my lesson in Kentucky so I I didn’t dare badmouth mess sergeants anymore; I sat at the table and munched on wilted toast.
When I got back home to mom’s house from the Army, I was so anxious to have her homemade biscuits I could have eaten lard with a spoon straight from the bucket. That day mom got in the kitchen and fried up eggs, made grits, fried ham with red-eye gravy and the biggest pan of biscuits she could make.
I was in biscuit heaven.
