When I was 13 and again as as a bride at 20, my grandmother tried to teach me to make biscuits. I love baking, which isn’t the same as cooking, and so I thought it should be no problem.
She got out a teacup, measured out the flour, took a pinch of salt, a quarter of baking powder, and another teacup of buttermilk and made the lightest, fluffiest biscuits ever. My husband even ate them with gravy. Gravy! For a man who doesn’t let his food touch this was a major step forward.
But I digress.
Once I returned home, I tried making biscuits. I think the technical term is cat heads. You know the kind that are flatter than a pancake and kinda pointy. I have tried and tried for any number of years to remake those light and flakey biscuits.
And I haven’t succeeded.
So this afternoon, to go with the quick and dirty chicken pot pie, I tried again. My mom sent me her biscuits. Which are like her mother’s— light and flakey. I’m pretty darn sure I’m missing the biscuit gene, but I don’t lack the stubborn one, so I tried again.
So, this time I got have half cat heads and half somewhat light biscuits. All were flakey. So, I’m gaining. Maybe by the time I am 90, I’ll have mastered the biscuit making.
Wish me luck.