When my son, Christopher, woke up this morning, he wanted biscuits for breakfast. I usually have a can of store bought in the refrigerator, so this is not usually a big deal. This morning, however, I noticed that the can I bought last week was already a year out of date - so dead end there.
Being an eternal optimist, I pulled out the recipe book and decided to
make biscuits, carefully measuring, breaking the shortening up until it looked
like course meal, minimally stirring, kneading.....even going the extra step of
glazing the top of the biscuits with milk and a sprinkling of sugar so they
would be pretty.
They baked beautifully and
came out the fluffiest I have ever made and even tasted good, I thought. I was beaming with pride and laughing because
I knew I would brag about my biscuit success story.
....and then....my son, who had been served a biscuit in the downstairs
den as he watched Saturday morning cartoons, came upstairs. Fishing for a compliment, I asked him how he
liked his biscuit - he'd helped cut them out so I figured he'd be proud
too. Imagine my dismay when he stated
without the least hesitation "They
weren't very good, Mama."
Shock, horror! "Okay, so maybe he just doesn't have an
appreciation for a good biscuit", I told myself.
When my daughter, Scout, got up, I overheard the following
conversation from the kitchen:
Scout: "What's that?" ....her tone conveyed
a wrinkled up nose and a sneer in the direction of the biscuit covered baking
sheet on top of the stove.
Christopher: "Biscuits" ...said flatly without a hint of any opening
for further discussion of the unimpressive biscuits
Scout: "Are they good?"
Christopher: "No, they're the worst biscuits ever!"
At which point, Scout made herself a bowl of cold cereal.
....I suspect the kids will be playing biscuit hockey later this
afternoon.
Screw homemade biscuits made with love; next time I'm checking the date
on the can! …tomorrow we’re making pancakes.
~ Mk Michaels, 2013
