I happen to think biscuits are amazing. This is due probably in no small part to my mother, whose own mother was born in Georgia, and made them all the time. I am not going to give you a recipe for biscuits since I don’t have own of my own and use the one in the Joy of Cooking which is great, except one thing. It says it makes 20 biscuits. It actually makes about 6, so I suggest making at least a double recipe. Oh, and I should mention, good biscuits need to be dairy. They need the butter and the milk or else they just kinda suck.
So last week I made biscuits. I had some with Jam. And then I got this bright idea into my head to have some with parve imitation sausage. Now, I was very excited about my biscuits and sausage, it being a hard to accomplish kosher treat, but when I happily told this story to a good friend he said, oh it’s like a little hamburger. Appalled at how my Jewish kosher kugel eating Northern friend could miss the point of my biscuit story, I called my mother instead, who’s woops of delight finally validated my joy at sausage and biscuits. It is a North vs. South thing? Unclear. But one thing I do know is that I kind of love the biscuit. And now an ode to biscuits. Actually scratch that. I don’t understand poetry and I certainly don’t write it.