I’ve been working over a month now on my new year’s resolution, and it’s still somewhat of an embarrassment, because at this stage in my life, I should have already learned how to make a decent biscuit.
I come from a long line of biscuit makers with my Euchee Valley Grandmother being the Queen, but the skill bypassed me and my biscuits wouldn’t coax a starving mutt out from under the porch. But this year, I’m determined to correct this personality flaw, and as God is my witness, by December 31st, I’ll bake a batch of mouthwatering, fluffy Southern biscuits, if it’s the last thing I do.
I’ve already spent a few captivating hours on YouTube watching tutorials that have only served to confuse me. You see, I don’t want to make just any old biscuit, but instead, am focused on learning how to make the exact biscuits I grew up poking my finger in and filling with fresh syrup, made by my great uncle on his sugar cane farm.
What’s wrong with me? Do I not wear pearls and send enough thank you notes? Have I not always flung my watermelon rinds into the pasture for the less fortunate cows? How did I miss the Southern gene for biscuit making? How did I skip this requirement for Belle 101?
I promise you on the red-head of my firstborn, I can . . . click HERE to finish the story.
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This story first appeared on al.com and in the Press Register.