Two weekends ago, I started a batch of biscuits. I had made biscuits before of the pop-tube, mix and from scratch variety. I however, had never made an authentic Southern recipe that called for Southern flour. The lovely Virginia Willis waxed poetic about the differences and I bought her argument, and a fourth variety of flour to clutter my pantry.
I read her gluten explanation much more thoroughly than I read the recipe. That Sunday, we were having our friends, the NewlyWeirs for Sunday Supper. Rocky was making fried chicken and corn on the cob. I was responsible for the macaroni and cheese and biscuits. Bennett sat on the floor, and played with a wooden spoon for an hour, while I measured, proofed the yeast, accidentally doubled the sugar, kneaded the dough and consulted the recipe again. “Refrigerate overnight or up to one week.” Hmm, I didn’t think our friends were eager to wait overnight, even if these were the best darned biscuits they’d ever had.
Tuesday night, the biscuits were finally ready. I let them come to room temperature and put them in the oven. They came out looking perfect. They had risen. They were browned and soft. They tasted great too, if a little sweet.
It's a lot to stomach. We are finally being given the opportunity we've been dreaming of for years, it just isn't happening quite how we envisioned it. It has been a lot harder to say goodbye and the uncertainty of what lies ahead is daunting. I just have to hope that the outcome is as perfect as those biscuits, maybe even a little sweet.