Mama's Biscuits

Do you want to know how to tell when you've officially passed into adulthood with a separate life from your family? When your mother teaches you the recipe passed down from her mother for the homemade, family biscuits. I'm sure everyone can think of a certain food that reminds you of home. For me, my mom's biscuits transport me to my childhood sitting around the kitchen table with my brothers and watching my napkin like a hawk knowing my older brother will steal it at any moment. Upon the very first bite of those fluffy, golden masterpieces your burdens disappeared for a little while. These tasty bites of heaven are the best comfort food, especially if you just need some home. I'm sure you know what I mean. Home is not just a place, it's a feeling. Home is safe. Home is comfortable. Home is where I can laugh my fullest. Home is not always spotless (or am I just talking about my house?). Home is where you're surrounded by the people you love. My mom's biscuits certainly make my house feel like home.

For years, my mother and I agreed I needed to learn the family recipe, but we just never got around to it. A few weeks ago we finally got serious about going back to biscuit school. I got married at the beginning of the year, which means that I don't spend my Saturday mornings around my parent's kitchen table anymore. However, there are a seldom few Saturday mornings when we make the drive out to catch breakfast, or, if you're very nice, my mother will cook them upon request. I don't get to have my favorite biscuits every Saturday morning anymore, but when I do, I savor each bite. We decided it would be better to cook them in the kitchen I would prepare them in after I learned the recipe, so my mother brought over a few ingredients I don't keep in my pantry and we got to work. She let me do the measuring and pouring of ingredients, keeping a watchful eye over my shoulder to check that the consistency of the dough was in the sweet spot between too doughy and too sticky. We sprinkled flour on the counter-top to work the dough into a flat sheet, ready to be cut. I found my biscuit-cutter, which is slightly bigger than the old one my mother uses, and placed each biscuit into the pan.

The buttery biscuits cooking. You can even see the sizzle!

I love my mother's biscuit-cutter, perhaps because I just like old things, but also, because it was her grandmother's biscuit-cutter and I'm very sentimental. When my mom decides to start passing things down to us, my name is already on her biscuit pan, the biscuit-cutter and the little shaker with a mixture of cinnamon and sugar we put on toast. I'll admit that I am a little bit of a sentimental hoarder. Every once in a while I have to sift through my things and decide if it's still worth holding on to. Although, moving from apartment to apartment and from house to house will cure of keeping things you don't need for a little while, at least.

The finished biscuits!

My biscuits turned out a little bigger than expected. I jokingly call them pancake-biscuits but they still tasted just like Mama's. Ryan gave me the Magnolia Table cookbook by Joanna Gaines for my birthday recently and I have been itching to try out a recipe. Over the weekend my parents had a cookout with grilled cheeseburgers, french fries and some of Jo Jo's mac n' cheese. I regret that I did not take a picture of the finished dish, but let me assure you it was amazing. Last night I tried my second recipe from the cookbook, brussel sprouts with toasted pecans and balsamic reduction paired with flounder.

Every Sunday evening Ryan and I 'meal prep' for the week ahead. We cook our lunches for the week, which makes it much easier for him to get out the door in the mornings. It's also easier on the bank account only cooking two or three meals throughout the week, as we discovered early on. I genuinely enjoy cooking, as long as nothing splatters like grease, but lately we have used more crockpot recipes that require very little work on our part. This recipe was a little more challenging than I believed it to be at first glance. There were several moving parts: cutting and roasting the brussel sprouts, toasting the pecans in butter and brown sugar, and making the balsamic reduction. This, coupled with our fairly small kitchen with little counter space even when it's not messy, made the process a little more difficult. I had to get creative with where I put things when they were done cooking, but weren't ready to be combined together just yet. If you're new to cooking you might want to try your hand at a few easier recipes before tackling this one. A warning to anyone who decides to take on this recipe: the balsamic reduction produces a very sharp odor while it's simmering. If you're not expecting the fumes to sear the inside of your nose, it can be quite a shock, and this is coming from someone who was born without a sense of smell (yep, my smeller is just for show). I would rate this recipe at a moderate skill level. You don't have to be the best cook to make it, but you might need some practice before trying it, too. From what I tasted last night (you don't taste-test your food?) I would say these will be the best brussel sprouts I've ever eaten.

Every time I find a new recipe or master an old family recipe, I can't help but wonder about my future children. What recipe will make my kids think of home and remind them of time spent with family? What recipes will they love? What recipes will make them think I just need one of mom's _______ right now? This is what I love about my new cookbook. As I flipped through the pages, each one conveyed how the recipe came to be and which family member enjoyed it the most. I hope one day my kids will flip through my cookbook with handwritten recipes scrawled on large index cards and remember, not only their favorite dish, but the memories served with them. So, thank you to my family for giving me so many funny memories to look back on, and thank you to my mom for always making your biscuits when we tell you, "But you make them so much better!"

One of my favorite pictures of my mom trying on a Mickey ears Santa hat at Walgreens.