Two and a half months in, I can see through the Biscuit Matrix.

When I embarked upon my trawl toward biscuit perfection at the dawn of aught-nine, it was from a flat, sad, bitter place, indeed. Rather than crispy-footed, larded puffs of sweetly steaming layers reaching -- straining ever heavenward, my oven yielded depressing, molar-cracking pucks I refused to inflict upon my entirely un-picky dogs. Now my biscuits rock, and I'm pretty sure it's a matter of methodology rather than recipe.

Here's what I've learned after a couple dozen batches, and plenty of advice from Slashfood commenters, Facebook friends, cookbooks and Southern grandmas:

- Store the flour in the freezer, and sift it before measuring, even if it says "pre-sifted" on the bag. This has a direct effect upon the density. An overall low temperature keeps fat from heating, so use every opportunity to bring the chill. 3 1/2 - 4 cups of flour scooped straight from the bag can yield 5 cups after sifting. It makes a significant difference. Thus far, Southern Biscuit Self-Rising and White Lily All-Purpose have been very good to me.

- Whisk dry ingredients together, rather than stirring, in order to maintain airiness.

- Don't skimp on the salt, and even if it's not called for in the recipe, toss in a pinch of sugar to aid with a crunchy crust.

The best thing about embarking on a mission to perfect one's biscuit making? You end up with an awful lot of delicious biscuits to eat. The worst thing? Holy heck, that's a lot of biscuits. I'm lucky enough to be married to an enthusiastic biscuit eater, but I don't want to try his patience too badly this early on, 'cause there are dozens more batches to be rolled out before the year is up.

Solution -- adapt one of his most dearly beloved dishes, his grandmother and mother's Memama and Mimiwag's Chicken & Dumplings a bit to accommodate extra biscuits as ersatz dumplings. The original recipe employs long, rolled strips of dough (which some have argued render it as a much more regionally specific Chicken & Pastry formation, but that's a whole 'nother post), but in lieu of that, I halved the biscuits (from the best batch thus far -- #6 White Lily All Purpose with 50/50 Lard/Butter) and stewed them into the sumptuous broth of a whole, cooked-down chicken until they were softened, but not soggy. That night, with a side of sauteed, vinegar-dashed Swiss chard, it was heaven. Two days later, plated with tangy collards -- otherworldy.

Have a favored use for extra biscuits? I beg of you, share it in the comments below.

Recipes is after the jump.

Previously: Recipe #1 - White Lily and Lard

The less said about this batch, the better. I rolled 'em too thin, left them in the oven a minute or two too long, used too little liquid, achieved little to no loft, and skimped on flavor by switching from lard to vegetable shortening. Perhaps in the hands of a master biscuit maker, these factors wouldn't matter, but perhaps at this point, I need some training wheels in the form of commercial baking powder or self-rising flour.

My other muck-up -- I fell prey to fear of touching the dough too much and barely allowed the ingredients to mingle either during the bowl mixing or the kneading. While I've heard from all and sundry that overworking the dough is the kiss of death, there's got to be a happy medium. And hopefully a few sky-high biscuits.

Tips and more after the jump, and as always, I'd love any advice you feel like sharing.

I do not come from a biscuit making people. That's not to say that I led an entirely biscuitless youth -- just that the addition of water to a measure of Bisquick, and the joyless lumping thereof on a cookie sheet does not, what I consider a biscuit, make. Though this is a matter of great conjecture for folks from all walks, my particular biscuit paradigm is a balance of moist, fluffily layered, lard-laced innards and a crisped-up, nearly brittle top and bottom. A crunch through should grudgingly yield to a just off-sweet, pillowy, melting mass of deliciousness. With shards of salty country ham, a rich swipe of sweet butter, or just steaming hot from the oven, it's handheld heaven.

I can't make biscuits like that to save my life. In '09, that all changes.

With the aid of every cookbook, internet tip, and friends' advice at my disposal, I'm on a mission to perfect my biscuit making. I shall seek the counsel of Southern grandmothers and hound professional chefs until they begin to assail me with dough blenders. I shall become tiresome on the subject. I'm sure my husband would assert that I already have. 'Sokay -- he'll get fresh biscuits out of the deal, as will my colleagues, dogs, dog walker, friends, neighbors, cashiers, subway train drivers. Heck, I probably don't even know you, and you'll likely end up with a leftover biscuit from me.

I dig 'em with the tang of buttermilk and lard's sweet, creamy kiss, but for the sake of scientific exploration, I'll entertain alternate liquids and fats. I've been a good li'l stockpiling squirrel and plundered the shelves of several Harris Teeters and Food Lions during a recent sojurn to North Carolina so that the ingredients may possess the ideal terroir as borne by Southern flours like White Lily, Red Band and Southern Biscuit. I have chilled my lard, readied my sifting hand, and offered a small homage to the spirit of the dearly departed Edna Lewis. I am ready to begin.

This may not be my heritage, but it is my destiny.

Read on for the results of the first effort.