"biscuits" news and stories

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.

The idea started as a way to use up some sour* milk. I couldn't bear to just pour it down the drain and so I started scouting around for ways in which to use it up. I remembered reading a line in a vintage cookbook about saving sour milk for quick breads and muffins (oh, the food knowledge we've lost over the years, I'm sure my grandma Bunny would have know what to do with sour milk without consulting a cookbook). Flipping through my turquoise-covered Joy of Cooking (the edition from the late 1960s), I settled on making a batch of biscuits.

I realize that for many of you out there, the idea of making biscuits to go with dinner isn't a groundbreaking idea. However, I grew up in a family where we did not eat bread products with our evening meal (although my grandparents always had bread on their dining table and my sister and I used to think it was the most thrilling thing ever) and so for me, dinner-time biscuits feels subversive and exciting.

They came together quickly and baked up quickly, adding a level of special-ness and comfort to a regular old dinner. There were a few leftover and I ate them for breakfast the next day with peanut butter and homemade jam.

*When raw milk sours, it's still usable in baking and cooking. Sadly, when pasteurized milk goes bad, it's just bad and can't be salvaged.

As a lover of all things pizza-related, I really have to try these.

It's a recipe for pepperoni pizza, only using Pillsbury's Easy Grands! refrigerated biscuits. I always get a little uneasy when I see an exclamation point in the middle of a sentence instead of at the end. Imagine! how! annoying! that! would! be! if! it! was! done! all! the! time!

Anyway, these look pretty good, and ridiculously easy to make. What I find particularly great is that the Grands! come in various flavors (original, buttermilk, Southern style, etc), so you can get some different tastes without adding anything extra to the recipe.