Biscuits

There once was a man named Ken
Who tried to make biscuits again
His mom showed him how
He exclaimed holy cow!
On his knees he then said, Amen.

Ken Goree


Silly as it seems, this is a poem of hope; an event that hasn’t happened yet.

Here is the story. Many of you have had my cooking, whether because of good manner or actual appreciation, you have all told me wonderful things about my cooking skill. However, I have a weakness, my “Kitchen Achilles’ Heal.” My downfall – biscuits.

I give credit to my kitchen work to my mom, and Chris Hensel, a chef I worked with for a small span of time. Well, I haven’t spoken with Chris for several years, not because of any falling out, just that sad entropy * , that we experience as adults as we become overly busy with the business of being “grown-ups” and allow friendships and relationships to fade away over time.

Since I don’t have Chris’ expertise to call upon, I called my mom. She was going to teach me the real skill of biscuit making at Thanksgiving. Well, I guess I was missing the buttermilk, so I didn’t get the biscuit lesson. The next Monday, they left for Arizona. Four months!!! I have to wait four more months to learn how to make biscuits?

I’ve asked friends, looked online, and search for videos, all to no avail. I guess I need my mommy.