I still remember getting up before daybreak and loading fishing gear into grandma’s 1963 Ford Falcon.
It was always early enough so that we could fish and be back home in time to whip up a batch of hot biscuits and Karo syrup. I can still smell the sweet hickory fragrance of bacon frying and the smell of biscuit dough baking in the oven. Grandma’s food was always comforting to me. And it was in those moments while watching her bony calloused hands work over the cast iron skillet, it began to take hold. I didn’t realize it at the time but I was falling in love.
One biscuit at a time. One succulent morsel of flaky dough dripping with delicious buttery caramel syrup was like a deep passionate kiss. Over the years I perfected that biscuit recipe, as well as Grandma’s fried chicken recipe and my mother’s potato salad and barbecue with baked beans on the side. Before I was out of high school I could lay out an entire Thanksgiving feast replete with pumpkin, apple and cherry pie and hot dinner rolls every dish baked from scratch . I scarcely remember when I didn’t cook. I’ve had a long rewarding love affair with food. A catalogue of smells, tastes and images of pots of boiling stew, platters crammed full of devilled eggs and heaps of sugary cinnamon rolls play like a long running feature in my mind.
They are simple ideas on how to make basic food turn the corner toward delicious and wonderful entrees. It is dedicated to the memory of Grandma Ruth, who taught me the fundamentals of cooking and my mother who made sure I logged lots of time in the kitchen while I was growing up.
Click picture for Grandma Ruth’s Simple Biscuit Recipe
