I tend to be a pushy broad at times. I’m also a bit impatient. So about a year ago when I first baked Alton Brown’s Southern Biscuits, I was in a bit of an urgent tizzy to serve them to my husband. Fortunately for him, he likes biscuits. Unfortunately for him, it was 8 a.m. and he was sound asleep. I like getting up early and there’s nothing better than baking early in the morning when I am fresh and full of energy.
I’ve had a sad history with biscuit baking. The first biscuits I made for my husband were heavy, flat rocks. Skipping stones anyone? He had even walked up to the grocery store to get me buttermilk for the recipe. I think I mixed them too much. Heavy-handedness is clearly not a plus with biscuits. Whatever the reason, they were barely edible. My next batch of biscuits were better, but still not great. I had seen Alton Brown’s recipe in Southern Living magazine and online and was dying to try it. My first clue that these were going to work was that they rose so tall. I tried one and was delighted! I had successfully baked a decent biscuit! Thank you Alton Brown!
Next up, my husband needed to try them. I couldn’t possibly wait until he woke up. They would be cold. Maybe they would even fall or shrink. Psycho chick that I am, I decided that I was going to have to wake him up. So like Little Red Riding Hood (a 6 foot tall Little Red Riding Hood, let’s call her Big Red), I filled up a basket with a cloth napkin, three biscuits, some butter and jam, and hopped up the stairs to the bedroom.
Poor husband was there sleeping, so calm and so peaceful. In a sweet, sing-song voice I whispered “Walter, wake up! I made you biscuits!” He looked up at me like I was absolutely crazy and said “I know you didn’t just wake me up to try your biscuits.” I said, “Yes, I did.” What can I say? I am sort of crazy. I’m sure June Cleaver with her ironed apron and pearls would never have done this.
Needless to say, he liked the biscuits. All’s well that ends well.