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No Honey Wanted
By means of: Stephen Bishop
After a couple of years of writing a per thirty days humor article for a beekeeping mag, you start to exhaust your talent to generate subject material, and you have got to hire a heavy-duty excavator to dig up concepts with even probably the most tenuous connection to apiculture. After which once in a while you continue to can’t recall to mind anything else. Therefore, I’ve determined to jot down about buttermilk biscuits, no longer as a result of my grandma’s biscuits wanted doctoring with a drizzle of honey, however as a result of they didn’t. Her biscuits have been natural goodness, which trumps natural honey via many levels of pureness.
Actually, it will had been a grievous insult to use a viscous substance to my grandma’s biscuits. Despite the fact that she all the time requested if any one sought after honey or jam, no one dared resolution within the affirmative for worry of disinheritance. Plus, the biscuits wanted not anything—they have been appetizer, entree and dessert multi functional. I will have to have watched my grandma make biscuits loads of occasions, however the precise procedure stays shrouded in my reminiscence. I by no means have in mind her the use of measuring tools of any kind. As a substitute, a picket bowl, a flour sifter and an previous blackened biscuit pan have been the gear of her sorcery, whilst her major substances have been buttermilk, self-rising flour, hunks of Crisco and a variety of love.
In an age when Pop-Tarts have been already invented, when it will had been simple to plop a heavily produced puck on a plate, she arose early to conjure up biscuits from scratch. And it wasn’t simply breakfast. Biscuits have been an anytime meals, served up every time anyone wanted nourishment, bodily or spiritually.
When my grandma gave up the ghost ten years in the past, my mother was keeper of my grandma’s buttermilk biscuit recipe and wielder of her blackened biscuit pan. My mother loves me unconditionally—I do know this as a result of I unintentionally threw away the previous biscuit pan and she or he didn’t devote filicide (the formal phrase for offing one’s offspring).
The issue used to be my mother traveled with the pan. Her greatest worry, but even so snakes, used to be being stuck off-guard with an unfamiliar pan of unknown cooking houses. “Cooking in a unusual oven is difficult sufficient,” she mentioned. With a waxy patina from many years of Crisco packages, my grandma’s previous biscuit pan used to be attempted and true.
A minimum of it used to be ahead of I threw it in a trash compactor.
In most cases, I’m no longer one to spoil a useful circle of relatives heirloom, however my oldsters have been visiting us one weekend and my mother had packed the pan in a cardboard field. She set the field proper beside the kitchen door, which additionally took place to be proper beside our kitchen trash can, in the similar spot I in most cases stack overflow trash that must be hauled to the sell off. I simply assumed that field used to be filled with overflow trash and put it at the again of the truck. Now my grandma’s biscuit pan is living someplace within the Cleveland County landfill, with seagulls flying gracefully overhead.
My mother idea I used to be kidding after I instructed her I had thrown that field away. When she discovered I wasn’t, a glance of panic momentarily washed over her face ahead of she temporarily regained regulate of her facial features and resisted the intuition to homicide her son.
“Oh, neatly, it’s just a pan,” she mentioned.
However I felt horrible. That biscuit pan used to be an emblem of all that used to be proper and true and honorable on the planet. Certain, the biscuits it produced almost certainly contributed to the circle of relatives’s ldl cholesterol issues, however that’s a small worth to pay for having maternal superheroes for your circle of relatives who snort within the face of adversity and combat the sector’s evils with one pan of buttermilk biscuits at a time—certainly, with biscuits so just right they want no honey.