Biscuit Redough

When I turned my latest batch of biscuit dough out on the counter I was afraid that I had created the proverbial flour hockey puck ... or as the Blues Brothers famously cited, "a rrrrrrubber biscuit." Instead of the sticky adhesive biscuit-batter that I would have to try and very gently knead I had a dry solid mass.

Immediately recriminating thoughts ran through my mind, 'two table spoons of bacon crumbles was too much' and 'a 1/3 Cup of cheese was excessive' or 'I must have mis-measured the milk'. No matter what the possible cause I have killed this batch of biscuits.

Dejectedly I patted the mass down to 1/2-3/4 inch thickness and started cutting rounds. It was a bit disquieting to twist the cutter down and feel the crepitus
of bacon bits being crushed ... but I pressed on. I kept a wary eye on them during the 10th and 11th minutes of baking. Just quick checks so as not to cool the oven too much.

Oh me of little faith...

They didn't turn out great but they were good. I was pleasantly surprised. The tribe ate every last one, even commenting on how tasty they were. A hearty compliment to my Urban Gourmand Potato-Corn Chowder.

So this is where I wanted to make some insightful philosophical or theological observation on the importance of the symbolic marriage of flour, salt, milk and leavening. I wanted to acknowledge the primal importance of the food ritual and its sustaining of life. I wanted to pay homage to the beneficence of a greater power.

All I can really say is that my faith in the biscuit remains.