Lovin' from the Oven by Angie Ledbetter

Yeah, I ripped off the Doughboy's saying, but it fits perfectly, so let's just say I'm borrowing it for today. We southern cooks (men and women) really enjoy showing our love by making wonderful meals, preparing delicious baked goodies, and especially by using our tried and true family recipes. I don't know a single person who enjoys cooking who doesn't have dog eared old yellowed recipe cards full of mouth-watering concoctions. The best ones are spattered, splattered, torn and maybe even scribbled on.

My most precious of this type of recipe is in my grandmother's own handwriting, and although I wish she was still around to help me finally learn to make her famous biscuits, my continued failure doesn't keep me from trying it every now and then.

BIGMAMA'S BISCUITS:

Use a medium large bowl that will become your biscuit bowl forever. Fill it ¾ full with sifted Gold Medal Self-Rising Flour.

“Doodle out a ‘waller hole’ in the middle of your bowl,” as Bigmama used to say. Make this well by gently swishing your fist in the flour. It will hold the other ingredients.

Pour in ½ tablespoon of cooking oil. In a standard drinking glass, stir together ½ cup buttermilk and ½ cup water. Add to your well.

Work the mixture gently with your fingers, pulling in as little extra flour as possible. Try not to handle or knead the dough very much.

Prepare your heavy iron skillet by pouring in a thin layer of oil. Roll the skillet around to spread the oil evenly. Pinch off biscuits and place into skillet. (Dusting your hands lightly with flour helps.)

When the pan is full and biscuits rest gently against one another, sprinkle on a small amount of oil to the raw biscuit tops. Put skillet into a cold oven, and set at 400 degrees. Put your pan in the middle of the rack so biscuits cook evenly. When they are light golden brown, move skillet to top rack until darker brown. If your oven is true to temperature, the whole process, including preparation time, will take about 25 minutes. The first few times, watch the biscuits' progress in the oven closely to be sure.

Butter immediately...or cover with gravy...or drown in maple or cane syrup. Any way you like your biscuit, you'll love these!

Sunday Rituals and Vituals by Kat Magendie

Sunday's are about ritual: Get up; yawn, drink coffee; organize the one paper we have delivered to our cove, the Sunday Asheville Citizen Times, into read piles; mountain walk; turn TV to Sunday Morning; and turn on oven. What a life, what joy, what comfort. Used to be the ritual was church-going. Grouse. Mutter. Mom forced us five kids to crawl out of bed, wash our face and brush our teeth even!, get dressed, and all to attend boring church and worse was when we had to get up earlier to attend boring Sunday School before boring Church. I still think church is boring, sorry Church Folk, sorry Mom, sorry ministers and priests and whatnotall, but, one of my Sunday rituals is I’m no longer afraid I’ll go to some fiery hell if I don’t get my butt to church. I digress. I’m talking about biscuits here. Yep. Hot flakey put some honey butter on mine please biscuits!

Well, today is Tuesday and I could have them, could have had them yesterday, could have them tomorrow. But it wouldn’t feel the same, for I need that ritual on Sunday, to set it apart—larkens back to the old homestead days when dear ole Mom cajoled, “GET YOUR LAZY BUTTS OUT OF BED YOU DIRTY LITTLE HEATHENS! RIGHT NOW NOW NOW BEFORE I WHUP YOUR HIND-ENDS BUT GOOD! EVERY SUNDAY THE SAME THING. I. HAVE. HAD. IT. UP. TO. HERE! YOU HEAR ME?” Ah, yes. I hear it, along with the pitter patter of our dragging feet as we carried our own personal crosses to Jesus so he wouldn’t feel alone with his.

Anyhoo, don’t serve me those canned biscuits, eyew. I will accept Pillsbury Frozen Biscuits, because they are as close to homemade as I have eaten. My granny made cat’s head biscuits. Oh! She’d put the dough in a pan and then cut squares—gawdang those have never been replicated, ever. We’d dip them in chocolate syrup—a sugar-gritty concoction of sugar, water, chocolate sauce, and Granny’s secret that was a pinch of salt or a bit of love or some vanilla or a drop of sweat, or whatnot; who cared, it was sopped up and quick. Sunday morning is biscuit morning. Period. Amen. HERE are some recipes, Bless Your Heart if you don’t have your own. Here’s to Sunday—only five more days away! (What? You thought I'd write about Taxes?)