Mother's Biscuits

Mother is the affectionate name given to my grandmother, and the name that everyone calls her, from her great grandchildren to kids that she babysat for years. We all call her Mother. Mother makes all things wonderful, from pinto beans to Thanksgiving turkey to macaroni and cheese, and peach cobbler. Her thumb is as green as they come. I am convinced that she could have abundant homegrown tomatoes in the desert. Mother makes the most wonderful biscuits. Her baking pan is at least fifty years old, a well- seasoned cast iron pan that has undoubtedly served hundreds. Her biscuits are light, fluffy, and melt in your mouth. Part of the reason for this, is because as a good Southern cook, Mother uses lard. As a dietitian, I loathe the word and the idea of using such a substance in my kitchen, where olive oil is a necessary staple. I can assure you that Mother has never used olive oil a day in her life. I can make cornbread, or ‘hoe cakes’, like a pro. I can make Mother's gravy without a hiccup. But sometimes you just need a biscuit, and nothing else will satisfy. The last time I went to visit, Mother gave me my own little tub of lard (a phrase that tastes like vinegar coming out of my mouth) so that I could take my little self home and make a biscuit. When asking Mother how to make her perfect biscuits, she always replies with “Oh it’s nothing, just a little of this and a little of that.” I pry with several questions about what kind and how much? The subject of amounts is the most difficult when it comes to Mother’s recipes. I have never seen her pick up a measuring spoon or measuring cups. I’m not even sure that she has any. But when I was just four or five years old, Mother would scoot a kitchen chair up to the counter so that I could knead the dough. I have some idea of what the end result should resemble. One morning I woke up and decided that today would be the day. I had my lard (gulp), self-rising flour, milk, and a hot cast iron skillet ready. Without thinking, I added my milk before my shortening (oops). So while mixing the dough with my hands, I just ended up with hands covered in shortening. What I obviously should have done (and will never forget to do again) was to mix the shortening with the flour, then add the milk. Oh well, live and learn. I added about ½ teaspoon of shortening to the cast iron skillet before putting in the oven to heat up. Mother always had a little extra shortening in the bottom of her pan so that she could spoon some of the liquid over the top of the biscuits before they went into the oven to give them pretty golden brown tops. Unfortunately, ½ teaspoon of shortening is not enough I found out, so I just added a little butter to the top of each biscuit to make sure that they came out nice and golden. (Evidence of me watching a lot of Paula Dean). Surprisingly, they weren’t bad! The dog certainly made a fuss over them. Next time, I will definitely bake them closer together to give them softer instead of crispy edges. My biscuits weren’t exactly like Mother’s, but I will definitely keep trying. The process wasn't nearly as difficult as I perceived it to be, in fact it was one of simplest things I've ever made! As Mother says, "It a'int no trouble to cook." Especially for the people you love.