Sentimental Sunday-Biscuits with MaMaw

     There are just some things that I can not ever recreate in the kitchen. One of those is my grandmother's recipe for biscuits. She did not have a written recipe, it was all hers. They were the best biscuits I have ever had in my life.

     When I was a child I would often spend the night with my maternal grandparents, Vic and Irma Ladner. I was not a child who slept away from home very often. I would have my mother tell my friends that I could not come to spend the night at their homes for whatever reason. So she could be the bad guy and I would not look like a scared baby who couldn't be away from their Mama.

     But when it came to spending the night at MaMaw's I was all for it. We would eat dinner on t.v. trays, and everyone went to bed very early to get up at the crack of dawn. I would lay awake in my cot set up next to my Aunt's bed and listen to the snoring coming from my grandparent's room. It was so loud, and the shadows on the wall frightened me. I was not used to this sleeping environment and it took many hours to drift off.

    At about 4a.m. I would hear noises coming from the kitchen and smell fresh coffee. I could hear the muted voices of my grandmother and aunt as they were working in the kitchen. Finally at about 6a.m. I could take it no longer and would creep out of my Aunt's room in search of the precious morning breakfast that I knew was waiting for me.

    Upon seeing me MaMaw would exclaim, "What are you doing up so early? You do not have to get up this early you know?" I know I would reply, but I want the biscuits!

     This then is how the morning would precede. MaMaw would get me the 70's styled coffee mug down from the cabinet, mine was red with a white rim, and pour me a cup of coffee. Yes, coffee for a child. It was more sugar and milk than coffee but it was delicious. Then she would plate me up three biscuits and place the GOOD butter on the table. Good butter is how we always referred to real butter, not margarine. I would then slice off a huge square of butter, and place on each biscuit, which would melt and make a drippy mess as you tried to eat. MaMaw would always laugh about me and the butter, because she herself loved butter, So much so she told me that she would get into trouble for sneaking into the barrel of butter at her father's grocery store as a child. Before you knew it those three biscuit were gone and I was asking for more. Once I ate a whopping twelve biscuits for breakfast, which until this day no one has ever forgotten.

     Sometimes, MaMaw would make biscuits and freeze them for me, wrapped up in tin foil, so I could have some at anytime. When I was expecting my first child this was all I wanted. They often laughed because she said my child would probably dislike bread with as much fresh made bread and biscuits as she was having to supply me with.

     Those were special times and days. Those biscuit days. I learned so much about my grandmother while she sat with me and watched me eat those biscuits.