Hello, friend.
I love biscuits. You know the type, the ones you can only find in that hole-in-the-wall, backroad diner somewhere deep in the heart of the South. A place where the cookin’ is good and the waitress refers to everyone as “honeychile”. I love those kind of biscuits with their golden tops and buttery layers. Pulling them apart releases a steady trail of steam that ascends upwards. A heaping spread of jam or apple butter layered gracefully over each piece and you have got yourself a mighty fine breakfast. There is something so rustic and beautiful about a homemade biscuit. Growing up, it was one rare occasion Momma Crawford would make biscuits homemade (Father prefers the store bought kind. I know, he’s crazy!) But when she did…oh momma YES!
