All Musgraves aside, one of my very favorite breakfast foods is the humble biscuit. The point here is for those with excellent biscuit experience to share the good stuff.
I’m pretty sure (beautifully confident?) this has been done before, several times, but I made a batch this morning, so what the hey. Plus, perhaps the younger mooks here haven’t considered this trail and our colleagues elsewhere in the world could present their equivalents and we might could even learn something.
Behold, the mighty, mighty biscuit!
Flour, baking powder, salt, butter, milk. I know there are better versions, this is the way I muster.
But since today is something of a chore day, I didn’t stop there. I have a big bad jones for the sausage biscuit; pork sausage, please, browned just right. Oh yes, I did.
But wait, there’s more! Coffee in the pour-over style, in a mug featuring photos of my 2 grandsons, given to me by my ever so thoughtful daughter-in-law.
While I was eating, our Australian cattle dog watched earnestly, pointing with her eyes at the sausage she would appreciate endlessly (or at least the nano-second it would take to devour any morsel received). Thin icicles of drool were hanging from both sides of her mouth.
This was good. Yes, I understand the health risks of sausage and butter, blah, blah, blah. I’m an almost 70-yr-old man and if I don’t die from a pole-axed heart enrobed with hardened arteries, what kind of happiness did I have in life?
Cheers, mates! How about your biscuits?
I’m pretty sure (beautifully confident?) this has been done before, several times, but I made a batch this morning, so what the hey. Plus, perhaps the younger mooks here haven’t considered this trail and our colleagues elsewhere in the world could present their equivalents and we might could even learn something.
Behold, the mighty, mighty biscuit!
Flour, baking powder, salt, butter, milk. I know there are better versions, this is the way I muster.
But since today is something of a chore day, I didn’t stop there. I have a big bad jones for the sausage biscuit; pork sausage, please, browned just right. Oh yes, I did.
But wait, there’s more! Coffee in the pour-over style, in a mug featuring photos of my 2 grandsons, given to me by my ever so thoughtful daughter-in-law.
While I was eating, our Australian cattle dog watched earnestly, pointing with her eyes at the sausage she would appreciate endlessly (or at least the nano-second it would take to devour any morsel received). Thin icicles of drool were hanging from both sides of her mouth.
This was good. Yes, I understand the health risks of sausage and butter, blah, blah, blah. I’m an almost 70-yr-old man and if I don’t die from a pole-axed heart enrobed with hardened arteries, what kind of happiness did I have in life?
Cheers, mates! How about your biscuits?