I was therefore surprised, but not dismayed when I rooted around amidst the steam buns and popsicles, frozen fruit and frozen okra, and nary a frozen biscuit was found.
"Guess I get to practice biscuits tonight!" and "Oooh! Ian will be excited!" were my thoughts. I've never made biscuits from scratch on my own before, yet I recently had practice with a similar treat, so I knew a few moments to keep an eye out for.
I looked up a buttermilk cheddar biscuit recipe (to use up what we still have in the fridge) on food network (thank you Ina) and Ian came home just in time to flour my rolling surface and say "The way I used to make them, for what it's worth..." he started.
"Thanks for adding the what it's worth part, otherwise I would have thought you were telling me what to do," I said. (which for some reason I get quite finicky about when cooking) "Go on."
"If you want nice layered biscuits, you roll out the dough too thin and then fold it over on itself and roll it out again. You could repeat that three times or so. Sometimes I would brush butter in between the layers, but you don't have to do that."
"I should think not! There's already a stick and a half in here," I exclaimed.
The biscuits were then rolled out, folded over, rolled out, folded over, rolled out again and cut into rectangles, laid down on the scrap of parchment paper I had left and popped into the fully pre-heated oven at 425 deg. 25 minutes later delicious smelling/looking bread square fluffy layered mouth contraptions came out and we enjoyed our chili and biscuits.
Ian was surprisingly non-chalant when I told him I think I'll add biscuits to my repertoire. "That means I have to make them until I can do it from memory, at least 3 more times."
"I'll eat biscuits three more times," is all he said.
Very kewl. /dad
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