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January 14, 2009

Little White Lies About Our Friend the Biscuit

In days past, there was a great deal of utility in the simple biscuit. You could use it to fill your belly in a way that silenced dissent about the general poor quality of the water. If you found yourself beset by brigands, you could use it as a weapon, since man has yet to crack the mystery of what substance in nature is harder than a stale biscuit.

We have advanced somewhat today, with the simple biscuit being replaced on the front lines by more humane weapons like nuclear missiles and chainsaws. Today, the biscuit that sits for some time is used either as a replacement hockey puck or a door stop.

What remains is the biscuit’s proficiency in filling your belly in a way that makes you feel like you ate something substantial when you really only just ate wet flour.

Science has long since known that it is impossible to put lipstick on a pig. How many men died to learn this has never been counted, and the belief is that the cost is so high that no one wishes to contemplate it for fear of going stark raving mad. Yet we are not talking about pigs, we are talking about biscuits. And we are not trying to dress them in lipstick, but to make them more edible.

The wet flour nature of the biscuit is a sad truth. The biscuit, in its most basic form, is just something wet added to flour. It is the Plain Jane of foods, an item so homely that a kiss from a prince would turn the prince into a frog.

It may be a lie, but it is a victimless lie. As such, is it not really more truth than lie? Men may debate such things. Leave the question of lies, truth and whether one is more pure evil than the other to barber chair philosophers. Our destiny is to be a creator, a builder of things.

Start with two cups of flour. Add about three teaspoons of baking powder. Have at the ready half a cup of milk and five tablespoons of butter. You are now saying, while breaking down into sobs, “Where is the lipstick? Where is the lipstick? For the love of the children, where is the lipstick? Won’t someone think of the children?”

Consider this the virtual grab of your shirt and a slap in the face. Get yourself together, man.

Mix the flour and baking soda together, and now tell yourself a little white lie about biscuits. Add half a cup of cheddar cheese, garlic powder and a generous helping of thyme and dried parsley.

Cut in the butter and mix until the dough becomes crumbly. Add the milk and stir until dough sticks together. If you must add more milk, just go ahead and do so . . . don’t stand around, waiting for someone to give you permission.

Dollop onto a greased cookie sheet and bake at 400 degrees for about 12 minutes. What comes out will be soft enough to not be confused with a weapon, and tasty enough to qualify as a little white lie.

© 2009 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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