The ingredients flew from the cupboards like a strong wind stirring up trouble. I pulled down the bowls, selected a size and started assembling.
In went flour, baking powder, and salt measured by hand. From the fridge, out came butter and milk; from the drawer a fork and a spoon.
Unwrap the butter after measuring what is needed, grab the paring knife and slice, slice and slice into the flour combonation. Hands oily, mind racing. No calm to be baking but what the hell. All speed ahead. What can it hurt?
Use the fork, smash the butter and flour into a messy look. Slop in milk, remove fork, in go hands and growl, smash, mangle, work the dough.
Flour stove top, dump dough, grab rolling pin and steamroll the dough as if it’s the answer, or the cause of all potholes.
Clean hands, grab butter again, slap on dough. Scrub hands of slippery slimy feel before looking for brown sugar. Toss on and give it the hmm, is that enough or more look. Away goes the brown sugar, back into the black hole of my baking past. It screams neglect. I don’t listen and shut the door.
Cinnamon, where is it? I grab paprika and move it and shove chili powder and cumin around until I shove the oil out of the way. Damn cinanmon is not where it’s supposed to be. The spice cupboard is jumbled, a mess, a place of haphazard who gives a crap organization. Locating the damn spice, I sprinkle it on the dough.
Biscuit dough gets rolled, sliced with the buttery paring knife and for once I had the baking pan ready to go. Except for the baking spray I totally forgot to use.
Into a preheated oven, 15 minutes later out come godzilla’s revenge. They aren’t pretty and the aroma through the house is amazing. I can’t wait to chomp, the inhale and enjoy something so tasty.
And the biscuit could qualify for a puck. A hockey puck. A stone. A masterpiece of overworked dough that should never have seen the inside of an oven.
Obviously I’ve forgotten a gentle hand is key to making a nice dough/biscuit.
Maybe I’ll try again today as a nice treat for Boy. It’s his last day of high school.
Where in the hell did the years go? I know, they ran off with my baking skills.
Happy Wednesday!
