I stood in front of the pantry, staring at the boxes and bags of mixes in a colorful row on the third shelf. Red, blue, yellow, orange, they all promised homemade taste with less measuring, less headache, less precision.
I picked up a yellow box, shaking it gently. I could feel the slight shift of flour and magical powdered ingredients inside. Without looking, I knew there wasn't enough. Sighing, I put it back on the shelf and made a mental note to pick up more.
"There may not be biscuits with the soup tonight," I said over my shoulder, my hands shifting the boxes around hoping to find a full box hiding behind the macaroni.
Chad came up behind me. "Any way you can make them from scratch?"
I pursed my lips and thought for a moment. "I think so. Let me see if I have everything." Reaching over for my red and white checked cookbook, I flipped through the pages until I came to a simple recipe for biscuits.
"Looks like there's only a few ingredients. I might actually be able to pull this off." I set the book on the counter and reached to the top shelf where a lonely bin of flour sat collecting dust. "Any idea where my measuring cups are?"
"I think they were with Joseph's playdough," Chad said, starting down the hall to retrieve them.
Laying out my ingredients, I pulled a heavy bowl out of a cabinet next to the stove. Concentrating on the recipe, I carefully measured out flower, baking powder, salt, butter, and milk. I mixed the dough and dropped rounded spoonfuls onto my baking stone.
The kitchen took on a warm, floury smell as the biscuits baked. In minutes, I took out golden, flaky biscuits. I carefully split one open, the crumbs falling to the counter. The butter melted instantly, dripping down my fingers. Taking a quick bite, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever buy Bisquick again.
This post was inspired by the RemembeRED post that asked us to recycle an old blog post and give it a memoir make over.
How did I do? Oh! And if you want to see the original post. Here you go.