The Biscuit Rock

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic

A true story of revenge - or - don't make fun of your mama's biscuits.

The Biscuit Rock

“Look what I found!” My husband held up a rock that looked exactly like a biscuit. It was flat and sandy colored and had a crack in the side where you’d split it.

I  hefted that rock in my hand,  “I’ve made biscuits just like this.”

My son, Dan, just looked at me.

Over the years, I’d subjected my family to all sorts of - good for you - just eat it - disasters. The ten grain pizza night where they all stared blankly, “Is this a hubcap?”

The extra fiber millet loaf that baked into a brick.  “We could build you a house.”

I’m not much of a joke player, but as I held that rock a plan came to me that was all too perfect. Our other son, John, had gotten engaged to Carrie. They both liked things done in a certain way. “Invite Carrie to supper,” I told John. Neither of them knew about the rock.

I cooked roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy. Then I made five biscuits from stone ground, whole wheat flour with extra bran. I floured the rock and baked it with the biscuits so they’d all be hot. Then I set them in a basket. “You can’t pick this one,” I told my eighty-five year old mother. “We’ll pass the basket around and it’ll end with Carrie and John. One of them will get the rock.” I dug out a table cloth and set the table. The roast smelled good while it cooked.

When we were all seated, my husband said the blessing and I grabbed the basket and held it first to my mother. She pleaded at me with her eyes. Her eyesight was poor and I knew she was afraid she’d pick out the rock. “How about this one?” I set the top biscuit down on her plate. Then I took one, my husband, then Dan.

Dan passed the basket to Carrie and she touched on the rock, but then changed her mind and took the biscuit. She passed the basket to John.

John hefted the weight up and down. “Feels like a good batch,” he laughed and we all laughed with him. Then he picked up the rock and his eyes widened in disbelief, “Mom!”

“It’s a whole new recipe,” I said. “Here’s the butter.”

He held the rock in one hand, stuck his knife in the slit and tried to crack it apart. He made all these theatrics until Carrie jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Just eat it,” she hissed. So, head down, beet red, he took hold of the rock with both hands and tried to pry it apart. When he finally looked up and saw us laughing, the joke was up. Then I brought out the real rolls, soft white and store-bought.

We’ve often talked about that supper. Mom’s gone now and both sons are married, but the biscuit rock waits on the shelf.

 


Submitted: July 11, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Suzanne Mays. All rights reserved.

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Comments

D Mays

What a wonderful story! This one is fun to read!

Tue, July 13th, 2021 11:12pm

Suzanne Mays

Thanks D, it was fun to do.

Thu, July 15th, 2021 2:45pm

Texasjane

I enjoyed that so much. Being a Southern cook getting the biscuits right is very important. I look forward to reading more of your stories. I do believe we are kindred spirits. Good job.

Fri, July 23rd, 2021 5:43pm

Suzanne Mays

Thank you, Texasjane. It was a fun night. If you liked "Anne of Green Gables" as much as I did, I know we're kindred spirits.

Fri, July 23rd, 2021 7:20pm

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