I am just about there, just about caught up. December 5, yes? I promise this makes sense in my head.
I grew up in a household where "son of a biscuit eater' was an acceptable euphemism for the more profane iteration of that term. You know, like "fudge" and "mother of pearl" and the like.
What, you don't do that? You probably don't say "Jesus, Mary and Joseph" either. Whatever.
I am not a son at all, but I do eat biscuits. And also fudge, and I even bought some of that on this trip, too, but that's another story. This is about biscuits. This is one of the best ones I've ever had, perhaps the very best one. And whereas a very good friend of mine made me some in her own kitchen on my way home a few days later, I don't have a picture of it to share with you.
If you're going to have friends, it's nice to have the kinds of friends who will feed you biscuits they make from scratch in their very own kitchens, I'm serious.
This one was from Blackstone's in Beaufort, South Carolina, where the nice people let me sit down even though the kitchen was about to close and I had the most delicious shrimp & grits and this biscuit. And it occurred to me that I really ought to ask for one to stick in my pocket and take for the road, and I'm still really sorry I didn't. I had these insane thoughts like, "Oh, sometimes it's good to just eat one of something when it's really good, so you can remember it and savor it," and "Two would just make me really sick" and "There will be other biscuits."
Sometimes I am really not very smart. I am, however and in general, quite well fed. This is one of my favorite things about my life.