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Whop biscuits

January 16, 2014

Well, I have sinned. In this age when we are all s’posed to be eyeballing our cholesterols and the ratios thereof, when we should eschew to chew the full-fat offerings of anything swimming in gravy, when potatoes should only be “loaded” with the most anti-oxidant-laden fare we can find—I have sinned.

I got chilled on the walk home last night, and instead of my usual granola, fruit, and bran pebbles with lowfat milk, I fired up the oven. In a weak moment, a month or two ago, I had seen canned refrigerated biscuits (whop them against the counter to open them) on sale and gotten a few. I decided with one batch that with enough milk I could choke them down, but homemade is always better—and now what to do with the rest?

Small black iron frying pan, big chunka butter, and into the heating oven. Before the pan truly heated up but the butter was melted, I pulled it and plunked the biscuits in, jiggling the pan so the butter coated the biscuits well. When the biscuits were mostly browned, I pulled the pan and buried them in sharp white cheddar and a liberal sprinkle of hot pepper flakes, and returned them to the inferno. When I heard the cheese start to sizzle (great word, that), I turned off the heat and waited a bit, then pulled the pan and set it on a heat diffuser to cool the pan rapidly. Put the pan in my lap on some newspaper; read about illegal immigrants and fiction about writing classes on cruise ships; ate the whole thing with a fork, and all the cheese came up brown and chewy with a prying motion that did not threaten to bend the fork. Mission a success. Sinned, I say. Maybe some pepper flakes in the first layer, too, (butter) next time, or raisins/cranberries, browned or blackened by the heat.

Not that I am obligated to talk about libraries all the time, but whop biscuits might be stretching it a bit. Just like MARC records always need a bit of tweaking, whop biscuits have a place and can be tweaked. I used to “ski for a living” which just meant working from skis in a job I once had. When friends would want to go ski on weekends, I was very content to rest and have the evening meal waiting for them when they came back, chilled to the bone and lacking just the right amount of too much butter and other calorie-dense fare. Yeast-raised flapjacks inundated in cheese sauce and interleaved with ham, fer instance. All-day, fork-tender roast with vegetables in full-fat gravy. Vegetarian pasta with fresh colorful veggies stirred in with olive oil and herbs for the last ten minutes of cooking. Not one of the above; all of the above. Pie and too much ice cream for dessert, and coffee or tea with scoops of ice cream to top things off. Pants with elastic waist, good. Tight belt, bad.

Yeah, this does not relate to libraries at all. I just felt like tapping a line. And confessing a sin. Anybody want a couple or six flapjacks with customized peanut butter for tomorrow’s ski lunch overlooking a bright snowy bowl at about 10,000 feet? In a mixing bowl with just the right amount of peanut butter, add just the right amount of too much room temperature butter, and the same for warm honey. Stir well, clap between flapjacks, and be sure to pack your lunch right above your warm water bottle when you head out to ski. Come lunchtime, no frozen lunch, no frozen water, and energy to sustain you on the trip down.

Maybe I used to be a cook in some long-ago lumber camp. Or not. Travel well, skis or no, mliswilltravel.

PS—Universite de Montreal has thrown down the gauntlet vis a vis publisher pricing and maneuvers. See the history and 14January2014 announcement here:

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