Cussin’ in the kitchen and other ignominies

Regular readers of this blog will acknowledge that, while there are many subjects about which I write and opine, the entries wherein I write about myself are rare, exceedingly so. That is upon purpose. As I have written in the front page This blog is about… “What you won’t find here are observations about my personal life. I won’t – and typically don’t – write about my relationships with my family or friends.”

As I now see, Zemanta has suggested the following tags: “profanity,” “politics,” “Mark Twain,” “health,” “Satan,” “Oh Hell,” “fuck,” and “shit”.

How quaintly appropriate.

There are a few omissions.

However, I shall spare you kind readers those blue notes.

As astute observers have read, I am a native Southerner. I take some degree of pride in that fact. That means, that by default, I stand with such historical greats, notables and traditions as:

William Faulkner,
Jelly Roll Morton,
Robert Johnson,
Blues music,
Jazz music,
Bluegrass music,
the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.,
William Eggleston,
Billy Graham,
W.C. Handy,
B.B. King,
Edgar Allan Poe,
Elijah Craig,
Elvis Presley,
Harper Lee,
Mardi Gras,
Coca Cola,
Little Debbie,
Jack Daniel’s,
Wild Turkey,
George Dickel,
Maker’s Mark,
Jim Beam,
Krispy Kreme,
barbecue,
grits,
hushpuppies,
butter beans, pinto beans, and black eyed peas.
cornbread,
collard greens,
strawberry shortcake,
banana pudding,
sweet potato pie,
shrimp boil,
crawdads/mudbugs,
various hams, bacons, & sausages,
Key lime pie,
Vidalia onions,
bread and butter pickles,
the Kentucky Derby,
NASCAR,
Hunter S. Thompson,
John Grisham,
Flannery O’Connor,
Tennessee Williams,
Truman Capote,
Robert Penn Warren,
Margaret Mitchell,
Buddy Holly,
Little Richard,
Fats Domino,
Bo Diddley,
Ray Charles,
James Brown,
Otis Redding,
Carl Perkins,
Jerry Lee Lewis,
Hank Williams,
Willie Nelson,
Waylon Jennings,
Johnny Cash,
The Allman Brothers Band,
Lynyrd Skynyrd,
ZZ Top,
38 Special,
R.E.M.,
Pylon,
The B-52’s,
Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys,
the Stanley Brothers,
Lester Flatt &
Earl Scruggs,
Hugo Black,

and yes, Robert E. Lee… the only man in history to have never received not even one demerit while attending the United States Military Academy, also known as West Point.

There are other individuals and traditions too numerous to mention.

In fact, the South has more culture than cave full of blue cheese and mushrooms!

Part of our collective of traditions is a dietary one. Some folks mistakenly believe that “deep fried” is the staple hallmark of Southern Cuisine. I have news for those folks – IT IS NOT!

Sure, we’re renown for our fried catfish, chicken and hushpuppies, but frankly, I have never seen more “deep fried” anything than when I saw it in Minnesota. My God! Who knew it was possible to deep fry a stick of butter, dill pickle or candy bar!? Having sampled a deep fried candy bar, I can attest – it’s horrible. Stay the Hell away from ’em!

Having suffered through all that, the point I wanted to share is this: I had an extremely unpleasant experience in the kitchen recently. It was one of making biscuits.

True Southern cooks take immense pride in making their soft, fluffy biscuits. And I can attest, that not everyone who claims to make “angel biscuits” can. Frankly, some are – in my opinion – damned by the Almighty. So don’t believe everything you read. Trust your taste.

Rarely do I ever use a recipe… allow me to clarify – rarely do I follow a recipe to the letter. I have found that, for the greatest part, recipes are broad general guidelines for the creation of meal item, rather than an exact do-or-die, make-or-break proposition.

Having so acknowledged, I should have known better than to have followed a recipe for “Southern Biscuits” to the letter. Well, almost to the letter. I added cheese and crushed garlic. The addition of those two ingredients made no difference.

I shan’t share the recipe here – but shall merely mention that “wet” doesn’t mean “wet.”

The reader should be aware that my omission of the recipe site is purposeful and twofold: 1.) to spare their public humilation… just in the case they’re Southern, and 2.) to spare you, the readers of the atrocity.

Having cut in the cold butter, and added the milk, the resulting glop which could only be called “dough” using the broadest of terms, was enough to start the cussin’.

Then, I had to put that accursed mess on a lightly floured board.

Board… okay.

Lightly floured… okay.

The *$B D_)#*((*#$^_@#_(#@((*^Y?/’:?]\!52 “dough” was the &@87438&^?”:_)($!+|~ problem.

It was too wet.

Yeah.

Which meant I had to add flour, and add flour, and add flour.

Thanks for the recipe.

NOT!

I shall pray for the salvation of your wretched cooking soul… I’ve repented of my cussin’.

Next time, I’ll follow my common sense.