A Time to Bake

My mother is put out with me because I won’t date Ashley Judd. “I’m telling you, she’s not going to marry that Scottish fellow,” Mother fusses. I’ve never actually met Ashley Judd, but we’re both from Kentucky, and broadly speaking, we’re both in Hollywood. Now doesn’t that sound like a match? This all started as a joke, but the more Mom repeated it, the more she liked the idea. Now, as far as she’s concerned, Ashley and I’d be kicking back on her farm making biscuits by now if only I weren’t so darn contrary.

Actually, biscuit-making is the one thing I do know Ashley and I have in common. I know this because Esquire profiled her recently and she made biscuits for the writer. His description of her making biscuits was so rapturous you’d think she was doing the dance of the seven veils. But the profile made me realize two things: I hadn’t had a good biscuit in a long time, and in case I ever did get together with Ashley, I’d better work on my technique. At making biscuits, anyway.

For the most part, having biscuits in Los Angeles is like having burritos in Marrakech. They just don’t come out right. Here, they’re too big and too tall, too puffed up with baking powder, with too much middle and not enough crust, and frequently ruined by the addition of sugar. If you have never had a proper “raised” or “baking powder” biscuit, I am sad for you. And I think I can speak for Ashley when I say that she is too.

A good biscuit is a compact thing, about an inch and a half high and three inches in diameter, as opposed to the doughy, steroidal four-inch-high monstrosities you find in local restaurants that are likely to make people call out, “Got milk?” Biscuits should be about 30% crust. They should be crisp and flaky on the outside and moist within, and they’re best served straight out of the oven so that you have to juggle them to keep from burning your hand until you can slit them with a knife and slap in some butter. They’re easy to make, but as I discovered, it takes practice. They’re also about the fastest homemade bread you could ask for. Once you’ve got your chops down, you can whip up the dough in a matter of 10 minutes before slapping the biscuits in the oven for another 15 or 20. Flour, baking powder, salt, shortening and milk: those are the simple ingredients. For shortening, you can use butter or lard, but a lot of folks in biscuit country still swear by Crisco, bless their hearts.

My first couple of batches fell flat. Too dense, too hard, too flat. I began to despair. But one night, after another failed attempt, who do you think came to me in a dream but Miss Ashley Judd herself! She guided me into the kitchen and showed me where I was going wrong. “Lard’s better than butter,” she said. “It makes them lighter. And you’re needling the flour too much! It makes them tough. More milk! You want the dough as wet as you can get it without it falling apart!” And lo, out came the most perfect, beautiful biscuits.

The next day, I told my mother I’d finally been on a date with Ashley Judd. “Honey,” she said, “you’ve been living in California too long.”

Raised Biscuits

Makes 16

2 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons baking powder

1/3 cup shortening (butter, lard or Crisco)

3/4 cup milk

In a mixing bowl, sift dry ingredients. Using your fingers, cut in shortening until mixture has texture of coarse meal. Add milk and stir with a fork until just mixed. Gather dough into a ball and place on a floured surface. Sprinkle with flour to avoid sticking. Roll with a rolling pin to 3/4-inch thickness. Cut with a biscuit cutter into 3-inch rounds, knead scraps together and cut again. Place biscuits on a baking sheet. If desired, brush tops with butter. Bake on the middle shelf of hot oven at 450 degrees for 12 to 15 minutes.

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Food stylist: Christine Masterson.