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From some memories I'm writing for the kids and the grand kids.
Back around 1950, I remember watching Grandmother cook our breakfast in her huge kitchen at the back of that old house on Grove Street in Fayetteville. I guess her biscuit making was still an integral part of her morning ritual then.With a husband, Six daughters and one son, she always made a giant breakfast every morning. She would put the sausage in the pan to fry and while the patties or links were cooking, she would pull her biscuit bowl out of the pantry. Her biscuit bowl was a long elliptical-shaped wooden bowl she had just for mixing her dough. She would sift out her flour, scoop out a small wedge of lard with her hand from the lard pail and while she worked the lard into the flour with her fingers, she would stop long enough to turn the sausage and make the coffee. You could smell that sausage and coffee cooking all the way out in the middle of the street. Then she would continue with her dough. At some point she would light her old gas oven to preheat, then part the flour and pour in her buttermilk. She would squish the buttermilk in with her flour and lard still using her hands and pull it all together into a ball of soft dough. I know she made grits in there somewhere and set the table. I remember watching her pinch up a little ball of the dough, roll and pat it, then place it in her biscuit pan, then repeat ‘til all the dough was transformed into a pan of “almost ready to cook” biscuits. Just before she put them into the oven, she pressed them together using the knuckles of the first three fingers of her right hand. She slipped them into the oven and while they baked she fried the eggs and poured juice.
When everybody finally came down to breakfast, it was all there: a complete breakfast masterpiece.
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