My grandmother Emma Mae Stigall, 10 yrs old.
I can’t tell you about these biscuits without telling you about my grandmother, Emma Mae “Dood” Stigall.
Chewing the Fat…
Grandmothers for many are the first saints we know. They’ve got enough lived experience to produce wisdom and demand a level of reverence from even the wildest of grandchildren. Growing up, my grandparents were part of my everyday life. They lived within an earshot of our homes (we lived in front of them in a trailer when I was small and behind them when my parents built a house a few years later). “Dood” (her nickname) was the wife of a farmer meaning she kept to a farmer’s schedule herself. She rose early to cook and bake, and by the time I got old enough to pay attention to that schedule, I saw she’d purposefully try and get her work done early in the day so that she could “lie down” in the afternoon and watch her “stories.” You’d want to call it a day at 3pm too if you woke before most roosters.
My grandmother’s presence in the kitchen was well polished. Proficiency at her craft was the sought goal. While I believe she took pride in her cooking, part of which included hearing people “dote on” on about it, attempting to pass on her skills to her children/grandchildren just wasn’t a priority. My mother told me once of a memory where she asked my grandmother if she’d show her how to make biscuits. Her response went something like, “No, because if I show you how you’ll have to make them the rest of your life.” There’s a lot to unpack there. Societal norms and expectations being part of that discussion for sure. My mother never got the recipe and as far as I know no one else in the family did either.
My grandmother with my grandfather, Calvin “Bun” Stigall, on their wedding day 1943.
I knew starting this baking and cooking journey I’d be in search of much of what I tasted in my grandmother’s kitchen. Corn bread, chili beans, biscuits, etc…There’s life-giving memories there. Intertwined with the thought and care she put in her dishes. I’m searching for those memories in my experimenting, looking to reconnect with my grandmother and the food that made it’s way onto her table and to our family. Alright, enough Chewing the Fat for now…
This recipe is extremely close to what I remember. I’ve piece-mealed it the best I can . I can’t imagine my grandmother using this much butter, pretty sure she probably used shortening, but the method and look is what makes it distinctly hers. I’ve dubbed them table biscuits because of how well they can be presented; straight from the oven, still in the skillet, onto the table for folks to grab.
Preheat you oven to 450 degrees.
Ingredients needed
2.5 cups of self rising flour (I weigh out about 280g worth), 1/2 tsp of kosher salt, 1 stick of chilled/cold butter (sliced into pads and then quartered OR your butter can be frozen and grated), One cup of buttermilk. And it’s not a bad idea to keep extra flour & buttermilk handy.
Whisk your flour and salt together in a decent size bowl. Add in your butter, the above picture is how I “pad and quarter” mine, and work it into the mixture with a pastry cutter. When the butter is about the size of small peas, make a well and add the buttermilk. If you use a grater you can obviously skip this step.
I use a spatula to combine the wet/dry ingredients making sure to pull in the dough that might want to stick to the outside of the mixing bowl. Once you have a nice clump of dough, dust the top of it a bit with some extra flour and flour your hands too as the dough will probably be a bit on the wet side and wanting to stick to your fingers.
Grab a cast iron skillet and rub it down with a bit of butter. “Pinch” off a piece of dough and lightly mold it into a biscuit like shape. Place along the outer edge of the skillet and just keep at it until you make a complete circle. The way I do it sees the biscuits touch each other on the sides, but there’s a small hole left in the middle. The batches I make produce about 5-6 large biscuits. The pic above is when I rotated them around the 7 minute mark, yours wont be that big when you first put them in there!
Place in your oven. The oven at the parsonage takes about 15 minutes to bake these on the middle rack. Again rotate the pan around the halfway point.
Take them out when they have a nice brown top. I brush mine with a bit of melted butter on the top for good measure.
After making these biscuits several times I noticed something that was very much a characteristic of my grandmother; nothing goes to waste. Where other biscuit recipes produce scraps or leftovers/reworked dough, Dood’s does not. Every bit of the dough is used which speaks to my grandmother’s experience of being a child during the Great Depression where every resources needed to be maximized.
One Last Chew…
“My biscuits ain’t fancy, but my family likes them,” was what my grandmother used to say about her biscuits. There was a humbleness about this, but enough people complimented them that there was little doubt of them being something special. In fact just about everything she made was exceptionally good. Once at the dinner table my still “sorta new to the family” uncle was asked by my grandmother if he was going to try any of her such and such. He mistakenly asked if what she pushing on him was any good. My mother interjected before my grandmother had the chance and said, “When have you ever had something of my mamma’s that wasn’t good?” For a fella who was a bit of loudmouth and often needed the last cute word he nodded and let out a sheepish, “Never.”
My grandparents on their 50th Wedding Anniversary, 1993
There’s a understood southern defense known as the “Aw-shucks” method. It’s where southerners hold their cards or expertise close to their chest. Some times it’s done as to not seem uppity or pretentious. Other times it’s because we want to see how far the person who’s talking will carry on about something we obviously know more about then they do. And then there is that humble component that those in the Appalachian region seem to inherit and carry; you don’t brag on yourself if you can help it. My grandmother’s cooking was something that was bragged about, but never by her. She would have probably never called her cooking a “calling” or gift but that’s what it was. I’m sure she’d think it silly for me to go on and on about how special her food was or how her kinfolk and neighbors were lucky to reap the rewards of her kitchen labor. However, I hope she sees what I’m doing with what she gave me; a call to cook for those you love and feed those that need something to eat. I’m sure she’d give a bit of a chuckle at knowing her biscuits have found their way to Vermont where I’ve shared them with church folks who pour maple syrup on them, with folks who are transplants like me from far off lands like Alabama who had similar saintly figures in their lives, and even those through social media platforms who requested the recipe so they could make it with there “breakfast for supper” meal that evening.
Maw-maw, your “not fancy” biscuits are making the rounds. And I’m pretty sure more then just your family will and do like them.
Wiping tears,
~tBSB