I have been traveling in the South for about six weeks. Generally I eat the food that is in my RV, but now and then I eat out. I love a hearty late breakfast in a restaurant. When I eat that, I don’t eat the rest of the day except for a light snack later. I particularly love Cracker Barrel breakfasts because I adore their biscuits. I have a ritual. They serve two with breakfast, along with gravy. I like their gravy, but it’s really just the biscuits that I am jonesing for, and not just at Cracker Barrel. I eat one with gravy and the other with jam. Every single time.
I’m finding in my travels in the South that these doughy mounds of goodness are EVERYWHERE. Recently I stayed at a hotel that provided breakfast and they had the same biscuits on their breakfast buffet.
They have become my heroin. All served with warmth and innocence. Butter. Jam. Honey. And a big Southern: Y’all have a good day.
I’m currently camping in a state park. There are no biscuits for miles. For the next 5 days I’m going to eat just the food in my RV fridge. Healthy food, except for a few cookies. Lots of fresh fruit and vegetables.
At one of the first Cracker Barrels I visited on this trip, they weren’t very busy and a clerk followed me all around their Country Store while I browsed. Just followed me. Hovering. Pretending she was straightening shelves. I know she was worried I was going to shoplift something. REALLY?! It made me angry to be treated like any minute I was going to bolt out the door with some cutesy knickknack or vintage candy. And I nearly complained.
But she almost had it right. I have no need or desire for spatulas with pigs on the handles or mugs with witty sayings. But had there been a big basket of biscuits sitting there, I would have committed a crime, stuffing my pockets with them, even as I was handcuffed and hauled away.
My name is Sue Ann and I’m a biscuit addict.
There must be a Biscuits Anonymous somewhere.