Buttermilk Biscuits

June, and the summer arrives without Mama for the first time in five years. The summer is the same — the heat, the humidity, the marsh alive — but the same is different, because the same includes the absence, and the absence is now part of the sameness, woven into the fabric of the days the way a dark thread is woven into a light cloth: always present, always visible, changing the pattern without destroying it.

I visited Joy every Saturday, as I have for four years, as I will for as long as she is at Magnolia House and I am able to drive. I brought peach cobbler. Joy ate three servings. She did not ask about Mama this week. The not-asking is either forgetting or accepting, and I cannot tell the difference, and the inability to tell the difference is the particular burden of loving a person whose mind does not process loss the way other minds do: Joy may have forgotten that Mama is gone, or Joy may have accepted that Mama is gone, and the result is the same — the cobbler is eaten, the Saturday is complete, the visit is the love.

James finished his second year of law school. He called on Friday and said, "Two down, one to go," and the counting was the progress, and the progress was the evidence that life continues its forward motion even when the people who launched you forward are no longer watching. Mama is not watching James become a lawyer. But James is becoming one, and the becoming is the tribute, and the tribute does not require the witness. It requires only the becoming.

Robert has been gardening with increased devotion — the garden that Mama watched, the garden that Robert planted for her, the garden that now blooms for an audience of two but that Robert tends as if the audience were thousands. The tending is the memorial. The memorial is not in stone. It is in soil.

I made tomato sandwiches — the June dish, the Johns Island tomatoes, the simplicity that the summer demands. The sandwich was lunch. The lunch was Tuesday. The Tuesday was the life. And the life was simple and beautiful and brief, the way tomatoes are simple and beautiful and brief.

The tomato sandwich I described — Johns Island tomatoes, bread, the bare simplicity of a Tuesday lunch — is nothing without the vessel that holds it, and around here, that vessel has always been a buttermilk biscuit. Mama made them without measuring. I measure, because I am not her yet, but I am working toward it. These biscuits are what I set beside the tomatoes that afternoon, and the making of them was the same kind of memorial as Robert’s garden: tending something with your hands, for an audience that may or may not be watching, because the tending itself is the point.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 12–15 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 10–12 biscuits

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon fine salt
1 teaspoon sugar
6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
3/4 cup cold buttermilk, plus 1–2 tablespoons more if needed
1 tablespoon melted butter, for brushing

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 450°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or leave it ungreased.
Mix the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and sugar until evenly combined.
Cut in the butter. Add the cold cubed butter to the flour mixture. Using a pastry cutter or your fingertips, work the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs with some pea-sized pieces remaining. Work quickly so the butter stays cold.
Add the buttermilk. Pour in 3/4 cup cold buttermilk and stir gently with a fork just until the dough comes together. Do not overmix. If the dough seems dry, add buttermilk one tablespoon at a time.
Shape the biscuits. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Pat gently to about 3/4-inch thickness — do not use a rolling pin. Fold the dough over itself once or twice, then pat back to 3/4-inch thickness. Cut with a 2 1/2-inch round cutter, pressing straight down without twisting. Gather scraps and repeat.
Bake. Place biscuits on the prepared baking sheet with sides just touching for soft edges, or spaced apart for crispier sides. Bake for 12–15 minutes, until risen and golden on top.
Finish and serve. Brush hot biscuits with melted butter as soon as they come out of the oven. Serve warm alongside sliced tomatoes, jam, or simply on their own.

Nutrition (per serving)

Buttermilk Biscuits — The Simplicity That Summer Demands