Crusty Dinner Biscuits

The countdown. Isaiah's move to Charlotte in two weeks. Jasmine goes straight back to Howard from her internship. Marcus returns to Morehouse in three weeks. And Zoe — my last one, my compass — starts 10th grade and becomes a girl who is here but also becoming someone who will eventually leave, because that's what children do. You raise them to leave. The success is in the leaving. The grief is also in the leaving.

I've been shopping for Isaiah's move — the kitchen things Derek doesn't think about. A small set of pots. A cutting board. A bag of rice. Olive oil. A container of my spice blend. An apron — plain black, embroidered with his initials: I.M. Isaiah Mitchell. My stepson's initials on an apron I sewed while watching television. The domesticity of love.

Curtis has been having more bad days than good. Left side aching. Doesn't sleep well. Doesn't complain — he'll go to his grave without complaining, which is both admirable and infuriating. I made Mama's chicken and dumplings Thursday. He ate a full bowl. The grimacing paused. I'll take any pause I can get.

The cookbook: fifty-three recipes. Started thinking about structure — by course? By season? I'm leaning toward life event. "When You're Celebrating" — fried chicken, cobbler. "When You're Grieving" — chicken and dumplings, pound cake. "When Tuesday Needs Something" — sheet pan dinners. Food organized not by what it is but by what it's for. Because that's how Mama cooked. She didn't cook chicken because it was a chicken night. She cooked chicken because someone needed chicken.

I can’t always make everything from scratch on the hard days — but I can always make biscuits. When I set that bowl of chicken and dumplings in front of Curtis on Thursday, these were right beside it, still warm from the oven, the kind of thing that doesn’t ask anything of you except to pull one apart and let it do its work. Mama always said the bread on the table tells people you were thinking of them before they even sat down. That’s what I needed Curtis to feel.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 14 minutes | Total Time: 24 minutes | Servings: 10 biscuits

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
3/4 cup cold whole milk or buttermilk
1 tablespoon melted butter, for brushing

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 425°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.
Whisk the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar until evenly combined.
Cut in the butter. Add the cold butter cubes to the flour mixture. Using your fingertips or a pastry cutter, work the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs with some pea-sized pieces remaining — don’t overwork it. Cold butter is what gives you that flaky, crusty exterior.
Add the milk. Pour in the cold milk and stir gently with a fork just until the dough comes together. It will look shaggy and that’s exactly right. Overworking the dough will make the biscuits tough.
Shape the biscuits. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and gently pat it to about 3/4-inch thickness. Use a 2 1/2-inch round cutter or the rim of a glass to cut out biscuits, pressing straight down without twisting. Gather scraps, pat out once more, and cut remaining biscuits.
Bake. Arrange biscuits on the prepared baking sheet so their sides are just touching — this helps them rise tall. Brush the tops with melted butter. Bake for 12–14 minutes, until the tops are deep golden and the edges are set and crusty.
Serve warm. Transfer to a clean towel or bread basket and serve immediately alongside soup, stew, or chicken and dumplings. These are best the day they’re made.

Nutrition (per serving)

Crusty Dinner Biscuits — The Thing You Make When Someone Needs Something Warm