Wednesday, August 17, 2011

You Can Take the Girl Out of Georgia...

I wish so very very much that I had a recipe for you today. I would give anything to tell you that I've pulled off an astonishing feat and managed to perfectly recreate that which eludes me. But no. No such luck. I've got absolutey nothing.

I've been out of Atlanta for eight months now and I miss Southern food desperately. It's one of those strange things... you don't realize what you have until you've left. I miss yummy Fluffy Grits, I miss Apple Butter. Heck, I even miss friend Okra. Who on earth misses Okra? But the real kicker, the thing that I'm really pining for, is a light fluffy crisp chewy sugary tangy savory crumbly melty biscuit. A Flying Biscuit to be the most precise.

The Flying Biscuit Cafe is an institution in Atlanta. It's famous for it's biscuits, but they also make dreamy scrambled eggs, awesome lunch items, a baked brie that is out of this world, and some of the best french toast in the world. Many a time, I would swing by on my way home from a morning of work and pick up biscuits for the boy and I. Once, after he was suffering in the middle of a particularly wild bachelor party for a weekend, I picked up a dozen biscuits for him and the other guys to lighten the hangovers and prep them for another day of debauchery.

There are recipes all over the internet for Flying Biscuits, even some sanctioned by Flying Biscuit themselves. But honestly, I have to tell you, they are a sham. You can try all you like but there must be something they just aren't telling you because they are never as good. They never rise as high. They never have that perfectly smooth top that has a little crisp to it. So I'm on the verge of giving up I think. I can't recreate them. I wish so very very much that I could. I wish I could share them with you today.

I gave it another good shot, I really did. I made a nice set of biscuits and they looked quite good going into the oven, but really they were a sham. They were badly dressed impostors with fake mustaches and the wrong perfume. I swear I tried.

Since I can't make them, and you probably can't either (and dear god if you can please tell me how!), the next time you are in Atlanta you should take a detour and, even if you can't stop in for brunch, at least get yourself a Flying Biscuit. Then you'll understand and you'll know what I'm talking about. And then you can be as frustrated as I am!

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