The urge to buy prepared foods sometimes overtakes me. Usually it's when we're sick and I've forgotten that the last time we had prepared foods, the verdict was I could make better food, cheaper. I forget that latter bit when I'm tired and sick. And, periodically, when the coupons and the sales align when I'm feeling tired and sick, I indulge in prepared foods. Like canned biscuits. Why turn down a great deal and a little help?
Well, I felt yucky after having spent Sunday curled up in the fetal position (eh, in the fetal position as often as possible - please, what mom gets actual sick days?) and decided to make life easier for myself and bought some prepared foods (with my excellent coupons) that only required a hot oven. I am a scratch baker. But sometimes, you just have to throw in the towel and indulge. Or at least take short cuts. So, I did.
That's how the canned biscuits landed in the fridge. An icky, cruddy cold virus has slowly coursed its way through our house. First Little One, then me. Then Middle One. Today Big Kid stayed home from school with pink eye. When I took Middle One to the pediatrician on Monday for pink eye, I learned that pink eye can actually be caused by allergies and cold viruses. Who knew? I digress. The point is we're all a little under the weather and cooking seemed like an insurmountable feat.
Tonight, the kids ate scrambled eggs and the canned biscuits. Grands, to be exact. They taste nasty, to be exact. They have a flat chemical flavor. Gross. I asked the kids if they tasted like the ones I made. They said, "no."
I asked if they liked the canned biscuits. They said, "yes!" Clearly, there's no accounting for taste. They ate the whack biscuits tonight with the same enthusiasm they have for homemade biscuits.
I take comfort in knowing that deep, deep in their hearts, they are storing away the knowledge that their mother cooked from scratch. Someday, when they come home from college and bring their starving roommates with them, it will be with the hope that I will make scratch biscuits because that's what they promised their roommates. Heck, anyone can open up a can. Not everyone can make scratch biscuits. Psssst. Hush. Leave me to my daydream.
Eventually, when this blog has tabs and a special place for recipes, I'll share my preferred biscuit recipe. Then you, too, can daydream about your children sitting in their dorm rooms, pining for your homemade biscuits. Because truly, canned biscuits are nasty.