The fondest food memories of my youth are drawn from my grandmother's house.

For 70-plus years my paternal grandmother lived in a large white house on an oak-lined, brick-paved street in my hometown of Hattiesburg, Miss. Her home had 13-foot ceilings, Oriental rugs, crystal chandeliers, European antiques and a window-unit air conditioner in every room. I spent many days propped on a stool in the kitchen next to the window unit watching her fry chicken, roast lamb or roll biscuit dough.

Summer lunches were eaten in the breakfast room. The formal dining room was reserved for special occasion evening meals and Sunday lunches. I spent almost every Sunday lunch for the first 18 years of my life in that dining room.

The Sunday lunch menu was on a revolving schedule. One Sunday we'd eat roast beef, the next week she would serve fried chicken. Turkey and dressing made a once-a-month appearance and was not reserved for Thanksgiving alone. My favorite meal in that house - roasted leg of lamb - was served at least once a month.

The vegetables changed weekly. The starch was usually rice and gravy though mashed potatoes made an appearance on fried chicken day. Iced tea was served in sterling silver goblets and the one constant, week in, week out, were her biscuits. The woman could flat-out bake biscuits.

The biscuits were very small - about the size of a silver dollar - and light, and good. I could eat a dozen of them. Nothing sleeps as hard as a meal of a dozen biscuits, leg of lamb, and rice and gravy for a Sunday afternoon nap.

She served mint jelly on lamb day, but my brother and I always opted for grape jelly - not for the lamb, but for all the biscuits we consumed. We called it "plain jelly." I am not sure why, unless we thought mint jelly was "fancy."

I have tried to replicate her biscuits for years, to no avail. She never wrote down her recipe and unfortunately, I never asked for it. Two cookbooks ago my sous chef and I spent almost two weeks trying to recreate my grandmother's biscuits but hit dead end after dead end.

In the almost 20 years since her death, I have not eaten a biscuit as good as my grandmother's. Until last week.

Last week I was a guest speaker at the Natchez Literary and Cinema Celebration. Included with the admission to my speech was a luncheon following the speech at Stanton Hall's Carriage House Restaurant. On the short drive to the restaurant, my host informed me that the restaurant's specialties were fried chicken and biscuits. I hear this often, and every time I do, I say to myself - good, sure, but not as good as Mam-Maw's.

While eating and visiting with my hosts, someone passed a plate of little biscuits. Even though they were small, I was polite and took only one. I placed it on my plate where I forgot about it until midway through the meal. When I finally took a bite, I was stunned. "That's it!" I said.

"What's it?" said one of my hosts.

"My grandmother's biscuit, this is just like hers. I haven't tasted anything like this in 20 years." My hosts asked the server for one more plate. The server brought two. I threw manners out the window and put three biscuits on my plate. Someone passed the butter and then the man next to me handed me a small bowl of grape preserves - plain jelly.

The rest of the meal's conversation went something like this:

"That was a great speech today, Robert."

(With mouth full) "Would you please pass the biscuits?"

"Robert, how's that diet you've been writing about coming along?"

"Is there any butter left in that bowl? Where's that other plate of biscuits?"

"Robert, I just love when you wrote about the diet devil and the diet angel. That was clever."

"Y'all, I know I'm making a pig of myself, but I think I'll have a few more biscuits."

"Robert, would you like dessert?"

"No, but I'll take a few more of those biscuits. Do you think we could get some more plain jelly?"

Apparently, word of my substantial biscuit consumption made its way to the restaurant's manager, who handed me a recipe card on my way out the door and invited me for a return visit.

I haven't prepared the Carriage House Restaurant's biscuit recipe, yet. But if they're anywhere close to the ones I ate last week in Natchez, a two-decade search is over.

Biscuits

For this week's recipe, Carriage House Restaurant Biscuits, go to the blog on www.robertstjohn.com.

Robert St. John is an author, chef, restaurateur, and world-class eater. He is the author of "A Southern Palate," "Deep South Staples," "Nobody's Poet," "My South," and the newly released "Deep South Parties." He can be reached at www.robertstjohn.com .

Recommended for you

comments powered by Disqus