How To Make A Biscuit

It was Biscuit Saturday and I was very excited (and hungry). For almost a year, every Saturday I would try a new recipe in hopes of landing our favorite. On this particular Biscuit Saturday, the biscuits looked extremely promising. They had a good rise, an enticing golden-brown hue on top, and smelled delicious. My family had already started to eat by the time I sat down, and I was surprised to see my husband had only taken one bite of his biscuit. “Weird, he must really be into scrambled eggs this morning,” I thought to myself. I spread salted (always salted) butter on one half, then butter and jam (always blackberry) on the other and take my first bite. Ummm, soap. “This tastes like metal soap,” I think, disgusted. I am pregnant though, so I’m sure that’s it. Try again. I force my way through the metallic breakfast treat, making it half way before I look at Logan and his abandoned biscuit. He meets my horrified gaze and says, “Yeah, these are terrible.” I rush back to the counter and scan the ingredient list, matching it to the items I used. In case you’re wondering, 100% baking soda was used instead of the called for baking powder. Fail. And when everyone has been anticipating biscuits all morning, a decently epic fail.

The good news is we eventually found our favorite biscuit recipe (below!) and perhaps more importantly, this experience added to my (never ending) list of “cooking lessons for my heart.” Before we jump to the best biscuits ever, I thought I would share three ways in which I have failed while cooking for others (more disastrous than baking soda) and three kinds of heart postures I long for the Lord to work in me instead. 

The Pitfalls

Grumbling About the Guests

Tuesday, 5pm. Squabbling toddler, crying baby, snarky mom, husband not home from work for another half hour. Tonight, we’re trying stir-fry with a side of grump. Chicken and veggies blistering on high, a sweet and sour orange ginger sauce thickening in the saucepan. It wasn’t too difficult to throw together, but why’d I even do it? The mood in the room is as thick as my sauce, intensified by my inner-cynic saying, “You know they won’t eat it without a fuss.” I think to myself, “Why can’t they just whole-heartedly enjoy the food I make? Why can’t they be like that ‘other family’? You know, the family with the kids who request sushi and seaweed chips?” Mid stir-fry stir, my inner dialogue comes to a halt as the Holy Spirit nudges my heart. “Grumbling about the grumblers, eh? Nice log in your eye, Stace.”

Maybe it’s not grumbling kiddos that tempt your heart. Maybe, it’s the guests you invited, and the work that goes into hosting them. Maybe, it’s your spouse, who scarfs down the food without mentioning a word of thanks. The list could go on, but when you are cooking for others, those “others” can easily turn into a means of grumbling for your own heart, even when they are doing nothing wrong. 

Grumbling About the Gift

There’s nothing like a fresh tomato from the farmers market in the summertime. It tastes so entirely different than a winter supermarket one, you could argue they are different fruits altogether. While it’s fine to hunt for the best food you can possibly find, there’s a danger lurking. And, once again, it has to do with a grumbling heart. This time, it’s grumbling about the gift of the food you are cooking with. “I wish I had more variety to work with than this.” Or, “Why can’t I cook with all organic ingredients?” Or simply, “This food is boring.” This is a rut that I get into all too easily. 

My Identity as the Main Dish

Sadly, the third pitfall I can fall into is thinking of myself as an actual (well, figurative) component of the meal. My identity as the main dish, if you will. Food tastes delicious? I beam with pride. Food tastes underwhelming? I bristle with self-defensiveness (must have been a bad recipe). Hosting a dinner? Anxiety over how the food will taste. 

Yucky right? 

If we believe in Jesus—that he really does liberate every area of our lives by his atoning work on the cross—then this area of cooking for others will not go untouched. Because of Jesus there is a different way. A happier way. 

The Remedies

Gratitude for the Guests

“When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (Matthew 9:36). What a powerful image this is to me. Needy sheep and a compassionate and willing Shepherd. Over and over again in the Gospels we see people coming to Jesus, hungry and desperate. They were physically and spiritually hungry. And Jesus moved to them. Not grumbling, but filled with compassion and love. I want to be like this. 

When my heart starts to chatter complaints about my guests, it is helpful for me to simply start thanking God for them. They are his beautiful creation and they are here (with me!)! How gracious, that the Lord can use me to meet some of their needs in this simple way of cooking for them. Funny enough, every time I thank God for my guests my heart shifts into seeing how much they are actually the ones blessing me!

Gratitude for the Gift

This one is quite simple. Am I thankful for this food? As simple as it may be, am I thankful for the grilled cheese dinner tonight? (Real quick: Try browning your butter before you cook the sandwich and sprinkle a little salt and sugar on the outside slices of bread. Gold.) Is it cereal? An apple? Think through all that had to happen to get that into your hand. Think of the sun and the rain, the farmers, the truck drivers, and the merchants. What. A. Gift. 

And if we really believe that Jesus is our righteousness—that our standing before God is unchanged whether we pop in a frozen pizza or make beef bourguignon—then shouldn’t we be grateful for the frozen pizza just as we are for the homemade stew in a rich wine sauce? We do not earn points by cooking one thing or another. We are not better in Gods eyes for making impressive dishes. We should be thankful for all his provision.  

Gratitude to the Giver

Finally, the basic underlying posture while we cook should be thanksgiving to God. “He gives food to every creature. His love endures forever” (Psalm 136:25). He thought of the tangy orange, bitter cocoa, sweet honey, spicy radishes, earthy sage. He didn’t have to make hundreds of thousands of edible plants for us to enjoy. But he did. And He gave us senses and creative minds to make meals with these ingredients. God is not stingy nor is any of our cooking about us. It is about the giver of all good gifts: God, our Creator and kind Father. 

So, if you do end up burning the roast or your hard labor is rewarded in “soap biscuits,” it’s okay to have a laugh, pour some cereal and try again tomorrow. “Better a small serving of vegetables with love than a fattened calf with hatred” (Proverbs 15:17). Or, “Better is cereal served by a happy host for happy eaters, than the best buttermilk biscuits served by a grumbling, discontent chef.” 

All this being said, below is the recipe for biscuits that, if made joyfully (with baking powder) and served lovingly, may just be the best things you ever did taste.