Ok - I did not grow eating southern food. Period. I do not eat fried food. Period. Or much bread. And Jody is Cajun Southern. And he can & does eat anything & it doesn't stick...so...I had just moved in with him Nov. 2002. Sunday morning, fresh coffee, newspaper, dog fed, how about breakfast? So I get out a tube of biscuits...look at it, read the label, pre-heat the oven, get out the pan...try to open by smacking the darn thing on the edge of the counter...nothing happening...honey, how do you open this, do I use a can opener?....chuckle from the recliner...bring it here he says...see this little silver doo-dad? you peel it...& it opens up the tube...fine I say...so I get the doughy rounds out & figure there are 5 to the tube, stick them in the oven, go take a shower. Jody checks on them after about 7 minutes, opens the oven & says, where are the rest of the biscuits, I see only 5, there are 10 to a tube...I didn't separate them...Ok he says. (by this time I can feel his eyes rolling). So I remove them after 14 minutes &....they're burned on the bottom, golden on top, partially uncooked in the middle - & darn it all if he didn't eat them all & he's been telling my first attempt at baking to anyone who'll listen & laugh...So, fast forward to Feb. 2003, Valentines Day. I went & found the biggest tube of fluffy biscuits & deliberately cooked all 10 (separated out by now), & burned them on purpose to a deep gold, let them cool to harden, decorated 7 with non-toxic glitter glue hearts & initials, strung them up with fishing line & ribbon & left 1 in the freezer (1st place to look for munchies to nuke) as a joke & 2 on the counter...well, Big Dog found the 2 on the counter & took off licking his chops with glitter around his muzzle...Jody got the goods & I got diamonds....he still gets off on telling that story...now I'm on to the remote control-challenged stories...
