Immediately upon hearing the word biscuit, I am taken back to my childhood. Good old days of sitting around the table with my mother, father, and two little brothers. My mom would always cook up a storm of meat, vegetables, and potatoes, as well as canned preserves and condiments, all homemade and very comforting. My mother grew up in a family that didn't ever touch things like hotdogs or macaroni and cheese - I don't even think they owned a microwave. They lived in a small Mennonite community just outside of Kitchener founded by one of my German grandfathers back in the 1800's.

As I visualize a tantalizing plate of biscuits, the picture just wouldn't be complete without a bowl of vegetable dumplings, roast beef, chicken, and a side of gravy - not necessarily all together. That would be quite the filling meal! On the other hand, they were also amazing with a tall glass of milk or something warm, like apple cider. You could drizzle them with maple syrup, honey, or homemade fruit-preserves and jam - they are one of ultimate comfort foods.

Although the biscuits that my mother used to make were very easily put together using flour, shortening, milk, salt, and baking soda, the taste was really something else. They just had that melt in your mouth flavor that couldn't be beat. It was as though they were carefully perfected and ingredients carefully measured and mixed with care, although most of the time they were just "thrown together". She always told me that the trick to a great biscuit was the absence of a lot of mixing and handling of the dough.

Whenever we would eat these biscuits, the smell would just permeate through the entire household. You always knew when dinner was ready by simply using your nose. Have you ever walked past a bread bakery and found yourself drooling as the air was filled with the smell of warm and fresh baked breads? That was me at 5 o'clock - sitting at the table, and licking my lips.

This biscuit was perfect in almost every aspect. They were put into the oven as small hand-cut circles, but when they came out of the oven they were large puffy biscuits just begging you to have a taste. The outside was crispy and golden brown, and it was as if they were made to be accompanied by butter - because as soon as you tried to tear it into two, they separated at the seam with a short burst of warm steam.

As I dab the two halves with butter, I would quickly push the two halves back together with my hands and wait a few seconds. When I pulled them apart again, the butter was completely melted and I took a big bite.

At first, you get that lovely crunch from the outside, but almost immediately you are exposed to the warm, soft insides of this doughy piece of perfection. It was moist, buttery, and had just the right amount of saltiness. Before you know it, that piece of heaven is gone, and you find yourself buttering and digging into another one - feeling its moist tenderness almost melt into your taste buds. The only downside was that my mother didn't seem to ever make enough, as they were always the first thing to disappear.

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