Now, Adam, my husband, told me childhood stories of his momma making homemade biscuits all the time, walked into the kitchen. He asked, “whatcha doing” and I said with a sense of Rock Mount and Magnolia baking confidence, “making homemade buttermilk biscuits”, I answered. His face lit up as he said, “it took you 15 years to cook me some homemade biscuits, I’m excited.” I laughed and kept on with my ambitious desires. I continued to stir together all ingredients and began to knead the dough, neatly placing the unusual loose dough on the baking sheet. They’ll be delicious, as I shoved them in the preheated oven, I giggled. The biscuit aroma began to fill the kitchen and Adam’s nose. Beep, times up they’re done! But for some reason they looked like cookies, as Adam voice sounded pass my ear, they do don’t they. But he quickly grabbed the knife and the grape jelly and buttered the biscuit cookies like they were his momma’s, probably to stay married and I just stirred wonder why they looked like flat cookies, crispy on the edges and soft in the middle.