Hangover Biscuits - Carbs by Laura Goodman
#FiftyTwoCookbooks Week Five
Last night’s accidental inebriation began with a martini at about 5pm, and ended with a glass of Chardonnay on the sofa at I don’t know when. These two drinks bookended three sorts of Italian wine - fizzy, red and sweet - and rum. Some rum. Whilst not quite the full body and soul existential crisis hangover, I was rendered quite, quite useless for the first part of the day. That is, until biscuits.
American-style biscuits seem to have failed to graduate from novelty in the UK. Firstly, I suppose, there is the nomenclature issue: we Brits eat biscuits with tea. They come in cylindrical packets, or sometimes in tins. They are crunchy and comforting and remind us of childhood. We each have a favourite, and we will defend those biscuits to the death against anyone who disagrees with us. Mine’s a chocolate hobnob: milk, not dark.
And then there are the descriptive hurdles we face when trying to explain precisely what an American biscuit is, and therefore its purpose. They’re often likened to scones but, other than a shared leavening agent, the resemblance is no more than passing. As a nation, our fondness for scones is surpassed only by our commitment to biscuits (English style), so the American counterpart stands even less chance of making headway on this front.
So they remain a novelty. We are aware of them in sitcoms or movies, but have not embraced them. We know them mainly because they are neither biscuit, nor scone and should, therefore, remain the preserve of our trans-Atlantic cousins. Much like (American) football and high fructose corn syrup.
My first and until this week, only, experience of eating US-style biscuits is a memory I hold dear. Back in the heady days of summer 2019, a young Ohio native called Brian came to spend a few weeks with us in the kitchen at Vanderlyle. He and I had met a year previously when we cooked together in Ethiopia’s Simien Mountains, where I was working for a month while between restaurants. We stayed in touch, and he went on to graduate from the Culinary Institute of America and took full advantage of the ‘have knives, will travel’ philosophy – and happily it was only a matter of time before he asked to drop by Mill Road and cook with us.
His visit coincided with high summer, when the air is still and the mood languid, when time moves like treacle and the heat bounces up from the pavements. At the end of his visit he cooked the team breakfast one glorious Saturday morning and made us biscuits – American-style. Short, crumbly and bread-like, accompanied by a savoury gravy - more of a veloute, really - made from mushroom stock. A neat, round, tasty puck and a perfect food moment.
I was reminded of this whilst reading Laura Goodman’s Carbs, this week’s cookbook that’s a glorious love letter to bread, pasta, potatoes and all things starchy, delicious, filling and comforting. It’s a wholesome hug of a book that has no qualms about eulogising this oft-maligned food group. Even without the nefarious fingers of a hangover probing at my brain and belly, her recipe for breakfast biscuit sandwiches would have been a contender. As things transpired, it became the only dish I could think about.
I’d made the biscuits themselves the day before, using some leftover whey from a batch of labneh that we’re currently serving as part of the bread course at Vanderlyle (Goodman suggests using buttermilk). The next morning, I just about managed to cobble together the fillings after a mug of tea set me back on the correct path. A herby Cumberland sausage, wilted spinach freshened with a squeeze of lemon, sliced cheese and an egg, whisked and cooked into a firm omelette. Fearing one biscuit stack would be insufficient, I made two and then retired to the sofa to spend an hour watching Stanley Tucci saunter around Puglia. Comforted inside and out, with biscuits present and memories of biscuits past to ease my journey back to full health.
