Tough Biscuits

For those who know my mother understand she’s a great cook. It’s not chauvinistic to point out her ability to maneuver and create edible art in the kitchen. My brother and I have learned a whole hell of a lot through our 30-plus years to keep our hands and feet working in our own settings.

It’s only appropriate to turn one small food error into an inside joke.

This past Sunday, Father’s Day, she decided to make ribs for dinner. While shopping she had to abandon the usual go-to ribs for another kind. They were guaranteed by the grocery meat minion to be just as good if not better.

Long story short, the ribs turned out subpar. I consumed my share, and the amount of tender delicousness pulled off was minimal.

How are they? she asked.

Not good, I said. They tasted fine, but there was barely any meat on them.

I figured it the serving I took was the only affected, but everyone was unimpressed. Think of Christmas Vacation dinner: Everyone is exaggerating and gnawing on bones, and a dog named Snot is hacking up a lung under the table.

Like any Italian, the only thing left was to get revenge…

…or get her money back.

My brother, sister and I received a group text the next morning:

IMG_0229

I’m usually the one to bring up the “hockey puck” biscuits. The batch of expected soft, buttery carb balls turned out to be harder than rocks. This was decades ago; my brother and I had to have been in early double-digit ages at the time. If that moment took place in biblical times, she would have been stoned to death by her creations. For the remainder of the meal, Michael and I clanged the rolls against the plates and tapped them with our forks.

However, let it be repeated, this incident was the first (purposely) misconstrued mess-up in family history.

Through the years we two sons would casually sling shots at our mom when timing was right. Who would have know the ghosts of these edible yet non-chewable biscuits would haunt her for years for decades to this very day?

It’s OK, mom. We tease you because we love you. The grocer meat minion, however, isn’t getting off as easily.

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