Rising

It’s because of the yeast, the rising that makes a mix turn into bread.

I do not eat much bread these days, but it’s a matter of discipline and foregoing the pleasure of it, not a matter of taste. I love bread. That is why I will wait for it.

My aunt Linda, God rest her soul (truly), had a recipe for Alabama biscuits. They are a favorite. Not biscuits, they are rolls—yeast rolls—that are rolled out then dolloped with butter and then folded over into a crescent shape and allowed to rise.

I like several things about them: 1) the connection with Alabama 2) they are like a crescent moon, rising 3) they are from my aunt 4) that butter in the fold allows them to rise a little further (due to the steam from the water separating from the milk solids in the butter, I suppose, that poofs them a bit 5) they take a little time but are worth it 6) they have few ingredients, really, but taste more complex 7) that is enough reasons.

I have no idea why Aunt Linda called them Alabama biscuits. But it makes a kind of sense these days, as so much does in retrospect, introspect, and prospect.

I can almost feel the rising, and am almost happy to wait for a taste of things to come . . .