The rain had that sideways thing going. not loud. just persistent. like it knew I wasn’t up for much.
I wasn’t planning to cook. wasn’t planning to do anything. Mae had taken the good blanket and the remote. The dog was asleep in the exact spot I wanted to collapse into. And I couldn’t stand another night of cereal.
The Martha Stewart biscuit recipe was stuck to the fridge with a magnet from Provincetown. the one that never sits straight. I’d copied it down months ago on the back of a bank envelope—flour, baking powder, salt, butter, milk. Nothing poetic. But something about the simplicity… I don’t know. I just needed to stir something.
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness’s version is everything you’d expect. just enough structure to make you feel guilty for winging it.
She says 1 ¾ cups flour, 2 ½ teaspoons baking powder, a full teaspoon of coarse salt. six tablespoons of chilled butter, diced with robotic precision. then ¾ cup milk, probably from a happier cow than mine.
You whisk. you cut the butter in “with two knives or a fork” until it looks like coarse meal. then milk, slow. then you knead. but not too much.
Roll to three-quarters of an inch, cut into rounds, bake at 450 until golden.
She says you can freeze them. She doesn’t say what to do if you’re already frozen inside.
What I Did Differently
I didn’t measure the salt. just guessed.
I used salted butter because I always forget to buy unsalted.
And I used almond milk because the carton was open and smelled… fine.
Also I didn’t chill the butter. it had been sitting out while I stared out the window for twenty minutes thinking about nothing in particular and everything at once.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
I used the green Pyrex bowl I’ve had since college—the one with the chipped lip that catches your sleeve if you’re not careful.
Flour went in. I stirred. forgot if I’d added the baking powder so maybe added it twice.
Butter clumped instead of crumbling. fork was bent from the last time I tried to mix peanut butter cookies with too little sugar. still worked.
The dough didn’t come together. then suddenly, it did.
Mae wandered in asking if I’d seen her charger. I said no. she didn’t believe me.
I rolled the dough too thin, then too thick. third try was close enough.
Used a wine glass to cut the rounds. it left little suction pops on the counter like polite kisses.
I didn’t re-roll the scraps. just mushed them into one odd lump and baked it anyway. It came out like a biscuit that had something to say.
A Few Things I Learned
Warm biscuits don’t fix tired. but they soften it.
Salted butter works. maybe better. maybe not. I’ll probably never switch back.
Don’t reheat them. eat them warm.
right there by the oven. no plate. just your hands.
What I Did With the Extras
Mae ate two.
I ate three. one standing. two sitting.
The rest went into a tin that used to hold holiday cookies. I found it under the bills. it still smelled like cinnamon.
Would I Make It Again?
Probably tomorrow.
Or maybe next time the rain comes back sideways.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The oven light was the only thing on in the room.
It was quiet. I stayed like that until the dog stirred.
If you want something messier, I did a cheesy potato thing once that looked like a mistake—but fed me anyway.
FAQs
Use a wine glass. or a mug. or tear pieces and pretend it’s rustic. martha would wince. you’ll survive.
No. mine was halfway to melted and it still baked up soft. life’s like that sometimes.
I did. almond milk worked. oat would too. just don’t expect it to taste like grandma’s unless your grandma was vegan and experimental.
When the tops are golden, the bottoms a little louder, and the kitchen smells like comfort.
Check out More Recipes:
- Martha Stewart Onion Rings
- Martha Stewart Zucchini Muffins
- Martha Stewart Zucchini Fritters
- Martha Stewart’S Yorkshire Pudding
Martha Stewart Biscuits
Description
Soft where it matters. salty in the good way. made them tired, made them anyway.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Make the flour mixture: dumped the flour, baking powder, and salt into the green pyrex. whisked with a fork that still had batter from last week’s muffins. didn’t sift. martha would’ve.
- Cut in the butter: added the soft-ish butter. not cold. not melted. somewhere in between. mashed it in with two knives like i was mad at something. it got lumpy. good enough.
- Add the milk: poured in the almond milk slow, like it was fragile. stirred with the same fork. it looked wrong. then it didn’t.
- Shape the dough: turned it out onto the counter without enough flour. it stuck. added more. gently pressed, folded, pressed again. not quite kneading. just convincing.
- Roll and cut: rolled it too thin, then too thick. third time was fine. cut with a wine glass. the dough hissed when it let go. scraps got squished into a bonus biscuit that looked like it had feelings.
- Bake: tossed them onto a parchment-lined sheet like they didn’t care. baked at 450°F until the tops went gold and the kitchen felt full again.
- Serve warm: ate the first one standing. no butter. no plate. just steam and soft salt on my fingers. tasted like something i needed.