Ketchup. Chocolate milk. A disgusting biscuit.
These are the three things I remember about a random sleepover I had with my best friend when I must have been five years old. I don’t know why I remember so vividly except that a vivid memory is my blessing and my curse.
But in any case, I remember sitting in my friend’s kitchen in Bartlett, Tennessee. We were eating sausage biscuits for breakfast. He dipped his in ketchup. We were given glasses of milk, and unrestrained use of the Hershey’s syrup… not a wise thing to give kindergartners, but this was the 1980s and deregulation was politically popular.
And the sausage biscuits, while I could stomach them, just tasted… off. I couldn’t explain why. When my mother picked me up, I mentioned to her that the biscuits we ate tasted off (because that’s an important topic of conversation to a five-year-old).
“Oh, biscuits from a can?” she asked, matter-of-factly. I was shocked. A can? Biscuits came in cans?! And people bought them, even though they tasted like… that?!
Biscuits in my home were made from scratch. They weren’t perfect, of course. My parents were not gourmet chefs, and there were some things they made that I didn’t like. But the biscuits were real. As biscuits should be…