There are not enough hours in the day to do all of the things I would love to do for my family, so I sometimes compromise like with this canned dough. I always think of my maternal grandmother, or the lady I knew as my grandmother, when I make biscuits whether from they be from scratch or canned.
One of my earliest memories is of "helping" Grandma Ada make biscuits. I guess I was around 3-5 years old. She did not used canned dough like the ones in my image. She made hers from scratch and let me stand in a chair beside her as she worked in her kitchen with the pantry full of fig preserves and the turn of the century farmhouse sink that had built in drainboards.
After she had the biscuits in the pan, she flattened them with the back of her fingers and then instructed me to poke a hole in the middle of each one. I did as I was instructed and asked why. She told me it made them cook faster.
I was all for that because after they were done, Grandpa Floyd would share his treasured molasses. He'd pour that dark, sweet goodness over the warm biscuits. Then, all three of us would enjoy our snack chatting together in the warm and sunny kitchen with windows overlooking the huge pecan trees in the front yard.
I don't know if it is because of the hole, but my biscuits are always done in the middle when I poke them. I often do it now out of gratitude for the happy memories I have of being with her on her farm when I was a young girl. My girls enjoyed the story when I taught them to do it too.
