That was a failure.
Let me say that after experiencing the Haggis meal [made by a BOY none the less], I thought I [a well trained Southern lady] should contribute to our next team meal- Sunday brunch.
What is more American [and easy but awesome] than Monkey Bread?
Just in case you don’t know, Monkey Bread is merely canned biscuits, cut into fourths, dipped in cinnamon sugar, and placed in a bundt pan. Then you pour melted butter and brown sugar over it and bake in the oven.
Simple. Delish. Impossible to mess up. [ay de mi.]
First problem- no bundt pan. I’m creative. I’m 30. I’m a cook. I can adjust. So we’ll use a square pan + a 9×13. No biggie.
Second problem- no canned biscuits in the whole of Scotland. Hey- my Dad has a killer buttermilk biscuit recipe that I have seen him make 100 times if I’ve seen it once. I’ll just do that. Doneski.
Third problem- no buttermilk. Worse things have happened. Add a splash of vinegar to regular milk, my aunt tells me, and you are good to go. Bueno.
Fourth problem- no sifter for the dry ingredients. [some would have taken a hint at this point, but not this ole gal] Ummm, I’ll just drag the fork back and forth through the flour a few times. That’s like sifting, right?
Well. I would not be deterred. So I pressed on through my troubles, like an antebellum lady [Lady Antebellum?] should do. And we made the biscuits.
Leigh Ann and I got to work cutting them and sugaring them.
Then we put them in the pan, because surely this is going to work / those problems weren’t enough to stop me / don’t these biscuits know who my grandmother is?
And according to all visual speculation, these biscuits were obedient to their calling.
But the flavor was found lacking.
The sugar didn’t stick like it was supposed to while the brown sugar and butter mixture didn’t quite travel like it normally does. Newsflash: sifting dry ingredients actually makes a MASSIVE difference in texture. And I’m not going into the buttermilk making business because I’m fairly certain I screwed that up too.
I mean, my sweet Scottish friends ate it. But I think they mainly did that for the same reasons that you may let a child “fix your hair.” [Pity. Plain pity.] Let’s just say I felt like I had made Buddy The Elf’s spaghetti breakfast.
Humility, thy name is Monkey Bread.
And if my return flight wasn’t already booked through Atlanta, I fear Georgia would not let me back in after this biscuit incident.
On a more positive monkey note, please watch this video. As mentioned on facebook, I spent a portion of my Saturday watching this and laughing.
Well. That should make your Monday just fine.
How was your weekend?