The Last Biscuit

I'm a Southern Black chick who grew up on fried chicken and gravy and biscuits and honey. Biscuits were more than just food in my family; they were love, tradition, and comfort all rolled into one. My grandmother’s kitchen was a place where history was kneaded into the dough, where the smell of Crisco and flour meant something warm and wonderful was on the way. When she announced she was making biscuits, we knew we were in for a real treat.

An hour later, our little kitchen table would be graced with light, golden brown, handmade rounds of deliciousness that lingered in our smiles long after breakfast was over. To this day, I don’t know anyone who doesn’t love biscuits. But lately, I’ve been thinking about them differently.

As of late, “biscuits” have taken on a different meaning. The word has become a pejorative term used to disparage African Americans who are seen as too compliant with the white power structure. When Herschel Walker went on TV defending Trump against accusations of racism, people said he was “serving up biscuits.” And then there’s this Bojangle’s business.

Bojangles—the fried chicken chain—was started by two white men from the South. The name itself has roots in Black entertainment history, with Black tap dancers often adopting the moniker “Bojangles.” Put Bojangles and biscuits together, and you have something that feels like a stereotype wrapped up in a biscuit box—Black folks and fried chicken, servility, and the echoes of minstrelsy. And yet, for years, I never gave it much thought. It was just a stop on a road trip, a place to grab something familiar and delicious. But now, I see it differently.

For years, when my sweetie and I road-tripped to Hilton Head, he made sure we stopped in Virginia for his favorite: Bojangles chicken and biscuits with honey. Of course, I went along with it, no questions asked. I liked fried chicken; I loved biscuits — what was there to question? But over the years, I have come to manage food differently. What I believe about food has changed. I’ve stopped eating fried foods, excessive carbs, and highly processed meals. I’ve started thinking deeply about my food choices and how they serve me — or not.

So, when Tony mentioned our traditional Bojangles stop, I had to take a closer look at what I was really participating in. In that moment, I resisted ordering a biscuit and felt proud of myself, but I also felt deprived. I fought against not just a five-year road trip habit with him, but decades of associating biscuits with love, family, and my grandmother’s warmth.

What a difference time makes.

The next year, when we pulled into Bojangles, I realized I wasn’t resisting the pull of the biscuit. I simply didn’t want it. Not even a little. I was slightly hungry, but not tempted — not by the smell, not by nostalgia. Even if I had been starving, I wouldn’t have wanted it. It was like running into someone I had once been madly in love with and feeling nothing but indifference. That moment was monumental. It wasn’t about a biscuit — it was about growth, freedom, and stepping into a new identity where food didn’t control me.

Tradition had been broken, but our relationship remained intact. Tony got his chicken biscuit, which he enjoyed. I got coffee, which I enjoyed. And we kept it moving. It turns out, he didn’t need me to eat with him for the experience to be complete. That was a revelation. For so long, I had eaten just because someone else was eating. I thought I was missing out on joy when, really I was ignoring the sound of my own voice.

This isn’t about biscuits or Bojangles. It’s about my history with food and my relationship with myself. It’s about putting food in its proper place — separate from love, separate from tradition, separate from nostalgia.

I’m not saying I’ll never eat biscuits and fried chicken again. I’m saying I don’t have to. On second thought, I am saying I’ll never eat biscuits and fried chicken again because I choose to eat food that is nourishing, nutritious, and healing. For the record, fried chicken and biscuits are none of those things. There is freedom in knowing that I have the right to make the best choices for me and my body.

But the biscuit simply remains a complex mystery. It’s a symbol of my grandmother’s love, but also a symbol of something more complicated — a history of culture, servitude, resilience, and identity. My grandmother’s biscuits were about care, nourishment, and legacy. But her love wasn’t just in the biscuits. It was in her kisses and her spankings, her stories and old sayings, her wisdom, her presence, and the way she made sure I always knew I was loved. That’s the memory I want to hold onto — not just the biscuit, but the woman who made them. And the love she kneaded into everything she touched.

For the this story, I went in search for a "healthy" biscuit recipe. This is the best I could do:

Healthy Whole Wheat Biscuits

Ingredients:

1 ½ cups whole wheat flour (or a mix of whole wheat and all-purpose for a lighter texture)

1 tablespoon baking powder

½ teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

¼ cup unsalted butter or coconut oil (cold and cut into small cubes)

¾ cup unsweetened almond milk (or low-fat buttermilk)

1 teaspoon honey or maple syrup (optional, for a slight sweetness)

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 425°F (218°C). Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Mix dry ingredients: In a large bowl, whisk together the whole wheat flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

Cut in the butter: Using a pastry cutter or your fingers, work the cold butter (or coconut oil) into the flour mixture until it resembles coarse crumbs.

Add liquid: Pour in the almond milk and honey (if using), stirring gently until just combined. Do not overmix.

Shape the dough: Transfer to a lightly floured surface and gently pat into a ¾-inch thick rectangle. Fold the dough over itself a couple of times to create flaky layers, then pat it out again.

Cut and bake: Use a biscuit cutter or a floured glass to cut out biscuits. Place them on the baking sheet and bake for 12–15 minutes, until golden brown.

Brush with a little melted butter (optional) and enjoy warm with a drizzle of honey or fruit preserves!