Measure Your Life in Lard

New York City is the center of the universe. We have fashion, finance, theatre, museums, the Rockettes, the World’s best pizza, and a neighborhood or street named and designed for almost every nationality. We do not, however, have a single restaurant that makes an acceptable biscuit.

A biscuit should be light and fluffy. It should be slammed full of shortening (lard), but not in an obvious and salty way. It should be slightly crispy on top and like a pillow inside. Ideally, it will taste like hugging your mom felt when you were little.

In any New York restaurant, the biscuits could double as hockey pucks; they are stale fresh out of the oven. New Yorkers believe these are good (bless their hearts), because they don’t know any better. They’ve never been to a place called Biscuitville.

Biscuitville is a Southern fast food restaurant in North Carolina and parts of Southern Virginia. They only serve breakfast and are only open from 6 AM to 2 PM. The short hours and scarcity of locations give this little oasis an air of distinctiveness; this is not a Wendy’s to be filled with drunk teenagers at 1:30 in the morning. This is a restaurant for memas and granddaddies, high school kids on spirit week, families after church. It is also an effective hangover cure, but not if you sleep too late to enjoy it.

It is not a place to wear pajama pants, because you will run into someone you know. The last time I went was over Christmas with Pandito and the Awesome Opossum. We ran into twenty guys from Pandito’s class, all heading out to an alumni golf tournament.

The best part about Biscuitville (aside from the guy working behind the counter who actually has the Spray on Hair of late night infomercial fame) is that they make the biscuits from scratch right in front of you. They pour all the ingredients in a bowl, roll out the dough and cut those suckers just behind a glass window cut next to the cash register. Their motto is “Fresh Biscuits, Friendly Folks.” It is the truest thing I know.

The second best thing about Biscuitville is that it is inexpensive without being cheap. You can get two biscuits, scrambled eggs and a “student cup” for under four American dollars. If NYC ever got their hands on this franchise, it would pop up in SoHo and Williamsburg and you’d pay nine dollars a biscuit while wearing $120 pre-ripped jeans and a $400 “hobo” purse. It would be so ironic.

There is no irony at Biscuitville.

*In light of Paula Deen’s shocking(?) announcement today that she has Type II diabetes, I feel obligated to tell you that Biscuitville, as any place that served lard-laden food, is a sometimes treat.


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