Bertha's Biscuits

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Your great-great-great grandmother, Mamie Peninah Robinson Bryant, was mother to nine children – Mittie, Mattie (your great-great grandmother), Ressie, Jessie, Annie Mae, Wade, Gene, Jamie and Little Frank who died.  Although she was diminutive in stature, the power of her persona grew to such legendary proportions that even now, as I repeat these stories to you, she continues to influence her offspring.  Affectionately known as Grannie Bryant, she performed the role of matriarch to the family, dispensing love, wisdom and jocularity from the front porch of her home on S. Pendleton Street in Greenville, SC. 

Grannie had a maid named Bertha who was legendary in her own right as our folklore goes.  Aside from rudimentary duties of cooking and cleaning, Bertha coddled grandchildren, counseled the heartbroken, commiserated over family situations and provided overall good company to whomever might be sitting in the kitchen as she peeled potatoes.  She implemented all of Grannie’s directives with the efficiency of a drill sergeant yet with the humility of knowing her place in the racial hierarchy of the times.  She always entered the house from the back door since coming to the front was considered slanderous if not illegal.  Even so, Grannie and everybody else knew that the household could not function without Bertha.

Although Bertha’s particular culinary talents lay in the preparation of that staple Southern meal of fried chicken, rice, gravy and butter beans, her true specialty was biscuits.  They were something to be savored, rising full and high, light as feathers, and sponge-like in their absorption of butter or gravy or preserves or whatever else one might choose for sopping.

On a particular occasion, Grannie’s daughter Annie Mae and her husband Richard Skinner had come to visit from Jacksonville, Florida.  It was no secret that, of all her children’s spouses, Richard was Grannie’s favorite and when he was there, she dictated that nothing be spared to make his stay special.  This included at least one go-around of Bertha’s fried chicken and biscuits. 

I never saw Grannie’s dining room, but I speculate that the table was set to perfection with a fine, lace tablecloth, the good china and crystal, silver place settings correctly spaced and the entire mood accentuated with a vase of freshly cut blue hydrangeas adorning the center.  Once everyone was seated, Bertha began bringing the food through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room.  Out came the steaming crispy chicken, the fluffy rice with a boat full of gravy of perfect consistency, and the butter beans seasoned delicately with salt, pepper and a slice of fatback – but no biscuits.

“Bertha, where are the biscuits?”  Grannie asked.

“Yas’m, Mrs. Bryant.  I be brangin’ dem biscuits directly,” Bertha replied.

The group served their plates and began to eat.  Still no biscuits.

Underneath the table at its head was a button on the floor.  When pressed, it activated a buzzer in the kitchen signaling to Bertha that Grannie desired something.  This was a much more gentile way of communicating than yelling back and forth.  Grannie pressed the button with her foot.  The door swung open and Bertha stuck her head out of the kitchen.

“Bertha, where are the biscuits?”  Grannie inquired again.

“Right, right, Mrs. Bryant.  Dey be out shortly.”

Everybody went through the first helping and began to replenish their plates.  Still no biscuits.  Grannie stepped on the button again.  Bertha poked her head from behind the door.

“Bertha, we are almost through the meal.  You need to bring those biscuits now or there won’t be any need.”

“Lawd, Mrs. Bryant, I wush I could bring dem biscuits.  But, I cain’t.”

“What’s the problem, Bertha?”

“Well, Mrs. Bryant, I cain’t brang dem biscuits ‘cause dem biscuits dey done squat afore dey riz and gone done browned on the squat.”

The momentary shock of not tasting Bertha’s biscuits quickly gave way to hilarity as everybody laughed heartily at Bertha’s very succinct description of her fallen biscuit dough.  Until this day, when plates of biscuits hit the hundreds of tables in Grannie’s lineage, you’ll hear someone say “Well, at least they didn’t squat afore dey riz and brown on de squat.”