Many of my memories as a child center around growing up in rural Texas. We had a medium-sized family, and one of our most treasured times for enjoying each other's company was at supper time. We would gather around the dinner table and eat while sharing what we had done that day - perhaps finding a neat new gully or some unusual rocks we had found in our trek through the hardwood forest that surrounded us for miles before the dirt road was paved, and people becan cutting down trees to clear land and build houses or raise livestock.

Most families have an unusual habit or two when it comes to food, and ours was no exception. My brother ate mayonnaise on his spinach and baked potatoes, sometimes even on scrambled eggs. My Dad would put cake in a glass and pour milk over it, stir it up, then eat the mixture with a spoon. One of those idiosyncracies I enjoyed the most was the simple dip we made for buttermilk biscuits.

Mom would break out the Bisquick and her rolling pin, mix up some dough, roll it out, and cut it into circles to bake in the oven. If she was feeling more energetic than usual, she would make the biscuits from scratch, and those were the best. The biscuits would cook while we were eating the main course and side dishes, and when the biscuits were done, Mom would grab the maple syrup from the pantry and a tub of sour cream from the refrigerator. Each of us with a small bowl and spoon would dip out a glob of sour cream, then drench it with a roughly equal portion of the syrup.

The eagerly stirred mixture, if analyze] for aesthetics, was not very appetizing to look at, but when the crunchy biscuits were dipped into the resulting lumpy tan sauce, the result was a treat that roused the most pleasant gustatory sensations. Even now, years later, I still love the stuff. It is often too difficult when visiting friends or eating out to muster the courage to ask for those two simple ingredients, knowing the looks of perplexity and the wrinkling of noses I am likely to get when explaining what I plan to do with them. But, when the opportunity arises, at close friends' houses or in the privacy of my own home, I'm just a kid again, stirring the sour cream and syrup eagerly, and waiting for the oven timer to ring so I can start dipping biscuits again.

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