I knew moving to Knoxville was the right move when my co-worker/friend, Lindsay, told me about the International Biscuit Festival. I've waited all year for this glorious occasion. I have a long history with biscuits; not just eating them but serving them in high school at the restaurant I lovingly call "Biscuit Barn." I would get up at 6am, serve biscuits and leave by noon. I'll share a poem from my biscuit-serving days at the end of this post. Now back to the subject at hand...
BISCUIT FEST!
Matt and I showed up at 10am to walk the Biscuit Boulevard on Saturday. Tickets were $5 for 5 tastings. We joined forces with our friends, Eric and Carrie Mitchell, to pool together our tickets for 20 tastings! Genius. Matt's favorite was from the Convention Center, cinnamon biscuits with apple butter and a yummy whipped creme. I thoroughly enjoyed Chez Liberty's pork and apple butter biscuits. I think apple butter is the way to go.
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| Gridlock! Biscuits bring people together. |
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| Carrie and Eric enjoying biscuits! |
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| Matt and Eric taste testing! |
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| Carrie had to get physical. Anything for biscuits. |
And as promised, a poem from my days serving biscuits:
We Called Him Papa
5:30 a.m., prompt as ever. Shaking
his keys, he pushes the door as far
as the hinges will allow. With his hands
lifted high, he waves like Richard Nixon
“Good morning folks! Good morning!” and
just like every morning, not a soul bothers to
see who it is, because the patrons already
know, but he doesn’t notice, too caught up in his
own routine. Sorghum underneath the counter, just
for his liking. I place the jar on the
table next to his buttered biscuit
