Megan’s Cheddar-Scallion Biscuits

During my senior year in college, I worked in the bakery of a natural foods grocery store. Even though the store trafficked in kale juice and crystal deodorant, the bakery turned out a host of delicious, face-sized cookies, breakfast pastries, and cakes. This was all thanks to the work of a woman who I’ll call Miranda.

Miranda had been a pastry chef and, as so many in the restaurant industry do, ended up taking the grocery store job for better pay and benefits. But in the process, she brought all her recipes with her and used them to create an outstanding bakery program. I still think about many of her baked goods today, and I can’t say I feel the same about any other grocery store bakery. Her bran muffins were tender, not-too-sweet, and dipped in a rich espresso glaze. Her seeded quick bread managed to taste both wholesome and decadent. And her cheddar-scallion biscuits sold out every single day.

I would roll out of bed for my 6 a.m. shift and gradually wake up as I popped the first round of scones in the oven. Then would come the biscuits. I made them so many times I could probably literally make them in my sleep. The dough came together in a huge Hobart mixer, and I loved the part where I would pat it out into an even slab on my work table and punch out rounds with a battered biscuit cutter. I felt like a damn hero when they came out of the oven and I got to go down to the floor and stock the case. 

Even though I moved on from that job, I never forgot about Miranda (we corresponded for a while, and eventually she gifted me her worn copy of The French Chef Cookbook, a prize I treasure). And I never could get those biscuits out of my head. Later, when I started my own farmer’s market baking business, I knew I had to sell a cheddar-scallion biscuit, but I wanted them to be at least a little different from Miranda’s.

I noticed one day while honing my recipe that my favorite part of the biscuit was where dough met sheet pan and the occasional shred of cheddar would brown and crisp, like the cheese that leaks out of a grilled cheese sandwich and sizzles on the pan. For my next batch, I piled a little shredded cheese directly on the sheet pan beneath each round of dough and, by jove, that was the ticket! The cheese formed a crispy, savory tutu around each tender biscuit, and just like the biscuits at the grocery store, mine sold out every single week.

Flaky and Tall vs. Fluffy and Tender

There is no one right way to make biscuits. The recent fad (recent being the last 15 years) has been to fold biscuit dough like croissant dough so that you end up with super tall, well-browned biscuits with lots of layers. Biscuits that are made like this can be very delicious, but so can the tender, pale biscuits I grew up eating. They’re not as photogenic for the social media apps, but they’re every bit as delicious.

And in that spirit, you can make these biscuits either way. For tall, flaky biscuits, leave the butter in larger pieces. Flatten all the butter pieces between your fingers (big butter chunks will melt and leak out of your dough and can make the whole affair regrettably greasy), but leave them about the size of a quarter. Then follow the folding technique described in the recipe. This action creates layers that will puff up in the oven. Finally, don’t roll or pat out your biscuit dough any thinner than one inch. If you want towering biscuits, you have to start out with already-tall biscuit dough.

For tender biscuits, work the butter into the flour until it is in much smaller pieces, say no larger than dime-sized. Then instead of folding the biscuits, just bring the dough together into a cohesive mass, pat it out to 3/4 to one inch thick, and cut as directed. This will make very tender but not very flaky biscuits.