I love honey on my biscuits. As a child, we had preserves around all the time, and everyone in the family competed over the strawberry freezer jam. For some reason, my own family is not big on fruit spreads. I began making them a couple of years ago, and now I find that I am really the only one that eats them. I currently have monkey butter (a delicious gift from a friend), strawberry preserves, mango preserves, and maybe peach.
Honey is over $7, as expensive as steak and coffee. I used the rest of mine the other day in a recipe, trying to use up other ingredients. It was on my shopping list, but truthfully, I can eat preserves on my biscuit. I don't need the honey. I didn't buy it. I'm not always good at this thing called "discipline." You know, not doing exactly what you want, when you want to do it.
My husband tells me that he is the biggest fan of this blog. He says, "I don't read it, but I get to live it." You would think that's sarcasm, right? But he really loves the adventure. In our marriage, he's the saver, and so this enterprise is exactly how he would live all the time.
My husband never complains about leftovers, and is more likely to scold me for throwing something out than feeding him something weird. "Why didn't you let me eat that?" he'll say. "I paid for it."
So no honey, at least for July. I find that when I know I am going to have to have preserves on my biscuit, I don't think that much about it. The motivation to not spend money on groceries right now trumps my personal preference in biscuit topping.
Truth-telling: Don't think things are all sunshine and lollipops at my house, with everyone gladly consuming oddities from deep in the pantry and freezer. My children are picky eaters. We will quickly fall off any pedestal you put us on, because my kids think it's cool to jump from heights. Perhaps one of these days I will write about their contribution.
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