Now this not a bean story but when I first moved to Kentucky, I was working in a small rural hospital in the out back. At Christmas some of the women brought in country ham and beaten biscuits, now this ole Kansan thought he had died and found heaven despite many transgressions. I fell on that stuff like a crazy person. I will never miss a gathering that promises a home cured country ham and home made beaten biscuits. (Much to Mrs CMD's humiliation.)
You BEAT the (poor) biscuits???
Why, what did they do?
