Listen, I grew up deep in the Bible Belt. But I’m not running around Seattle advertising my Southern roots—until it comes time to talk about a damn good biscuit. One that’s dense yet flaky, perfectly buttery, with a good heft to it. When I piloted a U-Haul 2,800 miles across the country from North Carolina a few years ago, I thought I was leaving food like this in the rearview mirror.
I only walked through the front door of Fremont’s Seattle Biscuit Company on a whim. But it felt like stepping right back into my past: eclectic trinkets collected over several lifetimes, old church pews finding new life as
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