My grandmother Jean did not make anything fancy for Christmas Eve.
She made biscuits in the same cast iron skillet she got in 1958, and if you stood too close she would hand you a towel and put you to work. Her kitchen in Charlotte was small, too hot, and always full of somebody talking over somebody else.
After she passed, my uncle found her recipe written on the back of an old church bulletin. It just said flour, shortening, buttermilk, and “you’ll know.”
We still do not know. But every year we try.