Breakfast murmurs

Made a breakfast this morning that would make my Southern grandfather proud. Tall, fluffy buttermilk biscuits, sausage gravy and eggs.

And grapefruit juice. I remember being a little kid and my grandmother drinking gfj, which I just couldn’t understand. When did this start tasting so good? And does this mean I’m now officially old? (I can hear Melody say it now, “Drinking grapefruit juice doesn’t mean you’re old. You’re old because you’re so ancient, not because of the grapefruit juice.”)

And I made the biscuits in the round glass cake pan that Dan found for me at an estate sale in Portland. Glass bakeware makes me happy. Thanks, Dan!