Biscuits

I once spent several weeks in Tanzania as part of an ethnographic field project. It was my first time in Africa, in the summer of 2007 and my professor took four students as part of our college’s study abroad program. We initially spent time in Dar Es Salaam before heading south to Songea, where Mama Hope lived. Everyone was so excited to get to Mama Hope’s house because she was so loving and kind, and because she was a really good cook. I had traveled abroad previously but this was my longest trip away from home (around nine to ten weeks total) and I was suddenly homesick only two weeks into my excursion. Still, I was really excited to get to Mama Hope’s house. “You are going to love Mama Hope’s house, Chelsi” our host Damas kept telling me. “She makes the best biscuits.” Biscuits. My mother was watering just at the sound of them.

At some point during our journey we found ourselves in a small village and learned that our housing accommodations had unexpectedly changed, and there were no options for our entire group to stay somewhere together. A decision was made for two of us, myself and another student, to spend the night at a convent where some nuns had graciously offered a room. The room was very small, did not have an indoor shower, and only had one small lamp with limited use. In other words, it was super dark and strange. I remember protesting, asking why I had to be one of the people to stay there, but Damas kept encouraging me, letting me know that we would be safe and that I must not forget, “Mama Hope will have biscuits for everyone tomorrow.” I definitely was not happy about the decision but I did like the sound of biscuits, and in fact, I think that thinking about the biscuits helped me get to sleep that night because if there’s one thing I love, it’s biscuits. Few foods scream HOME to me like biscuits do, and I don’t need gravy or jam to enjoy them; just give me some butter and I’m in paradise.

I am not even a morning person but I think I was up rather early the next day to get over to Mama Hope’s house. I was straight giddy. I remember us sitting around a circular table ready to eat. Someone brought out a tray with tea and began to share it with us. I put a sugar cube or two in mine but waited to start drinking as I wanted to enjoy my tea and biscuits at the same time. Finally someone else came with a blue canister and Damas said, “Here they are, the biscuits!” And what was in that pan, you ask? Cookies. It was cookies.

It’s been nearly 20 years and the letdown still stings. What a massive swing from elation to disappointment. I don’t doubt that the cookies tasted good but I honestly cannot remember because I was nearly in tears—is there such a thing as biscuit withdrawal because if so, I think I immediately began to experience it in that moment.


Fast forward to Prague in 2026 and would you know it, across the street from one of my hotels was a Popeyes! I have grown used to seeing KFC locations across the world but I hadn’t realized that Popeyes had such a far and large presence. Of course I knew it would not taste like the Popeyes in Mississippi and Louisiana, and there would be no shrimp baskets, but I did peek inside just to double check that…yes, my suspicions were correct: no biscuits. The menus were vivid though and the ordering system sufficient. And they did have something that looked close to Cajun fries, emphasis on close. But I passed on the opportunity to eat any. I did have my share of goulash though and you know what would pair well with goulash? Biscuits. But you can probably already guess that there wasn’t a biscuit in sight.

OK, not gonna lie, I did try this crunch wrap in Glasgow and it was pretty good. Easy to eat on the go. I have not come across this crunch wrap at any Popeyes near me in the States. The chicken? Also good. They had something that resembled biscuits though I was too skeptical to even try them. I have been tricked too many times before.

My food adventures in London and Dublin this summer did not involve any chicken restaurants but I did have some scones. I once had a friend in Albania ask me to describe a biscuit, and as I was trying to explain, another American chimed in and said, “It is basically a scone.” I shot him a hardened look, my eyes narrowed. “How dare you!” I exclaimed. “Biscuits are not scones! They are so much more than that and so much better. Who would ever say that they are the same?” He looked troubled by my response, and apologized about even making the suggestion. Real talk though, the warmed and buttered scones this Ireland did warm my heart in unexpected ways.

Still ain’t no biscuit…

My daughters saw KFC in Albania and they begged and begged for us to go there so on our second night I finally gave in. My youngest (who refers to herself and bacon-and-sometimes-chicken-eating-vegetarian) was eating the chicken like she had never eaten chicken before. I told them that there were no biscuits at KFC in Albania either, so why get excited about the chicken. I also let them know that them eating KFC in Tirana was a big deal because there were no global fast food chains when I first lived in Albania years ago. “Really,” they asked. “Yep,” I told them.

A somewhat blurred image of KFC in the Blloku in Tirana

Thing is though, after trying a piece of the chicken at the KFC in Albania, I was once again let down. I actually don’t eat KFC that often in the States and of chicken restaurants, their biscuit is easily my least favorite. But I had to sigh to myself as I nibbled that night. Not because I did not have a biscuit to go along with it but because truth be told, I missed AFC. That’s right, AFC, Albania Fried Chicken. Wish they would bring that back:

Circa 2011. When the chicken in Albania was really poppin’.