Ready Slab Biscuits Go Sweet or Savory

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When my sons were very young, they were early risers. This was true on regular days, but on Christmas morning they took the tendency to the extreme. By the time we gathered around the table at 10 a.m. for Christmas Day brunch with my in-laws, the children had been awake for five-ish hours—and they would be utterly ravenous.

Enter Christmas Bread, which wasn’t a bread exactly, but a biscuit-meets-foccacia tray-baked wonder.

Modestly rich as far as biscuits go, it began as a buttermilk bread. I’d sleepily measure the ingredients the night before, in between wrapping presents and watching It’s a Wonderful Life. Then, on the big day, before any gifts—and while my husband kept the boys occupied discussing Santa’s cookie habits—I readied the dough, patted it into a pan, and popped said pan into the oven. By the time the stockings were emptied, the bread was baked, and blocky slices were deployed to stave off hunger pangs.

Upon the arrival of the grandparents, I would rewarm the remaining biscuits, either in the oven or, better yet, split and griddled in a pan, to partner with platters of scrambled eggs and ham.

Although my lads no longer wake at such an ungodly hour, Christmas Bread remains a compulsory tradition, now exclusively served with brunch. Befitting the move to the main event, the bread (biscuits, really) became correspondingly that much more festive, with the addition of sour cream and a boost of butter.
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The spinach-cheese version was basically designed to go with eggs. Photo by Tara O’Brady

Our standard Christmas Bread is a mottled biscuit with Gruyėre and spinach, which grants a sense of accomplishment for getting a vegetable into my children before noon. But this is a recipe that begs to be riffed on. A chili-cheese rendition is high on my to-do list, employing charred jalapeños and poblanos and sharp cheddar or melty-gooey Monterey Jack (possibly both), maybe with some crumbled chorizo. For the vegetarians in the family, I’ve bulked the biscuits up with cubes of roasted delicata squash and a handful of feta crumbled across the slab, approaching the assembly much more like a focaccia or pizza. (If following my example, keep the greens in the dough. Aim for a generous cup of cooked squash or other veg and up to the same with grated cheese. For feta or blue cheese, err closer to ¾ cup of crumbles, because they pack a punch.)

I’ve also expanded the genre to include sweet variations, sandwiching jam in the dough. Jam wins over fresh or frozen fruit because it remains in a clean layer, doesn’t sog the dough, and allows for the broadest possibility of fruit, seasonal or not. The options are limited only by the imagination; consider plum preserves laced with Chinese five-spice powder, or marmalade paired with pistachios and pecans for almost fruitcake cheer. Or vacation to the Black Forest and with a blanket of lucent cherries and grated dark chocolate. Try tahini. Nestle in some Nutella. This holiday the plan is blueberry jam, perfumed by citrus and candied ginger.

The start of these biscuits is a simple base of flour, baking powder, and salt, (plus sugar for sweet versions), onto which is grated cold unsalted butter in lengthy strands. Then the usual suspects for wet ingredients; the aforementioned sour cream and buttermilk, and, for the jammy take, a luxurious egg. A few quick kneads and the dough comes together—cool and bouncy albeit rough. The savory version is immediately coaxed into the corners of a pan, scored into portions, and baked. The sweet one is rolled to double its length, spread with filling, and then folded over to make a tidy jam-filled present.

Out of the oven, both trays emerge as golden mosaics; the tops are craggy and puffed. If there is cheese, it crisps at the edges into a frico crust. If there is jam, it concentrates and bubbles, smelling amazing. The crumb is perfectly pillowy, fluffed like a duvet, making the biscuits ideal for a drowsy morning, or any morning, full stop. Pull out a biscuit, a Pillsbury-worthy puff of steam wafts forth, and, early or late, it’s time to celebrate.