By james art 
Listen, I grew up deep in the bible belt. But I’m not running around Seattle touting my Southern roots — until it’s time to talk about a damn good biscuit. One that is dense yet flaky, perfectly buttery, with good weight. When I piloted a U-Haul 2,800 miles across the country from North Carolina a few years ago, I thought I was leaving such food in the rearview mirror.
I walked in the front door of Fremont’s Seattle Biscuit Company on a whim. But I felt like I was stepping right back into my past: eclectic trinkets collected over several lifetimes, old church pews finding new life as booths, and a handwritten thank-you note on my take-out bag.
The biscuits inside were the simplest on the menu, featuring just butter, honey and rock salt. It was everything I’d hoped for—and the last thing I thought I’d find here.
“You walk in the door and it’s not like Seattle. That was the goal,” says chef and owner Sam Thompson. His biscuit pedigree spans the southern states; he grew up in mississippi and lived in tennessee, louisiana and texas before settling here.
Biting into his delightfully fluffy creations conjures memories of Bojangles crackers in Sunday school and post-holiday meals from Cracker Barrel’s all-day breakfast. You can’t find a Bojangles Bo-Berry cracker west of Texas, and the entire state of Washington doesn’t have a single Cracker Barrel outpost.
Thompson’s Handmade Biscuits have a taste of a bygone sense of home. But they also have enough PNW flair to remind transplants like me that Seattle is already home. Take Gus’ menu staple—yes, all the biscuits brandishing the names of true Southern folk that Thompson and his friends know—a quintessential Southern carb featuring classic fried chicken, but also a sweet Walla Walla onion mustard.
That was always part of the plan. Thompson set out to create a “legitimate” biscuit that was true to Southern flavors yet local to Seattle. So local that Thompson — once a competitive ultramarathoner — can get close to many of the ingredient sources…literally.
I won’t run any further than Seattle Biscuit Company’s front door, but I’ll certainly take my family with me when they visit, if only to prove that 2,800 miles isn’t too far to find a real biscuit.