An out-of-town pastor had been invited to a men’s breakfast in the middle of a rural farming area, and found himself charmed by the company and atmosphere. Before they all dug into the hearty meal, the group's leader asked an older farmer, decked out in bib overalls, to say grace.
“Lord, I hate buttermilk,” the fellow began. The pastor opened an eye to glance at him, wondering where this might be going.
“Lord, I hate lard!” the farmer proclaimed. Now the pastor was growing concerned.
“And Lord, you know I don't much care for raw flour,” he went on, without missing a beat.
The pastor once again opened an eye to peer around the room, and noticed many of the other men shifting in their seats uncomfortably.
“But Lord,” the farmer added, “when you mix them all together and bake them, I do love them warm fresh biscuits.