The biscuit has always been Southern breakfast's quiet workhorse, present at every table and rarely remarked upon. A new generation of bakers has decided that the biscuit deserves the kind of scrutiny usually reserved for a good baguette, and they are willing to argue about it at length.

At a handful of specialist bakeries around the state, the biscuit has become an object of near-obsessive craft. Bakers debate the merits of specific soft winter wheat flours milled in the South, the exact temperature of the butter, and the precise number of folds that yield the tallest, flakiest layers.

The stakes, they insist, are not trivial. A great biscuit is a technical achievement, a balance of tenderness and structure that is far harder to hit consistently than its humble reputation suggests. "Anybody can make an okay biscuit," one baker said. "A great one will humble you."

Customers, judging by the morning lines, are happy to reward the obsession. The biscuits sell out early and often, proof that even the most familiar food can feel new when someone decides to take it seriously.