The magic of “Scotch scones”
I found an old cookbook from the 1920s on a pantry shelf of the grand old Stinson Beach Victorian we rented over the weekend. Within its pages nestled a recipe for “Scotch Scones.” I made them on Sunday morning, and they went “like hotcakes,” so fast that I didn’t get one at all (one of the kids managed to give me her last bite). So I made them the following morning too, twice in fact. (I made two separate batches rather than trying to double the recipe because I didn’t think my bowl could handle four cups of flour.)
What is it about scones? My dad, who has relatively advanced dementia, recently said, “I love ‘cones’.” (He calls them “cones” now, which I find very dear.) Although my mother was Irish, and I had two Irish grandparents in this country, I don’t remember having them in my childhood. Upon conducting a little research, I discovered this makes sense.
According to Julia Moskin’s article on the topic, when scones first came to the US, they essentially morphed into the famed biscuits of the South, while “scone” went underground, “hanging by a thread in Anglophile pockets of New England and grand hotels that stubbornly served afternoon tea.” According to Moskin, it wasn’t until the 1990s that the scone reappeared — in the Pacific Northwest, along with the region’s burgeoning coffee movement.
That was about the time they appeared on my radar. But, the sweet, cake-like things I discovered at Bette’s Oceanview Diner were a far cry from the traditional humble scone made mainly of fat, flour, and liquid, with leaveners such as baking powder or soda added once they were invented. Large, round, and spreading like cow patties, Bette’s “scones” were soft and cake-like, with big raisins. I liked them, of course. They were delicious. They were sweet and cheerful and broke softly, with very few crumbs. They also weren’t scones, by any strict definition.
The next scone I became obsessed with were those of The Grand Bakery, the kosher bakery near my apartment on Grand Avenue in Oakland in the early 90s. These scones were a little closer to the real thing. Cut into triangles, which made the tip of the scone more crisp, they were less sweet. They had a slightly salty, metallic taste possibly from a heavy hand with the baking powder or soda and were dry and highly crumbly.
I developed a system for eating them, positioning myself just so over the thin little bakery paper so I could lick up or otherwise retrieve every last crumb. It was then that I also perfected the timing of my coffee drinking so that the last bite of scone dovetailed perfectly with the last sip of coffee. I got quite OCD about this little routine. I liked The Grand Bakery’s scones, but mostly because I didn’t know any better. They lacked the dreamy flakiness and utter buttery good flavor I’ve come to consider the hallmark of a great scone.
In recent years, with a house full of relations often underfoot, I began making home-made scones. Of course, I’ll never go back. Now that we know how real scones barely cooled from the oven taste, how could we?
For several years, my favorite recipe was Edward Espe-Brown’s Tassajara cookbook scones. They’re simple and good. With half whole wheat flour and half white and less sugar than most recipes, they’re healthier too. I would probably have stayed with these forever, if I hadn’t lost the book during our last move.
My next favorite scone recipe was Smitten Kitchen’s(which is also very good, and very close to Espe-Brown’s). This recipe calls for three tablespoons sugar.
But the one in this little blue book I found? It called for no sugar at all, which surprised me. At first, I thought I’d made a mistake. I ran back to the book to confirm. Nope. No sugar. At the time, I wondered if this seeming omission was related to the cookbook being nearly 100 years old and learned again from Moskin that traditional scones were never sweetened, so yes, in all likelihood, it was.
The Little Blue Book’s recipe called for more baking powder. One-fifth less butter. Fifty percent more cream. A hotter oven. And certainly no egg. (According to Moskin, a marker separating the scone from the biscuit is the addition of an egg, but I would quibble with this, and so does the blue book.)
The dough was wetter than I was used to, which concerned me. But once I’d turned it out onto a well-floured board and kneaded it a couple or three times (very sparing kneading — use a light touch), the dough sorted itself out and was perfect. Soft, but dry, with a light dusting of powder that made it easy to cut.
Again, the trick is to work with a light hand. Rub the butter into the flour quickly, no-nonsense, no big deal. Be sure to add the currants before the liquid. Raisins are fine too; I just happen to like the delicacy of currants. Then, add your liquid (all that yummy cream). Mix it quickly and lightly with a spatula or wooden spoon, just a couple to a few swipes. Don’t be concerned that it doesn’t look “together.” The more you mix it, the tougher and less delightful your scones will be. Serve with honey and maybe a few sprinkles of great salt. Oh, yes.
Scotch Scones
(from the little blue book at Stinson Beach which I will properly cite as soon as possible)
Ingredients
2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour. (I used Gold Medal, a lower-protein flour, for a more tender crumb)
3 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon fine sea or table salt
4 tablespoons chilled, unsalted butter, cut into 1/4-inch cubes
1/2 cup currants
1–1/2 cup (235 ml) heavy cream
Method
- Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 450°F.
2. Mix flour, baking powder, and salt in large bowl.
3. Using your fingertips with quick fast movements, press the little cubes of butter into the flour. Stir in currants.
4. Stir in heavy cream with a rubber spatula or fork just until dough begins to form. A few swipes should be all that’s needed.
5. Sprinkle a large board or clean counter with flour. Transfer dough and all dry, floury bits to board. Knead two or three times, just until it comes together.
6. Pat the dough into a 3/4-inch thick circle. Using a good knife, cut one vertical and one horizontal line across the circle, then two diagonal lines through the center so you have eight triangles (it’s fine if some are bigger than others; they’ll just be slightly crispier).
6. Place triangles on un-greased baking or cookie sheet. Brush or dab tops with a little cream. Bake until scone tops are light brown, about 15 minutes. Cool on wire rack for about 10 minutes. Serve warm with honey and maybe a few grains of yummy sea salt. Plus, extra butter for the real hedonists among you.
