It was bound to go wrong sometime. Emboldened by my previous successes, I realised I already had all the ingredients to make scones. Who doesn’t love a good scone? Sweet, filling, and a conversation-starter (How do you pronounce it? /skoʊn/? /skɒn/?) The Americans call it a biscuit, but we won’t get into that here.
This recipe is taken from the Australian Women’s Weekly Complete Book of Cupcakes and Baking.
4 cups self-raising flour
2 tbsp icing sugar
1/2 cup sultanas
2 tsp lemon zest
1 1/2 cups milk
3/4 cup water
Method (makes 20)
1. Preheat oven to 220 oC. Grease a baking tin, or cover with greaseproof paper.
2. Sift flour and sugar into a large bowl; rub in butter with fingertips
3. Add sultanas and lemon zest.
4. Make a well in the centre of the flour mix; add milk and water. Use knife to “cut” the milk and water through the flour, mixing to a soft, sticky dough. Knead dough on floured surface until smooth.
5. Press dough out to 2cm thickness. Dip 4.5cm round cutter in flour; cut as many rounds as you can from the dough, Place scones side by side in baking tin. Re-knead dough and repeat.
6. Brush tops with milk; bake for around 15 minutes or until scones are browned and sound hollow when tapped on the top with fingers.
I halved the recipe to make fewer scones.
This is my Mason Cash bowl. I love it. I picked it up in Sainsbury’s while on a bread-making-related supermarket-sweep, and it’s the perfect thing. The Lakeland website tells me it’s a classic. I saw the exact same one on the BBC adaptation of Nigel Slater’s autobiography, “Toast”. If it’s good enough for Nige…
I started this recipe before realising I didn’t have a biscuit cutter. But I was already too full of beans to stop. A cutter? Who needs it? I just pulled out my jigger. “A jigger?” you say. Yes, I reply with a knowing look. It’s a bartending tool used to measure spirits.
And look! As if the cake/cocktail (caketail?) gods were smiling down on me, the jigger was exactly the right size.
Sieving. And making the most of my camera’s delay-shot button. I’m going to pretend this worked on the first attempt, instead of the fifth or sixth. A word of warning when sieving icing sugar – powder goes everywhere. I looked like Lindsay Lohan by the time I’d finished.
Baldy lemon. After I tried to zest it. Using a cheese grater. For some reason, it reminds me of a partially-shaved cat.
The disaster-zone. Do not try this at home.
Having a ruler in the kitchen is proving invaluable today.
The jigger in action. It is a slightly flawed (and sticky) system. Besides, I thought this recipe was only supposed to make ten scones. There are hundreds coming out of this. I run out of space after using up two baking trays.
Hmm, they don’t look like much do they? So tiny. This can’t be right.
The recipe says to brush the tops of the scones with milk before putting them into the oven. This is my cooking paintbrush. Actually, it’s a regular paintbrush from a pound shop. Iit was part of a set I bought when Pete and I needed to varnish a table. I’m almost certain this isn’t dangerous to use as a cooking implement.
For some inexplicable reason, despite halving the recipe, and making over 20 teeny tiny scones, I’m left with this fist-sized amount of dough. For an equally inexplicable reason, I’ve chosen a pair of scissors to give you some idea of the scale. But what to do with this useless dough-fist?
Ahoy! Skull and bones… or Bull and Scones? That can’t just be a coincidence.
Fresh from the oven. They’re small but perfectly formed. Like cakes for children. Or cats.
Lovely. Crisp on the outside and soft in the middle. The lemon zest adds a certain lightness which counteracts the dough. They taste good even without butter and jam.
Easy to follow. I already had all the ingredients, and I like the idea of being able to make breakfast/an afternoon nibble in under 30 minutes.
I’m still confused about the vast number of scones I managed to make using half the ingredients. And why are they so small? On the plus It’s the recipe that keeps on giving.