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Created by Chef Thomas
Tall, tender scones with a soft buttermilk crumb and a deep golden top, the kind of thing you can make from cold to plate in half an hour and feel quietly clever about all afternoon.
There's a kind of grey afternoon, the sort that doesn't quite commit to rain, where the only sensible response is to put the oven on and make scones. It takes half an hour. By the time the kettle has boiled twice you'll have a tray of them cooling on the rack, smelling of warm butter and bread, and the afternoon will have rearranged itself into something worth being in.
Buttermilk is the thing here. It does two jobs at once. The acidity tenderises the flour, so the crumb stays soft and pillowy rather than tough, and it reacts with the baking powder to give the scones that proud, tall lift you want when you tear one open. Plain milk will get you a scone. Buttermilk will get you the scone you remember from someone's kitchen years ago, the one you've been quietly trying to recreate ever since.
The rules are few but they matter. Cold butter, cold buttermilk, a hot oven, a hot tray, and the lightest possible hand with the dough. Don't roll it. Don't twist the cutter. Don't keep working it after it has come together. A scone wants to be left alone to do its job, and your job is mostly to know when to stop.
I wrote it down in the notebook years ago, after a particularly good Saturday: "Scones. Buttermilk. Quick. Always." That note has earned its keep more times than I can count. We're only making dinner, or in this case, the small ceremony that comes before it.
Quantity
450g
plus extra for dusting
Quantity
2 teaspoons
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
50g
Quantity
100g
cubed
Quantity
250ml
plus a little extra for brushing
Quantity
1
Quantity
to serve
Quantity
to serve
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| self-raising flourplus extra for dusting | 450g |
| baking powder | 2 teaspoons |
| fine sea salt | 1 teaspoon |
| golden caster sugar | 50g |
| cold unsalted buttercubed | 100g |
| cold buttermilkplus a little extra for brushing | 250ml |
| large egg | 1 |
| good butter (optional) | to serve |
| jam (optional) | to serve |
Set the oven to 220C/200C fan and slide a baking tray onto the middle shelf to heat through. A hot tray under the scones helps the bottoms set quickly and pushes them upwards rather than outwards. This is half the secret of a tall scone.
Tip the flour, baking powder, salt and sugar into a large bowl and give it a brief whisk to combine. Add the cold cubed butter and rub it in with your fingertips, lifting your hands as you go to keep things cool. You want a rough, uneven texture, somewhere between breadcrumbs and rolled oats, with a few larger flecks of butter still showing. Those flecks turn into steam in the oven and lift the scones from the inside.
Make a well in the middle and pour in almost all of the buttermilk, holding back a tablespoon or two. Stir with a butter knife in quick, cutting strokes until the dough just starts to come together in shaggy clumps. If it looks dry in places, add the rest. The dough should be soft and a bit untidy, never wet, never smooth. Stop the moment it holds together. Overworked scone dough is heavy scone dough.
Tip the dough onto a lightly floured surface and pat it gently with your hands into a round about 3cm thick. Don't roll it. A rolling pin compresses the dough and the scones won't lift the way they should. Dip a straight-sided cutter (about 6cm) into flour and stamp out your scones with a firm, clean push, no twisting. Twisting seals the edges and stunts the rise. Gather the scraps, press them lightly back together, and cut more until the dough is used up.
Beat the egg with a splash of buttermilk and brush the tops of the scones, taking care not to let it run down the sides, which would glue them to the tray and stop them rising evenly. Lift the hot tray from the oven, dust it with a little flour, and arrange the scones on it so they're almost touching. They like company in the oven. Bake for twelve to fifteen minutes, until the tops are deep golden and the kitchen smells unmistakably of warm butter and bread. Tap the bottom of one. It should sound hollow.
Lift the scones onto a wire rack and let them sit for five minutes, no longer. Tear one open with your hands rather than cutting it; the steam should rise out of a soft, pale crumb. Spread thickly with cold butter that melts into the warm middle, then a generous spoon of jam. Eat standing up, by the kitchen counter, while the kettle finishes boiling. There are few better feelings.
1 serving (about 105g)
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