Scones: A Baking Muse Sings Again

I have very strong opinions when it comes to scones. In the US, we’ve found many ways to massacre this deceptively simple tea time treat.

Originally, scones were eaten in Scotland and eventually found their way to the US via the United Kingdom and Canada. When I refer to scones, I’m talking about the fully Americanized version. A good American scone should be medium-density, dry, fairly buttery, and nubby-textured. It can have a range of flavors, and even a variable amount of sugar, but it really shouldn’t be round. 

In my quest for the perfect scone, I’ve been lured into buying, basically, a croissant in triangle form, or a hockey puck with currants, or what amounts to a giant mound of chocolate chips glued together with a little butter and sugar. If you enter a bakery and sense that any of these are in the offerings, exit the store immediately and run for the hills. Or better yet, run to your refrigerator and pull out a stick of butter to start making your own. Scones don’t take that long to make, after all. It is almost always worth the wait to do it better yourself.

A couple of years ago, I went on a scone-baking bender. I baked for four consecutive days, trying out a new recipe each day. (For those who are keeping score, that equals 48 scones in four days for a family of four.) Eventually my husband had to shut the operation down.  And, truth be told, after all that baking, I’d mastered the art of pressing butter into flour, if not the perfect scone recipe.

But lately the muse has been singing her siren song again, and here I am, obsessively fantasizing about flavor combinations and texture profiles. And so I’m back in the kitchen. Here’s a recent winner made with buttermilk, figs and orange zest, from Baking with Julia, by contributing baker Marion Cunningham:

Since I was taking these to a book group meeting, I opted for the mini-scone shape (I caved and used a biscuit cutter – inauthentic shape, gah!). The technique of brushing the scones with extra butter and a dusting of sugar just before popping them into the oven gave the scones a nice sweet crust, but they were a bit firm from over baking, so the quest continues. 

I’ll report back when I’ve decoded the ideal scone recipe, or when my husband drags me – flour sullied and pastry blender flailing – out into the light. Whichever comes first.

For the original recipe, buy the book. To see how the other bakers in the group fared (some great ideas here!), visit Tuesdays with Dorie.

No Bake Sales Allowed. Oh, Wait, Go Ahead.

By now you've probably heard that recently the state of Massachusetts placed a ban on school bake sales, which was to go into effect on August 1 of this year. Then, after vehement public outcry, state lawmakers decided to overturn the ban. Here’s the take-away from this debacle: don’t underestimate the power of a pissed-off PTA parent. Particularly a PTA parent who really, really likes to bake.

Call me a traditionalist, but I am a big fan of selling sweets for a cause. Hosting a bake sale, and all that it represents, has been a part of the soccer-mom role even before there was such a thing as a soccer-mom. As our school’s resident Bake Sale Queen, I love that the event is so completely retro yet still effective at raising money and spirits. Our bake sales, which are generally open to the students as well as the community, simply reek of good will:  good will from the parents, who invest their time and money to make the baked goods, good will from volunteers who staff the table, and good will from the community members, who are ridiculously generous with their donations (at least in my town). Say what you will about food as reward, but you can’t deny the joy that comes from the combination of doing something good (ie, donating to the PTA), and indulging in a freshly-baked homemade cookie. It’s classic Americana, and for good reason.

I understand that there's an argument to be made that we shouldn't help the childhood obesity epidemic along by promoting a diet full of saturated fats and empty calories. But when the PTA hosts a bake sale, we are not shoving refined sugar and icky carbohydrates down the throats of unsuspecting minors. With all the nutrition education our kids get, they certainly know by now that they should eat sweets in moderation. And even if they haven’t yet absorbed all these lessons, our kids can rely on their doting helicopter parents, who will carefully monitor their child’s intake while munching on a cupcake or two of their own.

The Massachusetts uproar, of course, is part of a larger discussion about nutrition. Nationwide, schools are starting to eliminate bake sales as a fundraising activity. Instead, they are leaning toward selling non-food items, or healthier choices, like fruit (though I could make a good case for not eating an entire crate full of apples in one sitting). 

Woe to the committee that dares suggest such a move at our school. Bake sales are my baby. They are my bread and butter. (Technically, I suppose they’re my flour, sugar and butter). And my people know this.

When our PTA voted in a new “healthy foods” policy this year, you can bet there was a huge disclaimer at the bottom. The policy read something like this:

“…we strive to provide only healthy, local, sugar-free, organic, grass-fed, free-range, raw foods*** at school events and keep sweets forever away from the lips of our delicate children, who will live inside their protective glass bubbles until they are old enough to pay for our wheat bran at the assisted living center….

***EXCEPT for bake sales.”

All right, I may be embellishing a little here. And in truth, I really do support their efforts to make the kids’ eating options at school healthy ones. In theory, I’m totally on board with the carrot stick coup. Still, in the big picture, I am not particularly interested in the political debate about government’s role in our individual consumption of sugar.

What I am interested in is the emotional and financial impact of a good old-fashioned, well-organized, community-wide bake sale. My point is simply that in this town, where we’ve actually learned how to make bake sales profitable (our election day sale once earned $1,000 in a single day), banning a bake sale would be a financial and political mis-step of significant proportions. Our families already are inundated with nutritional information from the media, the school, and the medical community. Parents and children are hyper-aware of what they are getting into when they bite into that brownie. They also know that a little sugar goes a long way toward making the day a little sweeter for everyone involved.

Thankfully, our PTA knows better than to cross this particular Bake Sale Queen. They know which side their scones are buttered on.

Viva La Bake Sale!

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Maple Oatmeal Scones

(adapted from The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook, by Ina Garten)

makes about 15 3-inch round scones

Ingredients:

1 ¾ cups all-purpose flour

½ cup whole wheat flour

½ cup old fashioned oats, plus additional for sprinkling

1 Tablespoon baking powder

1 Tablespoon granulated sugar

1 teaspoon salt

½ pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, diced

¼ cup cold buttermilk

¼ cup pure maple syrup

3 large eggs, divided (2 ½ eggs lightly beaten, plus ½ egg beaten with 1 tablespoon milk or water, for egg wash)

Glaze

1 cup confectioners’ sugar

¼ to ½ cup pure maple syrup, to taste

½ teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper and set them aside.

In a large bowl, combine the flours, oats, baking powder, sugar, and salt.

Drop the butter pieces into the mixture and cut with two knives or a pastry blender until the butter is in pea-sized pieces.

Combine the buttermilk, maple syrup and 2 ½ eggs. Make a well in the center of the flour and butter mixture and pour the liquid ingredients into the well. Mix as little as possible, until just blended. The dough may be sticky, and you should see lumps of butter in it.

Working the dough as little as possible, form a ball about 2 1/2 inches wide and lightly flatten as you press it onto the prepared baking sheet (the scones will spread a little during baking). Repeat with the remaining dough, leaving a couple inches of space between each scone.

Brush the tops with the egg wash. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, turning the pans halfway through the baking time. When the scones are lightly browned on top and the insides are firm, remove the pans from the oven and allow them to cool for five minutes.

To make the glaze, combine the confectioners’ sugar, maple syrup and vanilla in a small bowl and mix until smooth.

Drizzle each scone with 1 Tablespoon of the glaze. (The warmer the scones are when you glaze them, the thinner the glaze will be.) Sprinkle some uncooked oats on top for garnish.

Note: these are best the day they are baked, but you can also prepare them ahead of time, place them on trays and store them in the refrigerator for a few days. Then you can bake them just before serving.

Haiku To A Tea Shop

You, dainty floral

Delicate bites of England

Me, bull with china


Disclaimer: the photo here is not an actual cup and actual cookie from my "high tea" with the girls. It is for representational purposes only. Actual cup and plate designs varied, and actual tea time snacks were much smaller and prettier than my monstrous, over baked coconut biscotti. Though I think I can match them on taste, actually.


I have to admit that I was pretty skeptical when a friend suggested we visit Tea Rose's Tea Room this week for an authentic "Afternoon Tea." I've never been one to appreciate anything dainty, girly or even British. I think I'm missing the traditionally female gene that makes us long to collect dolls, tiaras, floral patterns and tiny baked goods. 


Still, the outing involved lunch with good friends, tea, and an excuse to avoid the laundry for another day, so I was game. 


The Tea Room was exactly what I expected -- thousands of delicate tea cups, saucers and china pots in one room, just waiting for a klutz like me to knock something over. I made a fairly good showing, as these things go -- I only tipped over one creamer-full of milk, but at least nothing chipped. The food was better than expected, too: there were the requisite cucumber sandwiches on soft round white bread, some lovely tea bread, mini quiches, an unoffensive chicken salad, and of course, there were the scones. 


Oh, the scones. For those of you who know me, you may know that I have a bit of a scone addiction. And there is truly nothing like a tiny, heart-shaped, crumbly brown sugar scone with double cream, lemon curd and strawberry preserves to make a girl go weak in the knees. It took every last ounce of self-control I had not to ask for the recipes. (Somehow I felt that would be inappropriate for our day in Downton Abbey.) I can't comment on the other desserts, because I was too distracted by the scones to bother with the rest of the delicacies. My friends tell me the other sweets were lovely, and I suspect they will never let me live down The Day Tammy Refused Dessert.


One of the teas, however, did stand out. Provided by SerendipiTea, Congo Bongo is a coconut-mango black tea that somehow creates an intense, caramel-like aroma and flavor. I bought some Congo Bongo and brought it home for my tea-snob husband, and even he agreed that it paired very nicely with chocolate after dinner that night.


We left the Tea Room charmed by our experience there, full of talk about when we might be able to return. And I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a true convert in the dainty department. Now, I have the strangest urge to bake tiny, heart-shaped scones in time for Valentine's Day. I've gone to four stores in the past two days in search of a mini-heart scone pan, but so far, no luck. If you know where I can score one, please send me a note.