Trick or treacle

Remember cafes? I like cafes. Once upon a sunnier time, I used to visit cafes. I would drink coffee and eat buttered scones and if the notion took me I might even have had a second coffee – easy tiger!

Sitting at the window watching the world go by and maybe reading a paper was always a pleasurably sedate way to wile away an hour, and so much the better if the scones were fresh (there’s no excuse for stale scones) and there were cherries therein. You might have spotted someone you knew and you might have hailed them and they maybe even popped in for a chat and a laugh. Remember those days? Good times.

Don’t worry though… those days will be back again soon and the scones and the cherries therein will taste all the better for this unfortunate hiatus. Imagine too, the parties we’ll have! I’m thinking fancy dress.

For the meantime though, we’ll have to make do with our scones and coffees in our own homes. I don’t know about you, dear reader, but baking at our house has gone through the roof in recent weeks. Soda breads, wheaten loves, cakes, cupcakes, scones… we’re like an off-shoot of the Women’s Institute and we’re determined to bake our way out of trouble.
Imagine being in lock-down with the WI though. By Jove, they’d have to roll me out the door after that quarantine.

Last week the biggest of the little humans in the house made such excellent scones I ate four – FOUR – on the bounce. It’s OK though, they were only wee.

An old editor of mine used to lament the sizes of scones in recent times, saying that they were overly big to the point they were encroaching on meal proportions. He was right too. Scones have evolved in recent years and a cafe scone for elevenses tends to push lunch into the mid-afternoon.

I never really bought into the idea for fancy-Dan scones either; the raspberry and white chocolate creations which sound nice but the taste of which seems to clash with even the addition of butter. Apple and cinnamon, I like the idea of and I’ve eaten my fair share, although sometimes a bit of wet apple can spoil the party.

Cheese and bacon? I made these once and in a fit of inspiration served them up with a fried egg and a black pudding – it was breakfast meets afternoon tea meets maybe not. A rematch has yet to be organised.

For me, it’s hard to look past a plain scone, the taste of which perfectly compliments extra jam, clotted cream and a slice of cold butter. Although if there’s the aforementioned cherries, I’ll be extra happy.

And then there’s treacle scones…
Regarded as traditional Halloween fare in Scotland, treacle scones are everywhere nowadays and it doesn’t even have to be All Hallows Eve to indulge in their audacious decadence. Maybe it’s only me, but I don’t think treacle scones even need jam although there’s a version in Scotland called ‘thunder and lightening’ where the scone is split and cream and extra treacle is added. Thanks forebears, but I reckon plain butter will do me the best.

If you’ve never made scones before, they’re probably the most forgiving elements of baking. Rise or not, whatever comes out of the oven a smattering of butter will resuscitate even the most biscuit-y looking efforts.

If too, you’ve ever wondered why some scones seem to rise and sprout to one side, that’s because you’re twisting the cutter as you’re cutting them out of the dough. Press, cut and lift straight up and the scones will rise straight up. However… I have to admit I kinda like the side-sprouting scones. They have a certain home-bake, crafted quality and also they look like mushrooms; and I like mushrooms.

These amounts are enough to make about six to a dozen scones depending on the cutter. Without further ado…

INGREDIENTS
200g self raising flour plus extra for dusting
50g butter (cold and chopped up)
30g caster sugar
pinch of salt
half tsp of mixed spice
heaped tsp baking powder
70g of treacle
125 ml milk

THE PLAN
Pre-heat the oven to 200C and while that’s taking its sweet time, sift the flour, sugar and salt into a bowl. Stir to combine and then add the butter, which you will then rub in with your fingertips until it’s gone and the mixture looks like breadcrumbs. It doesn’t matter if there’s the odd lump here and there. Stir through the spice and baking powder.

Mix the treacle and milk together in a jug (it’ll be claggy-looking but don’t worry) and then pour this into the dry mixture. Stir through quickly but gently and with that done, let the mixture sit for five minutes. This lets the flour absorb all the milk and the dough should be easier to handle.

Generously flour a work surface and then turn the mixture out. Then, with floured hands, pat and shape the dough into a flat round about 3cm thick. Cut out as many as you can with the scone cutter and then gather the off-cuts and do more, until all the dough is used up. Sprinkle each scone with a little caster sugar or dust with flour.

Grease a baking tray with a little butter, lay on the juvenile scones and bake for ten minutes, until they’re risen and deep golden and irresistible.

Cool on a wire rack covered with a tea towel – a clean one, unless you’re mental.

And that’s basically it. I advise eating the first one when it’s still warm and the butter melts into it.

Yep, they’ll be rolling me outta here come the wind-up.

ADDENDUM
On April Fools Day last the biggest of the little humans made cupcakes topped with a chocolate sauce. At tea-time the tea was brewed and the cupcakes distributed, each one too wearing a Smartie as a hat, set at a jaunty angle.

I was looking forward to mine. They looked and smelled great but as I took my first bite, I realise immediately that something was wrong.

Initially, I thought Sarah had made a mistake in the recipe and had maybe added salt instead of sugar and I thought, “I’m gonna have to choke this down and say it’s lovely.”

Then, seeing the look on my face, the clan burst out laughing as one. Sarah had cunningly filled my cupcake with sriracha. The cheek!

I had intended on braving it out, eating the cupcake and pretending there was nothing wrong and that it was lovely.

Alas, I couldn’t manage it – it was MINGING – and the sriracha cake went in the bin. The cheek!

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