A million years ago I went to London with a group of friends.
Our first morning there we all took stock of our surroundings and debated where we should go for breakfast. The night before, when we initially landed across the pond, the group decided they wanted to eat at Pizza Hut, because it was familiar.
I wanted to go to a pub and get fish and chips. I lost that battle. We had very bad pizza.
During our breakfast conversation I was determined to convince the group to find a local place for scones. I had always wanted to try a traditional English scone with clotted cream and also, I thought after last night’s terrible pizza fiasco (everyone thought the pizza was dreadful) the team would rally around the idea of eating local.
They chose McDonald’s.
I decided to break from the group at this point. We only ate together one other time the rest of the week we were in England.
Within walking distance from our hotel I found a small cafe. So small that there was only enough room for a single table.
That is where my love affair with the English scone began. It was straight out of the oven warm. The clotted cream was a dream and the flaky, dense subtle flavors of the baked goodness have haunted me for years.
It was not only one of the most delightful textures and subtle flavors I had experienced, but the couple running the place were straight out of a fairy tale.
I have been searching for that scone since then. Nothing has come close and believe me, I have had a lot of scones. A lot.
Last week, while out doing some last minute Christmas shopping, I stumbled upon this BOOK.
I bought it because it had scone recipes and I liked the way it looked. I made the chocolate hazelnut scone for Christmas brunch.
This is the closest I have ever come in decades to finding the scone of my dreams.
Sweet. Mother. Of. Pearl. It is delicious.
Now, I want to bake everything in this book.
Happy baking.
-angelo
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