Perfect Scone Recipe

Scones are the perfect addition to your morning tea party or afternoon snack. They can be enjoyed sweet or savoury, covered in condiments or just by themselves. But baking the perfect scone can bring its difficulties.

It all began in year three when my cordial Irish mother let me lick the cake spoon and my love for baking was birthed. I have been in the kitchen ever since, baking almost everything imaginable; cakes, slices, pastries, bread infused with every fruit that grows under the sun, sometimes even vegetables, roti, English muffins, hell, I’ll bake a mean crouton if I’m in the mood. My cookie batches would never last more than a day in the cookie jar, I won the Portuguese sweet bread competition within the South-Australian-Portuguese baking society for seven consecutive years, I was employed by Hamish Blake to secretly make his son’s notorious birthday cakes (the Instagram stories are all a lie).

But I could never maaster the art of the scone. I could never put my finger on it, perhaps it was their awkward sizing, the predicament of what shape to make them, the constant turmoil of whether or not to incorporate a sweetener. Perhaps scones are innately flawed in their simplicity. Regardless, they were my vice, and I told no one. It was a secret that weighed heavy on my shoulders with years of accumulated guilt and shame. Never could I bring myself to admit that I could be bested by such a pathetic floury snack.

In a fit of my humiliation, I vowed that I would make something of myself. I enrolled into law school, sat within the cold asbestos-ridden walls of Ligertwood for four miserable years, and got myself a respectable degree. A few years of gruelling work for the man aided greatly by No-Doz and I found myself one of the most sought-after solicitors in the Adelaide metropolitan region.I’d gotten myself a beautiful, intelligent wife, and we lived together in a beautiful, Burnside house.

On the weekends we walked our golden retriever through the tree lined streets and dined at immaculate restaurants. The years flowed by. We had a child, then another. Henry and Olivia grew up to be the two best synchronised swimmers the nation had ever seen, leading Australia to victory in the Rio Olympics and bringing our family pride that would last for decades to come. Our names oozed with the taste of money and the greatness. Our home became something of a restaurant, hosting dinner parties with eight courses which all had their own double page feature in The Adelaide Review. Wine glasses flushed yellow and crimson, plates that filled and emptied many times over with every pastry under the sun. Every pastry, that is, except the scone. It tore me to pieces. All of my ceremonies were nothing but an illusory pretence at happiness. But I was never content, I was a failure. My animations were simply a distraction from the unrelenting misery of my scone-less existence.

When the word got out about the coronavirus came into play in March, I withdrew into a spell of isolation much earlier than necessary. I couldn’t bear to show my fraud-ridden face to the world for a second longer. For six months and seven days, I did nothing but bake scones. Day in, day out, retracted from the glowing light of the world, I locked myself in the kitchen and went to work. Too dry, too moist, too round, too flat. The loving words of my wife and children ran empty off my back and to the floor, where they lay among the pile of discarded scones. I was not worthy of such words. (continued...)

Not until one sunny Tuesday. It was a Tuesday like any other, but it felt new. The sun illuminated the fresh dewdrops on the greenery outside my window and I let the light fall on the kitchen bench. I set to work, letting my mind drift to my successes over the years. I realised that perhaps I wasn’t a failure after all. I suppose I had done a lot of good; I suppose that I had raised my children well. My haze of thoughts was interrupted by the ding of the oven timer. Opening the door, I was hit with an astoundingly pleasant aroma, and there they were; the most perfect scones I had ever seen in my life. Not too dry, too moist, round or flat. They were perfect. I had done it.

Anyway, for this recipe you’ll just need: • Plain flour, for dusting • 3 cups self-raising flour • 80g salted butter • 1 cup milk

1. Preheat the oven to 200°C. 2. Rub the butter into the flour. 3. Add 1 cup of milk, mix together to form dough. 4. Cut 12 round scones and place onto a baking tray dusted with plain flour. 5. Bake for 20 minutes or until golden brown 6. Enjoy!