Back on the scone train

It's been a while!

Nobody was eating any scones around here over the past two weeks. The first weekend, near the beginning of March, was way too busy. The second one, last weekend, was spent in Toronto, where we woke up to fresh blueberry muffins, fruit salad and coffee compliments of our B&B, and then Brian's great aunt and uncle.

The last time I sconed, it resulted in two batches: Pina Colada, and Peanut Butter and Bacon. Both were awesome, and within a few hours, thanks to some hungry musicians, this is what we were left with:

So, after a two week drought, I made a batch of rhubarb scones. I'd been under the false assumption that rhubarb was pretty much inedible unless it was mixed with strawberries, but I forgot to buy more strawberries after accidentally eating all of them in one of my sleep-eating episodes.

In light of this, I did what any reasonable person would do: I went to the cupboard and consulted Marie Nightingale's "Out of Nova Scotia Gardens" cookbook. Rhubarb is kind of a big deal back home, whether you're sneaking it out of someone's garden and eating it until your face feels like it's going to turn inside out, or tucking into a strawberry rhubarb crisp. I flipped through the rhubarb section (see? It's a big enough deal to have its own section), noted the ingredients it seemed to get friendly with, and came up with Rhubarb, Orange and Walnut Scones. They were dope.

Because I am an amazing lover, I did all of this with the end goal of bringing Brian breakfast in bed, as I usually do on Saturdays (aka Sconerdays). Because I am also crazy, I posed the food, ingredients, cookbook and coffee and took a picture for this blog. I made food porn. I'm sorry, and you're welcome.

Scone of the week: Apple and old cheddar with streusel topping

Behind the scenes, it ain't pretty. I make a big mess every time I bake. I always have to wash my clothes afterward, because I still can't control my habit of wiping everything on myself instead of, you know, a towel, or whatever adults do. But while I'm sharing, you should know that beneath all of those burnt blobs and blips of miscast streusel lies one of the best investments I have ever made: a Silpat. I've been known to create full-blown fires in our oven, so anything that cuts down on the likelihood of burning food gets my approval.

Anyway. Scones. These puppies are good. No, great. They are the best scones yet: they've got chunks of apple, hunks of sharp, old, white cheddar, a pinch of cinnamon and cloves, and crunchy, buttery, oaty streusel on top. I have, in effect, recreated apple pie with a slice of cheddar (a favourite pairing of my father's I used to find puzzling, if not revolting. Alas, just like his peanut butter and bacon sandwiches, I've come around to it and regretted wasting the first 20-odd years of my life not eating it.), only in scone form, so it's acceptable breakfast fare. Right? Right.

Plenty of soup for you

I do not think of myself as a lover of soup. As a rule. It doesn't feature on my desert island list. It's not one of the foods I daydream about while camping in the backcountry. It wasn't one of the things I doodled, salivating, with a pencil and paper, when I had my wisdom teeth and tonsils out (separate incidents; perhaps because it is one of the only things you're allowed to eat when you've had those particular body parts yanked out).

But something happened tonight - something with roots stretching back into the beginning of the week, when I surveyed the contents of my refrigerator and tried to figure out what to do with the odds and ends left over from meals gone by. (It's a perpetual problem; especially when dealing with buttermilk. Who ever uses the whole carton without some serious, frantic, pre-expiry-date recipe searching?) In any case, something happened. I had to make buttermilk biscuits, and I found myself planning to make soup to go along with them. And not to spoil the ending for you, but clearly I don't know myself that well at all. I really, really liked this soup. It also reminded me of other soups I adore, and which I only have a month or so left to make before the Ottawa summer sets in (optimistic, je sais) and barbecue becomes the only realistic means of preparing food.

Anyway. You need a diversion from the soup so LOOKATTHESEBISCUITS! They are... well... perfect. I love them. I think you should make them, say, tomorrow. I've served them with chili, turkey stew, jambalaya, chowder and all alone for lunch. They're the ideal mix of salty and sweet, with a kick of onion and the tang of buttermilk, all packed into one fluffy, moist little circle. Tonight, Brian made them, because I was too busy chopping and slicing and simmering and sauteeing, and I will say it with pride: the man can bake. (If you make them, don't skimp on the sea salt on top. Just ask my dad.)

But the soup was so good, it was hard to decide whether to take a bite of biscuit or a slurp of soup (so very hard! The humanity!). You should probably make it too. You'll like it because it's earthy, with precisely the right broth:chunks ratio. And you might just fall in love with dried porcini mushrooms, which I did, about a year ago.

Now. What am I going to do with the dark green parts of those leeks? Seriously. One billion dollars to the person who comes up with a truly delicious and worthwhile recipe that uses the part of the leek nobody else has the huevos to do something about.

Scone of the (last) week: Honey Vanilla Almond

In January, I made a promise to myself and The Generalized Other that I would create a new, unique scone every weekend.

So far, I have kept that promise, with the exception of this Saturday, when I fulfilled another promise made to a Significant Other: that I would, when the time was right, attempt to bake cinnamon rolls.

This post isn't about them, unfortunately, because when I went to take a picture of the last one, it had 'mysteriously' disappeared. But they were pretty good, especially the second batch, which I made more carefully, with more flour on my hands, knowing and avoiding the mistakes I made with the first batch. Still though, even the duds, made duddish mostly by their gnarly, sloppy aesthetic, were pleasant, balanced, indulgent.

Enough about them. This post is about last week's scone: nicknamed 'The Nougat', it was my secret base recipe (to be revealed later, surely) with the addition of real vanilla, toasted sliced almonds, and honey (not enough of it).

They were only OK. They were not as good as previous scones, such as the apricot walnut beauties I debuted with, or the bacon, pecan and maple-glazed garlic heart-stoppers I tried two weeks ago. Next week's are sure to be a hit though, so stay tuned!