Let's talk about scones.

What feels like a very, very long time ago, the marvellous Val Berry, owner of Haley and Clifford asked me if I could make scones for her as well as the cakes I was already supplying.

Actually, that's not quite true. What she really said was "I bet your scones are great, aren't they Jay. I'm not happy with the scones we've got. Could you do some?" To which I obviously said, "No problem," whilst thinking to myself, "I've never made a scone in my life."

That led to 2 weeks of mad recipe testing, trying to find the nicest rise, the lightest texture without falling into the burn of too much raising agent. The egg versus no-egg recipes, the egg wash versus milk wash, then standing in the school yard with various trays of scones and coloured counters to get people to try several and choose their favourite.

I was VERY thorough.

Seven years on, I've made an awful lot of scones.  I've demonstrated scone making at a church ladies' group,  taught kids and adult groups and once, to my bloke's endless amusement, insisted on talking to the chef in a guest house that served utterly revolting tough hockey pucks as their 'cream tea' and told him what not to do and gave him a decent recipe. (Poor man. He looked most uncomfortable. But for God's sake, he kneaded the mixture in a machine. He HAD to be stopped)

Just this Saturday morning I got up early to blast out 6 and a half dozen for my lovely WI Darling Roses to serve at the local Wool Festival. 

All this is my pitch for Why You Should Listen To Me When It Comes To Scones.  Because you should, you really, really should.

Scones are the single easiest things to bake as long as you know how.  They are an absolute doddle. No kneading, no creaming butter and sugar, no technique beyond Doing The Minimum.

So, how to make scones:

First, what not to do - Don't work the mixture. Don't knead it, don't roll it out. Barely touch it. You don't need to and the less you do the better your scones.  Lazy bakers make the best scones. You don't even need to do that rubbing the butter into the flour thing if you don't fancy it. You can stick it in a food processor if you like.

So - 500g of plain flour and 6 tsp of baking powder

OR

500g of self raising flour and 2 tsp of baking powder

(whichever you've got, it really doesn't matter)

50g of caster sugar

75g butter

You can sift the dry ingredients together and rub in the butter until it's like slightly damp sand

OR

You can tip it into a food processor and blitz it until completely combined.

See? Easy.

If you've used the processor you need to tip things into a big bowl for the next bit.

Pour in 300ml of milk. If your milk is on the turn, all the better. You can swap out 50ml of milk for yogurt if you have it in, you can sour your milk by warming it slightly in the microwave and sloshing in a dash of lemon juice, or just use it as is. It's totally fine.

Here's the important bit:

Mix the milk through the dry ingredients until there are no pockets of dry flour. I use a butter knife, you can use a wooden spoon if you'd rather, but do it S-L-O-W-L-Y. No muscle power, no energy, just barely mix it. If it's not quite come together, use your hands to gently bring it together into one big sticky mess. It will look a right flipping state but don't worry.

Tip the mess onto a very well floured surface. (I have a large thin chopping mat I use, because that's easier to remove scone dough from than my counter.) Pat it gently with your hands until it's approximately even. Don't use a rolling pin, there's no need.  Either flouring your hands or dampening them will reduce how much sticks to you.   All you are after is a reasonably even thickness of dough. At a guess I'd say about 2-3cm thick for 12 scones.

Dip your cutter into some flour, cut out your scone by pressing down, NOT twisting. You can give it a little shimmy if it's sticking, but promise me you won't twist it. If you twist you are sealing the top and bottom edges together which dramatically affects the rise.

NB - that's why using a small glass as a cutter isn't as effective as a cutter - pressing the glass into  the mixture inevitably presses the top and bottom edges together because of the air pressure trapped in the glass as it's forced to accommodate the scone dough.

Brush the top of the scones with beaten egg and bake at 220 C for 10 to 12 minutes.

Job's a good 'un. Well done you.

I want to show you the difference between a scone made the way I suggest and a scone that's been kneaded a bit.

That one on the left is the result of kneading the bits left over to make some spares for the family after doing the proper scone (on the right). Can you see how the right hand side could rise evenly whereas the left one has a split across the middle as the only place it could rise. It was made with more dough than the other but turned out the same size.  It was quite nice but not as light as it could be.

 Here's a size view - the top one is smoother, and has a much tighter crumb That's because the gluten in the flour was activated by the slight kneading. The lower one is light as air. It looks less smooth but that's a Good Thing in scones.

I told you it was easy! Mix some dry ingredients, give a rough stir to mix in the milk, don't bother to roll it out, just pat it gently, cut by pressing rather than twisting. Perfect scones.

Oh, and the rhymes-with-gone versus rhymes-with-stone thing? It rhymes with gone, in case you were wondering.

xx

What I'm really thinking

(with apologies to the weekly feature in the Guardian of the same name)

What I'm Really Thinking... The Charity Volunteer

I'm standing in a busy public space, wearing the tabard with the charity's name emblazoned across it, and I'm holding a collection bucket for people the drop coins into.

I'm not saying anything nor approaching people, just standing still and smiling, holding the bucket. There are 3 other volunteers at the train station with me - one near the barriers, one near a display about the charity, and another near the other main thoroughfare to me. We're not close enough to speak to each other, so we're each on our own trying to look friendly and approachable while people walk past.

I wish I could say to you all "It's ok. You can smile and I won't take is as a commitment to give money. I'm in the middle of you all, and I am going to look at you and smile. I'm a friendly person, smiling comes naturally. You don't have to avert your eyes so obviously.  Making eye contact, smiling back, acknowledging someone... it doesn't mean you are obliged to make a donation. "

Instead I thank those who drop coins in, and wish people a lovely bank holiday weekend.

After about 40 minutes I'm a bit bored so I amuse myself by finding something positive about each person walking towards me.  Great haircut; nice jacket; shared book taste from the WH Smith purchase; warm smile as they greet their friends.  It makes it easier to keep being friendly.

But again, the carefully averted gaze, the swerve to avoid passing near the collection bucket. I'm feeling like a pariah. I've had about 20 donations (mostly small change)  but a good 300 people carefully *not* looking in my direction as they walk straight past me.

Guys. Seriously.

I am not so desperate for your pocket change that I'm going guilt trip you into it with big puppy dog eyes. That 20p the girl dropped in the bucket just now? That's nice of her, but not the sort of contribution to badger and harangue people over.

If you'd like to drop some money in the bucket, ACE. That's kind of you. It's a really worthwhile cause. But if you don't, that's OK too. No one is judging you. So there's no need to look sharply away like you've been caught. I know everyone has her own priorities, preferred causes, money worries, busy lives or just self-absorption. Relax. Catching my eye is and smiling back is just that - a smile.

And have a great weekend.

Summery food for sunny days

A burst of sunshine in between the rainy days had me in the mood for food that tasted of summer. I started browsing the Guardian and BBC food sections for something new to make that is suitable for celebrating warm and gentle days. I found it on a round up of Nigel Slater recipes. 

I've cut and pasted this recipe directly from the Guardian article so I won't lose it. When read it I suddenly remembered an amazing tiny taster of gazpacho we were given before our meal in Cancalle 8 years ago, looking over the oyster beds in the sunshine.  It was one of the most delicious things I'd ever tasted. 

This wasn't quite the same but was still utterly gorgeous. Today I'm making it for the second time but I'm going to leave out the crab. Maybe try tuna or prawns? It won't have the same contrast of heat and sweetness but at £5 for a small pot of white crab meat I can't afford to use that ingredient often.

Actually, I'd have this gazpacho without any seafood at all and still love it, I think. It is dead easy and so delicious.

Nigel Slater's Cold Crab Soup:

See that tiny green chilli?
That was TOO MUCH

Serves 4

garlic 1 small clove
cherry tomatoes 300g
cucumber 1
romano peppers 2
bird’s-eye chilli 1
sherry vinegar 2 tbsp
white crab meat 300g
mustard and cress or watercress to finish

Peel the garlic and place in the jug of an electric blender or food processor. Tip in the cherry tomatoes. Peel the cucumber, then halve and cut one half into two or three pieces and add to the tomatoes and garlic. Finely dice the second half of the cucumber and set aside.

Roughly chop the romano peppers and add to the vegetables in the blender. Process the vegetables until you have a brilliant red puree, then season with the sherry vinegar and a little salt and black pepper.

Chuck it all in the blender

Fold the reserved diced cucumber into the white crab meat, taking care not to crush the flakes of crab.

Pour the soup into four bowls. Spoon the crab on top of the soup, add a pinch of mustard and cress and serve

Ready for the fridge, chilled for later

Note from me - White wine vinegar was fine instead of sherry vinegar. I think I could use a normal red pepper too, but I did buy the long romano peppers this time. I charred the skin off before using them as I find pepper skin a little tough when not cooked.
I would also go very cautiously with the bird's eye chilli - they pack one hell of a punch and could easily overwhelm the other flavours. We love chillies and it had us gasping.
If you put the soup in the fridge before serving, it really thickens up.
If you skip the crab, I suggest a little spring onion in the diced cucumber. Up the salt slightly and maybe a dash of Worcestershire sauce in the soup itself.

The Happy Art of Wrapping

Every year in mid-December my Facebook feed is full of people bemoaning all the wrapping they have to do.  It seems to be a last minute and ridiculously time-consuming chore to many people.

May I suggest another approach? Enjoy it.

I love wrapping presents. It's one of my favourite Christmas rituals. I set it out Just So and I look forward to it as a lovely quiet interlude.  This is how it works:

First of all, get all chef-y about it and set up your mise en place.  (That's a poncey French restaurant way of saying laying out all the things you need where you need them. Don't Mess With My Meez is an essential tenet of my life.  I hate it when people mess with my stuff.)

I need all the presents stacked on the living room floor.  A cup of coffee - or a pot of coffee with milk and a mug as this will be a multi-coffee activity - a mince pie or two and the Christmas film of your choice will keep you going.

My wrapping film of choice is While You Were Sleeping. Christmassy and cute.  I used to watch White Christmas but you can't wrap and watch dance numbers. 

For the wrapping you need your wrapping paper, scissors, tape, ribbons, decorative bits, a pen and labels.  I strongly recommend Scotch tape or Sellotape. Fannying about with tape that tears off in ragged points or that you're endlessly picking at with your nail trying to find an edge makes the whole enterprise needlessly painful. A bin bag per person/destination is also handy, unless your family keeps all the presents under the tree.  I do a bag per child then a bag for the people we see at my parents' house and a bag for those at Mark's parents' house.  It just makes it easy when we're driving to North Wales to have a bag to grab and pop in the boot to take in rather than root about through a mound of gifts.

You're all set - drinks, mince pies, film and supplies. Before you press Play you must do the most important thing - barricade the door.  I'm not kidding, properly block it.  I move a stool in front of the door and sometimes write a note too, along the lines of "DO NOT COME IN. If you do come in I get to keep your presents and eat your chocolate." The only possible way to relax into wrapping in my experience is to be left the hell alone. If you have kids, the prospect of having someone else do the wrapping can be a good incentive for one's partner to keep the kids entertained. Or do it while kids are napping/at school/in bed/at a friend's house. But peace and solitude are important.

For the wrapping itself, may I suggest brown kraft paper? You know the stuff - thick plain paper with faint pinstripes. It's cheap, comes in big rolls, doesn't tear easily like some wrapping papers, gives a nice crisp folds and is appropriate for every occasion.  I love it and use it for Christmas, birthdays, everything. I just swap the Christmassy ribbon for brighter colours. I do buy patterned paper to use for the younger kids' present too, because they like it, but I try and stick to things that look nice together.

The fun of kraft paper is what you put with it.  I like ribbons of jute, satin, velvet, small Christmas tree decorations, white or silver pens, rubber stamps - anything really.  Butchers twine - that twisted red and white string - also looks good on it. I often pick up nice bits in the after Christmas sales and pop them in my Christmas box to use the following year.

This year it was oversized jingle bells and painted wooden hearts and stars.

I found a set of tiny rubber stamps in a winter motif in a craft shop year ago, reduced to £2. I thought they'd be nice on gift tags. Yes, I have plain brown luggage labels as gift tags. They come in bulk, they are cheap and I like the minimalist chic vibe going on here.

Instead of feeling like I've a hateful chore I'm trudging through, I have a lovely peaceful afternoon with a romcom of my choice and a growing stack of gifts that (I think) look pretty.

A question of Darcy

Recently, a friend attributed my love of Pride and Prejudice to the appeal of a soaking wet Colin Firth emerging from a lake. Heaven knows in the 20 years since it aired it's remained one of the iconic heart throb moments and caused millions to swoon.

I. Think. Not.

I hate that scene. It's one of my most loathed scenes on telly. More than the time Gordon Ramsay tricked a vegetarian into eating pizza with bacon and boasted about it, more than any appearance by Jeremy Clarkson.  Even more than John Selwyn-Gummer shoving a burger into his little girl's face during the BSE crisis.  Allow me to explain.

I love Colin Firth. I think he's marvellous - very talented, extremely attractive and charming. I've seen Fever Pitch more times than I can remember and pretty much every film he's made since. Although singing in Mamma Mia wasn't one of his better moments...

In no way whatsoever is Colin Firth responsible for that dreadful scene. It's entirely the fault of Andrew Davies, the ferociously successful TV writer.  He wanted to sex up the dry and proper Mr Darcy for modern audiences so he had him partially disrobe and plunge into the water, emerging all tousled and hunky.

That's attractive and all, if it weren't for the fact that I know Fitzwilliam Darcy. I know him pretty well; I've spent countless hours with him.  I read P&P at least twice a year. What he looks like is pretty fluid and the nuances of his motivation I'm happy to let others play with, but at his heart I know him. I know his faults and his strength and I love him for them.

Mr Darcy is a very proper young man. He, like another of Jane Austen's heroes Mr Knightly, believes in honour, dignity, duty and being a gentleman. He is proper in the old-fashioned sense. Darcy is intensely private and reserved - rather shy really, retreating into stiffness when confronted with the unfamiliar.

His reversal in behaviour comes when Elizabeth forces him to recognise that his sense of self-worth has lead him to behave with arrogance, valuing his consequence above all else. It's awful realising you're in the wrong. He is hurt and but once his temper cools he realises the truth in her accusation. So when he sees her in the grounds of Pemberley he wants to prove her wrong, to be welcoming. Gracious even. "Look how wrong you were about me, I am a true gentleman" which progresses into "I realised you were right, so I've fixed it."

That meeting is both awkward and touching - both characters discomfited, neither quite knowing what to do, and aware of a change in themselves they can't yet let the other know of.  I love it. It's perfectly written just as it is.

Darcy wouldn't plunge himself into a lake on his way home unless her were actually aflame. Even then he'd be more likely to take the offending jacket off and throw it to the ground. He's not the impulsive, physical type. Andrew Davies wanted to make him more appealing to a modern viewer by showing a relaxed, unguarded man indulging in a relief from a stuffy day. In a different character I'd have liked it - hell, as a human, heterosexual woman I like it, but I absolutely loathe that he did that to Darcy. Davies rewrote him to sex it up a bit, and that re-write became the image of Mr Darcy in popular culture.  Andrew Davies deserves a slap with a kipper.

Incidentally, Matthew Macfadyen's Darcy works well for me - again, there's a modern slant as you see more vulnerability, but it's emotionally and psychologically consistent with the Darcy Jane Austen wrote. Nice work, Deborah Moggach (except for the ghastly scene added for American audiences that I've done my best to blot from memory.) It helps that Matthew Macfadyen is utterly lovely.

I know my fixation with some of my literary heroes can make me a cussed thing - I refuse to watch Life of Pi because the book in my head is so perfect. (This drives Luke crazy. ) I am happy with my images from the author's words and don't want them supplanted by someone else's vision.
I wouldn't watch To Kill A Mockingbird until I was in my 30s because Gregory Peck plainly isn't Atticus Finch. Gregory Peck is about as handsome, authoritative and charming as a man can be, and an absolute idol. Atticus is older, thin, with fading eyesight, thinning hair and a tendency to stoop, and he can't play ballgames like the other kids' dads. He isn't a fine figure of a man but he's a very fine man indeed.

Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe, Laura Ingalls, Scout and Atticus, Charlotte and Wilbur, Lizzie Bennett and Darcy, Elinor Dashwood, Dorothea Brooke, The Grand Sophy and so many others have been amongst my dearest and most cherished friends for years. I want to share them with the world, buy copies for my friends' children, revisit them regularly.

I don't need to shove them in a lake to see their appeal.

All Change

16 and a half years ago I went on maternity leave from my full time office job. Back then the leave was 14 weeks. I worked to 37 weeks and Luke was a little late being born. This meant I was due to go back to work full time from 8am to 5pm when he was just 9 weeks old.  

I couldn't do it.

I quit.  I worked from home as a web designer, admin and tech support woman for small businesses for a few years then started Cake Box, my bakery from home.  Other than 9 months of popping into a local estate agent to update their online files on a Saturday when our first child was a toddler I've worked based from home all that time.

All this changes now. I've got a job. Yikes.

I shouldn't be so surprised, of course. Millions of people have jobs. It's *normal* to have a job. And it's not like one dropped from the sky into my lap, I did have to apply for it. Indeed one of my challenges for this year was to find a way to earn money. But to work in an office, not be my own boss, have colleagues and - gasp - childcare issues seems kind of intimidating right now. I'm trying to work it all out in my mind so life will go smoothly but there's such a lot to think about . I need to leave the house at 7:30 am and Mark is in Slough some of the week, so getting our 9yo sorted and to school on time will be interesting. I am fortunate in having Very Excellent Mates who are willing to help out.

It's going to be fine, of course. It will mean a lot of changes for everyone in the family but after a couple of months it will be normal to us.  

One of the things I'm clearly going to need is a reliable method of transport. The school I'll be secretary for is just over 3 miles away, not on a direct bus route. Oh look, what a perfect reason to buy a new Vespa!

I picked a Vespa Primavera 125 - it's a lovely dark grey-blue colour with a beige seat; it's quite retro looking. It runs like a dream and those lovely new tires grip the road so well compared to my poor old ET4 it was a totally different riding experience. I'd better like this job; I have to keep it so I can pay for my bike!

My now-defunct ET4

Isn't that a pretty bike?

vroom vroom

Some of the other things I wanted to attack this year were  - 

• See friends regularly - I'm getting better at this

• Attend at least 5 book group meetings  - Tick! 
• Have a week of decluttering one room a day.  A month of decluttering weekends would do too - I've got some areas much improved but there's loads still to do.
• Walk 30km in a month - my ruined knee kind of scuppered this one, so I need to get back on track now.
• Learn a new skill
• Go to a WI meeting - I've been to 3 meetings and a meal, and have joined
• Volunteer on a weekly basis  - Between reading with the school and the food bank work I was doing more than once a week. Most of that will have to stop now I'm working, though.

In which people are just lovely

I was in for a cracking weekend.

I'd planned it months ago. Registered for Rugby World Cup tickets, booked my Yarndale ticket, had all my favourite things with some of my VERY favourite people.  Fantastic.

Friday night Dad headed here to avoid the match traffic and Mark bought fancy fish from the lovely fishmongers and cooked us a gorgeous meal. I'd never had halibut before. It's lovely.

Saturday was match day. Mark, Miss B and Luke went to the cinema to see Inside Out (and were treated to popcorn at the Everyman by the rather ace Jessica who works there) while Dad, Zach and I were off to the rugby. Canada vs Italy, and given the crushing defeat in the Canada vs Ireland I was trying prepare Zach for disappointment. I needn't have worried. It was marvellous.

I mean, yes, in the end Italy won but it started with a 10 point lead for Canada and right up to the last 5 minutes it could have gone either way.  Masses of action, great excitement and huge men with beards battling it out mere metres away from us. We were so close to the touch line; any closer and we'd have been in the scrum itself.  I'd had a pig of a job sorting out Zach's ticket after they'd allocated him a seat in another part of the stadium. After 4 1/2 hours on the phone I got him moved to directly behind us, assuming I'd take that seat myself. In the event the lovely blokes next to us swapped so we could all be together.

(Given how loudly I cheered, Zach and Dad might have preferred to have left me sitting a little further away. I do get rather excited.)

That evening I got yet more excited watching a punishing match between England and Wales. I texted my apologies to the next door neighbours after an injury-wracked Wales roared to victory in the final moments. Marvellous stuff.

Sunday was Yarndale. All hail the Yarndale crew for a third event that brought so much happiness to others. It was so organised and well considered that it was a joy to attend. I had every faith it would be.

I had hoped to go with my Very Excellent Mate Rach again, but it didn't quite work out. A mum from the school run had asked to go with me, too, but her work schedule clashed with the event. My neighbour Vanesa had also planned to come with me but had to visit a relative in hospital. That's OK - I had a brilliant time the very first Yarndale when I was on my own, so at 9:30am I set off on my beloved Vespa at half nine for a day of yarn, craft and meeting new people. There was plenty of mist and it was pretty chilly but that would soon burn off and we were promised a glorious sunny day. I love a chance to ride in the sunshine through the gorgeous scenery of this region, and I was confident I could squish my purchases into the storage space on the bike.

At 10:25, a few miles outside of Skipton, it went horrible wrong. My poor Vespa lost power and made some truly appalling noises.  I drifted to a stop at the hard shoulder of the A65 as lorries blasted past me.  My iPhone told me I was 7 minutes from my destination.  It was wrong.  I wouldn't make it to Yarndale until 2pm.

While I was waiting for the breakdown truck and feeling very isolated indeed, people were ace to me.  A bloke in a car on the other side of the carriageway pulled up to say he lived in the next village, so would it help if he fetched me some petrol? Then a guy on a Ducati pulled up. Roger had owned a Vespa ET4 like mine some years back and offered to see if the problem was something he could repair. He had a toolkit on his bike, had a look and a listen.

We agreed our Italian bikes sure had style but that if it was reliability you wanted, Hondas were hard to beat no matter how clunky they looked. Ducati and Vespas were more temperamental beauties. Roger did his best but the fault was beyond his skills. He offered me a lift to Skipton but I needed to stay for the recovery truck.  He reluctantly went on his way, but I was very touched by his help and concern.

The lad driving the recovery truck was called David.  He and the insurance service were thrashing out the details of taking the bike back home for me as it was 25 miles away and my cover had a 20 mile limit. Drat.  Then I remembered Colin Appleyard Motorcycles had a branch nearby.  Before their Leeds branch shut down I'd used them for repairs for 15 years - perhaps they could take the Vespa? Google claimed they were open on Sundays, so I started ringing while David loaded the bike up.

We set off, with me continuing to ring the garage.  In between calls, David told me all about his upcoming holiday to Dubai with his partner, and how much he was looking forward to it. He was so friendly and pleasant he made a tough situation much nicer. However, Google's information was wrong and the garage was all locked up. Oh bugger.

By this time Mark, with Miss B in tow loudly protesting the interruption of her pancake-making activity, arrived at the garage too. He'd brought me a flask of coffee which is one of the many reasons I love him so much. I drank that while David rang his depot to run something past them. Rather than leave me and my bike stranded or drive the 25 miles to Leeds which still wouldn't get the bike to a garage, David offered to take it back with him to the locked depot overnight and drop it off at Appleyard's in the morning.  That meant Mark could take me to Yarndale, the insurance would still cover the distance and the Vespa would be safe and secure until I could get her looked at.

Brilliant!

Mark got me to Yarndale where I had a lovely couple of hours despite feeling knackered by the events so far. Jane from Baa Ram Ewe gave me a big hug when I arrived to help soothe me from my bike upset, and I had a cuppa and a butty before diving into the stalls. I had a go at lacemaking with bobbins like the people I saw on holiday in Bruges - very cool! I met up with exhibitors I knew, chatted to the Yarndale committee, bought everything my mother-in-law requested plus a hank of hand-dyed alpaca wool for myself. I met fellow rugby enthusiast and many, many fellow crochet junkies. I got home by public transport, complete wiped out, and Mark had made me another lovely dinner.

My Vespa is beyond repair, it seems, and I am feeling bereft. But I am also very touched by the friendliness, good nature and kindness shown to me in so many ways by match stewards, fellow fans, motorists, Roger, David and Mark and everyone at Yarndale.
People are just lovely. I'm glad to have met so many of them.

J xx