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Scones

Categories: Friday feeling

Golden-baked doughy delights from Flour Station

Meat, you can understand. There’s a whole host of reasons why that’s political. Ditto dairy, fish, and anything with a region or country specified in the name. But scones? Those golden-baked, sultana-laced doughy delights?

Foreigners must wonder what on earth the fuss is about. “Why not fight about something proper, like pasta or falafel?” they must wonder. “How can you disagree on anything consumed on an occasion you call ‘afternoon tea’?”

And they’ve got a point. In themselves, written down or even to look at, scones are inoffensive. They’re “simple, and delicious. That’s why they do so well.” Veronica at Flour Station is Swedish, and thus entirely above our national arguments surrounding pronunciation—‘gone’ or ‘bone’?—and cream-then-jam, or jam-then-cream.

Mute outrage
“I actually toast them,” she grins, causing the sky to turn black and passersby to stop in their tracks in mute outrage. “I’ll toast anything. Being Swedish, I can do strange things to British food.” The less said, the better. Mercifully, she’s in our camp when it comes to putting jam before clotted cream—which she gets from Neal’s Yard Dairy.

“If you’re quite purist, then simply some really good butter, from there or Hook and Sons, is delicious.” Her thinking is that if it’s top dollar, any baked good can thrive on butter alone. We agree—these are heavenly big, bulbous, bronzed, studded with sultanas which burst sweetly through the soft, cosy cakiness—they certainly could. 

But they’re still better rhymed with gone, slathered with raspberry jam then smeared with golden-hued clotted cream.