Crispy Ginger Nuts

These belong to October onwards. Not because you can't make them in July, but because a ginger nut wants weather to lean against. Cold rain on the window. The first jumper of the season. The kettle going on for the second time before lunch. That's when a tin of these makes proper sense.

A good ginger nut is rock-hard. Not chewy, not soft, not a half-cooked compromise pretending to be a biscuit. Hard enough to snap cleanly when you bend it, hard enough to survive a long dunk in strong tea without collapsing into the bottom of the mug. The hardness is the whole point. So is the heat. Two tablespoons of ground ginger sounds like a lot. It isn't. Anything less and you're making a vaguely spiced biscuit, not a ginger nut.

Golden syrup is the other thing that matters. It gives the dough that dark, almost treacly depth and helps the biscuits crack into those proper fissured tops as they bake. You can taste the difference. Don't be tempted to swap it for honey or maple syrup. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract, but some words you don't change.

I wrote it down in the notebook the first time I got these right: "Ginger nuts. Dark. Cracked. October. Two cups of tea." There are few better feelings than passing the tin to someone who didn't know they wanted a biscuit until they heard the lid come off.