
Chef Thomas
A Bloomer
A proper British bloomer, slashed deep and baked until the cuts open wide and the crust turns deep, glossy gold. The kind of loaf that makes the rest of the day feel deliberate.
A cooking platform built around craft, culture, and the stories behind what we eat.

Created by Chef Thomas
Homemade crumpets with a soft, spongy crumb and a top full of small holes ready to drink in melted butter, the kind of thing to make on a slow Sunday and toast all week.
It's the middle of January. The light goes by four and the kettle is on more or less constantly. This is crumpet weather. Not the bag from the supermarket, useful as it sometimes is, but a proper homemade crumpet, soft and a little tangy and full of those small holes that exist for the sole purpose of holding butter.
Making them yourself is one of those things that sounds harder than it is. A yeasted batter, an hour on the side of the kitchen, a heavy pan over a low heat, some metal rings to keep the batter in shape. That's it. The first batch will probably go wrong in some small way: too thick, too thin, too hot a pan. The second batch will be better. By the third you'll wonder why you ever bought them.
Watching the holes appear is the best bit. The batter goes into the ring glossy and silent, and then the bubbles start to rise, slowly at first and then in a quiet rush, bursting at the surface and leaving their record behind. When the top has gone from wet to matte, you know you've done it. I wrote it down in the notebook the first time I got it right: "Crumpets. January. Holes all the way through." That was enough.
Serve them toasted, with cold butter. Honey if you must. Marmite if you're that way inclined. We're only making dinner. Or breakfast. Or the small ceremony that gets you through a Tuesday afternoon in February.
Quantity
225g
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
300ml
warmed to blood temperature
Quantity
150ml
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
Quantity
for greasing
Quantity
to serve
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| strong white bread flour | 225g |
| caster sugar | 1 teaspoon |
| fast-action dried yeast | 1 teaspoon |
| whole milkwarmed to blood temperature | 300ml |
| warm water | 150ml |
| fine sea salt | 1 teaspoon |
| bicarbonate of soda | 1/2 teaspoon |
| sunflower oil | for greasing |
| good salted butter | to serve |
Sift the flour into a large bowl. Add the sugar and yeast on one side, the salt on the other. Pour in the warm milk and whisk hard for a couple of minutes until you have a smooth, thick batter, somewhere between pancake batter and double cream. Cover the bowl with a tea towel and leave it somewhere warm for about an hour. It should rise, bubble, and start to smell faintly of beer. That smell is the whole point.
Mix the bicarbonate of soda with the warm water and stir it through the risen batter. It will hiss and foam a little. The batter should now be the consistency of thick pouring cream, loose enough to settle into a ring on its own but not so thin it runs out of one. If it feels too stiff, add a splash more warm water. Trust your eye on this. Cover and leave for another twenty minutes.
Set a heavy frying pan or flat griddle over a low to medium heat. Brush the inside of your crumpet rings generously with sunflower oil, and brush the pan too. The pan needs to be properly hot before the batter goes in, but not so hot that it browns the bottoms before the holes have a chance to form. This is a low-and-slow business. Patience now is repaid later.
Sit the rings in the pan and let them heat through for a minute. Spoon batter into each ring to a depth of about a centimetre, no more. Now wait. The magic happens in the next few minutes. Bubbles will start to rise through the batter and burst at the surface, leaving the small holes that crumpets are made for. The top should go from glossy and wet to matte and dry, the holes set in place like a record of what just happened. This takes around eight to ten minutes. If the bottom is browning before the top sets, your heat is too high. Lower it.
Once the tops are dry and the holes are set, lift the rings off (a small palette knife helps), flip the crumpets, and cook for another minute or two on the second side. Just enough to set the top. You don't want to colour it. The holey side is the side you're protecting. Lift them onto a wire rack and carry on with the rest of the batter, oiling the rings between batches.
Crumpets are at their best when toasted, even fresh from the pan. Toast them on the holey side until the edges go golden and crisp, then lay a slab of cold salted butter on top and let it sink in. The holes do the rest. There are few better feelings than putting a warm crumpet in front of someone on a dark afternoon.
1 serving (about 80g)
Culinary guides, cultural storytelling, and the editorial depth that makes cooking meaningful.
Discover Culinary Explorer
Chef Thomas
A proper British bloomer, slashed deep and baked until the cuts open wide and the crust turns deep, glossy gold. The kind of loaf that makes the rest of the day feel deliberate.

Chef Thomas
A simple white loaf made from flour, water, yeast, and salt. The kind of bread that fills the kitchen with the smell of a Saturday morning and teaches you, slowly, everything you need to know about baking.

Chef Thomas
A dark, fruit-heavy Welsh tea loaf, soaked overnight in strong tea and baked slowly until the kitchen smells of spice and orange peel. Sliced thick and buttered cold.

Chef Thomas
Rich, butter-laden Georgian buns from Bath, glazed deep gold and crowned with crushed sugar nibs that crack beneath your teeth, the kind of bake that turns a Sunday afternoon into something deliberate.