Date and Walnut Scones

There's a particular hour in October when the light starts to give up around four, and the only sensible response is to put the oven on. A scone takes half an hour from a cold kitchen to a warm plate, which is one of the more useful facts about baking.

Dates and walnuts belong to this time of year. The dates have that deep, treacly sweetness that wants colder weather around it, and the walnuts taste like the trees they came off, which is to say they taste like autumn. Toasted properly, they smell of woodsmoke and butter and something faintly bitter that keeps the scones from going cloying. Together they make a scone that feels like a small kindness on a grey afternoon.

A scone is a forgiving thing if you let it be. Cold butter, a soft hand, a hot oven. Don't overwork the dough. Don't twist the cutter. Don't open the oven door too soon. Beyond that, a scone is mostly patience and the willingness to stop fussing.

I wrote this one down in the notebook last November, after the leaves had gone and a friend dropped in unexpectedly. "Dates, walnuts, butter, four o'clock." That was the entry. It's still the best note I've made about them.