
Chef Thomas
All-Butter Shortbread Fingers
The plainest biscuit in the tin and the hardest one to stop eating, three ingredients and a slow oven turning good butter into something quietly perfect with a cup of tea.
A cooking platform built around craft, culture, and the stories behind what we eat.

Created by Chef Thomas
A Northumbrian griddle scone, named for the sizzle of lard on hot iron, eaten warm from the pan with cold butter slumping into the crumb.
On a wet afternoon, when the light has gone grey by three and the kettle has been on twice already, this is what I want. A pan on the hob. A bowl of flour and fat on the counter. The smell of warm currants and butter and something faintly nutty from the lard hitting the cast iron.
Singin' hinnies are from Northumberland, a part of the country I love and don't pretend to be from. The name comes from the noise: when the fat in the dough meets the hot pan, they sing. A proper hiss and crackle, like wet leaves on a bonfire. Hinny is the local word for a sweetheart, the kind of thing called across a kitchen by someone who's been calling you it for forty years. A singing sweetheart. There are worse things to put on a plate.
This is coal-country food. Built for hungry people coming in cold, made from what was in the cupboard, cooked on whatever pan was already hot. There's no oven involved, no rising, no waiting. You rub the fats into the flour, scatter in the currants, bring it together with a splash of milk, and the whole thing is on the table within half an hour. We're only making dinner. Or tea, in this case. The principle is the same.
The lard matters. I know lard has fallen out of fashion, and I know butter would be easier to reach for, but lard is what gives these their proper shortness and that quiet savoury edge that stops them being just a fruit scone. Use both, the way I've written it here, and you'll get the best of each. Eat them with cold butter while they're still warm enough to melt it. There are few better feelings.
Quantity
250g
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
60g
cold and cubed
Quantity
60g
cold and cubed, plus extra for serving
Quantity
75g
Quantity
about 120ml
or half milk and half single cream
Quantity
a little extra
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| plain flour | 250g |
| baking powder | 1 teaspoon |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
| lardcold and cubed | 60g |
| unsalted buttercold and cubed, plus extra for serving | 60g |
| currants | 75g |
| whole milkor half milk and half single cream | about 120ml |
| lard for greasing | a little extra |
Sift the flour, baking powder and salt into a wide bowl. Add the cold cubes of lard and butter. Rub them into the flour with your fingertips, lifting the mixture as you go to keep it light. Stop when it looks like coarse breadcrumbs with a few pebbly bits of fat still visible. Those bits matter. They're what give the hinnies their flake.
Scatter in the currants and stir them through. Pour in most of the milk and bring it together with a knife, then a hand, into a soft, slightly shaggy dough. Add the rest of the milk only if you need it. The dough should hold together when you press it but not feel wet or sticky. Tip it out onto a floured surface and give it the gentlest of kneads, just enough to smooth it.
Pat or roll the dough out to about a centimetre thick. No thinner. You want some body to them. Cut into rounds with a glass or a cutter, or do it the old way and cut the whole thing into one large round and then into wedges. There's no right answer. Gather the scraps, press them together, and cut again until the dough is used up.
Set a heavy frying pan or a flat griddle over a medium heat and let it warm through properly. Cast iron is best if you have it. Rub the surface with a little lard, just enough to gloss it. When you flick a bead of water onto the pan and it dances rather than sits, you're ready.
Lay the hinnies onto the hot pan, leaving room between them. They'll hiss and sizzle as they hit the fat. That's the singing. That's the whole point and the reason for the name. Cook for about four or five minutes on the first side, until the underside is a deep, mottled gold. Flip them once, gently, and cook the other side for another four minutes or so. They should feel firm at the edges and just give a little in the middle when you press them. If they're colouring too fast, drop the heat. Slow and steady wins here.
Lift them off the pan and onto a clean cloth or a wooden board. Split each one in half while it's still hot, and put a generous knob of cold butter inside. The butter will soften and slump into the warm crumb. Eat them straight away, standing at the counter if you must. This is not a thing that improves with waiting.
1 serving (about 80g)
Culinary guides, cultural storytelling, and the editorial depth that makes cooking meaningful.
Discover Culinary Explorer
Chef Thomas
The plainest biscuit in the tin and the hardest one to stop eating, three ingredients and a slow oven turning good butter into something quietly perfect with a cup of tea.

Chef Thomas
Lacy golden tubes of toffee and ginger, filled with cold brandy cream and served the moment they're ready. The biscuit that breaks under your teeth and tastes of December.

Chef Thomas
Tall, tender scones with a soft buttermilk crumb and a deep golden top, the kind of thing you can make from cold to plate in half an hour and feel quietly clever about all afternoon.

Chef Thomas
Sharp cheddar scones with a hum of mustard and cayenne, golden-topped and tall, made for a bowl of soup on a grey afternoon or a picnic basket on a hopeful one.