
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.
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Created by Chef Thomas
A batch of proper fruit scones, well risen and golden, the kind that turn a Tuesday afternoon into something resembling an occasion when split warm with butter and jam.
There are few smells in a kitchen better than a tray of scones in the last five minutes of baking. Butter, warm flour, the faint caramel of sultanas catching at the edges. It pulls people from other rooms. It always has.
A scone is one of the simplest things you can bake, which is exactly why so many turn out badly. The dough wants to be handled lightly, almost reluctantly, and the oven wants to be properly hot. Get those two things right and you're most of the way there. The rest is just butter, milk, a handful of plump sultanas, and a quick squeeze of lemon to wake up the raising agents. We're only making dinner. Or in this case, the thing that comes after lunch and before supper, which in my house is a meal in its own right.
These are the scones I make for a tea on a rainy afternoon, for a friend dropping by, for a church fete table, for the times when bread feels like too much trouble but a slice of toast feels like not enough. They take twenty minutes start to finish. They keep for a day, though they rarely need to. I wrote it down in the notebook years ago: flour, butter, sultanas, lemon. Hot oven. Don't fuss. That's still all there is to it.
Split them while they're still warm. Butter first, then jam, or jam first, then cream, depending on which side of the country you grew up on. I won't get involved in that argument. Your kitchen, your rules.
Quantity
350g
plus extra for dusting
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
85g
cold, cubed
Quantity
60g
Quantity
100g
Quantity
175ml
plus extra for brushing
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
a squeeze
Quantity
1
beaten, for glazing
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| self-raising flourplus extra for dusting | 350g |
| baking powder | 1 teaspoon |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
| unsalted buttercold, cubed | 85g |
| caster sugar | 60g |
| sultanas | 100g |
| whole milkplus extra for brushing | 175ml |
| vanilla extract | 1 teaspoon |
| lemon juice | a squeeze |
| eggbeaten, for glazing | 1 |
Set the oven to 220C/200C fan and slide a baking tray in to heat. A hot tray gives the scones a head start from underneath, which is half the secret of a good rise. Line a second tray with baking parchment, ready to slide on top of the hot one when the time comes.
Tip the flour, baking powder, and salt into a wide bowl. Add the cold butter and rub it in with your fingertips, lifting your hands up out of the bowl as you work to keep everything cool and aerated. You're after the texture of fine breadcrumbs, with maybe a few slightly larger flecks of butter still visible. Don't overdo it. Warm hands are the enemy of a tender scone.
Stir in the sugar and the sultanas, making sure the fruit is well distributed through the flour. The sultanas should look properly plump. If yours look a bit tired, soak them in a splash of warm water or tea for ten minutes beforehand and pat them dry. Tired fruit makes tired scones.
Warm the milk gently until it's just barely tepid, then stir in the vanilla and the squeeze of lemon. The lemon reacts with the raising agents and gives you a better lift. Make a well in the flour, pour in the milk, and bring it together quickly with a butter knife, cutting through the dough rather than stirring. Stop the moment it comes together into a shaggy, slightly sticky mass. The less you handle it, the better.
Tip the dough onto a lightly floured surface and pat it gently into a round about 3cm thick. Don't roll it. A rolling pin is too aggressive here. Use your hands. Dip a 5cm round cutter in flour and stamp out the scones with a clean, decisive press. No twisting. Twisting seals the edges and stops them rising properly. Gather the scraps gently, pat them out again, and cut more. The second batch is always slightly less handsome than the first, which is the way of things.
Slide the parchment with the scones onto the hot tray. Brush the tops with the beaten egg, taking care not to let any drip down the sides, which would also stop them rising evenly. Bake for twelve to fifteen minutes, until they're well risen and the tops are a deep, glossy gold. Tap the bottom of one with your finger. It should sound hollow. Lift them onto a wire rack and resist the urge for at least five minutes. They need to settle.
1 serving (about 95g)
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