Day Thirty Six: Mummy's Scones

Last year Martha published a book on entertaining, aptly named Martha's Entertaining. It's loaded with photos of parties she's thrown at her various houses.  Besides making me wish for an invitation (I'll clear my schedule, Martha!), it has me itching to make some of the food she serves.

One of the most do-able parties is called Tea in the Afternoon. (p. 113) It's based on the traditional British tea; and, as my friends know, I do adore all things British.

The British have a lovely practice of having Tea in the late afternoon. "Tea" includes not only the beverage, but also a light meal.   The purpose of this meal is to ward off hunger between lunch and dinner.  At my house, we just call this "snack", and very often it consists of orange, fish-shaped crackers and possibly some fresh fruit.  Many days my children eat too much "snack", and the "snack" ruins dinner.

Tea is so much more civilized.

In an effort to banish orange, fish-shaped crackers from my life and institute something akin to tea time, I decided to make some scones.  I chose scones because the recipes look simple.  Also, since scones are meant to be smothered in butter, jam and cream, if I botch them, I'm thinking no one will notice.  See, I have a vague theory that scones are like grits:  a vehicle.  To quote Kathryn Stockett's The Help:
"That's all a grit is, a vehicle.  For whatever it is you [sic] rather be eating."

Just to be safe, I bought a really good jar of jam.

I chose Martha's Sweet White Scones and enlisted my five-year old son to help.  Here's his little hand slaving away with the pastry cutter:

Dough being rolled out:

Scones ready for the oven:

Close-up of uncooked scone with egg wash:

 Completed scones:

I tried these scones fresh from the oven.  They were not the flaky goodness I was expecting.  I can't decide: a) if the recipe is bad, b) I botched the recipe, or c) I just don't like scones.

I'm afraid I just don't like scones, in which case I will have to edit my prior statement:  I adore all most things British.

It's not you, Scones, it's me.

I sent some of my scones to my British friend and her lovely mother.  I'm awaiting their honest evaluation.  Until I hear back, I'm smothering the scones with butter, cream and jam.

After all, that's the stuff I'd rather be eating.