I found this easy one in the New York Times:
Ingredients: 2 cups of flour, 1 tablespoon baking powder, 1 teaspoon sugar (increase to 1/4 cup if you want a sweet scone), 1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt, 1 1/4 cups of heavy whipping cream
- Preheat the oven to 400 degrees and position a rack in the top third of the oven. Thoroughly combine the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt in a large bowl. Make a well in the center of this mixture, add 1 1/4 cups of cream and stir the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients with a fork. Work quickly, stirring as little as possible, until a soft, shaggy dough forms. Add more cream, a tablespoon at a time, if the dough seems too dry.
- Use a large serving spoon or cup measure to drop the batter onto an ungreased baking sheet, allowing at least 2 inches between each scone. Brush the top of each with heavy cream and bake until golden, about 15 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.
And from NPR, a note to be sure to eat your scones properly:
“The grocery store Sainsbury’s showed a photo with a fruit scone smothered in cream and jam. The problem: the photo showed jam on top of the cream. Customers in Cornwall argued the jam must go first…Some Brits take their afternoon tea very seriously. That’s landed the grocery store Sainsbury’s in trouble. They put up a picture with a fruit scone smothered in cream and jam. That is normal. The problem is the photo showed the jam on top of the cream. In the county of Cornwall where the picture went up, customers were outraged. They argued that jam must go first. Sainsbury’s admitted its mistake, saying it has all scone wrong.”
Perhaps you watched the Disney channel offering of Hamilton released for July 4th, as I did. I did enjoy it, but was happy not to have spent hundreds of dollars for a ticket. I also watched an old seventies favorite, 1776, with a young Ken Howard as the tall red-haired Jefferson and Blythe Danner as his wife Martha. Although it may be sacrilegious to admit, I liked the latter better.
My favorite part of the movie is Blythe Danner singing “He plays the violin,” as she dances with John Adams and Benjamin Franklin. I replayed it several times.
I have a recipe from Blythe Danner, published in one her daughter ‘s (Gwyeth Paltrow) cookbooks. Since I had all the ingredients, I made the blueberry muffins for dinner. So delicious – I could have danced all night (but that’s another movie).
Here’s the recipe if you’d like to try it. All you need to enjoy them is some butter and a fiddle.
- 1/2cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
- 2eggs (preferably organic)
- 1/2cup whole milk
- 2cups unbleached all-purpose flour
- 3/4cup plus 1 tsp sugar, divided
- 2teaspoons baking powder
- 1/2teaspoon salt
- 2 1/2cups fresh blueberries
Heat oven to 375°. Line a 12-cup muffin pan with paper liners.
Whisk butter, eggs and milk in a bowl. Combine flour, 3/4 cup sugar, baking powder and salt in another bowl. Stir wet ingredients into dry ingredients; fold in blueberries.
Divide batter evenly among muffin cups; sprinkle with remaining 1 tsp sugar.
Bake until muffins are golden brown and a knife comes out clean, 25 to 30 minutes. Serve warm.
The opening of Murakami’s short story “With the Beatles,” spoke to me:
What I find strange about growing old isn’t that I’ve got older. Not that the youthful me from the past has, without my realizing it, aged. What catches me off guard is, rather, how people from the same generation as me have become elderly…It’s a little disconcerting – sad, even. Though I never feel sad at the fact that I have similarly aged…
My ninety year old mother liked to say: When I look into my own eyes, I still see my eighteen year old self…” full of dreams and expectations, still hoping for a better world, and for time to do one more thing.
Read the short story with the beatles
Today, When I Could Do Nothing
by Jane Hirshfield (for the SF Chronicle)
Today, when I could do nothing,
I saved an ant.
It must have come in with the morning paper,
still being delivered
to those who shelter in place.
A morning paper is still an essential service.
I am not an essential service.
I have coffee and books,
silence enough to fill cisterns.
It must have first walked
the morning paper, as if loosened ink
taking the shape of an ant.
Then across the laptop computer — warm —
then onto the back of a cushion.
Small black ant, alone,
crossing a navy cushion,
moving steadily because that is what it could do.
Set outside in the sun,
it could not have found again its nest.
What then did I save?
It did not move as if it was frightened,
even while walking my hand,
which moved it through swiftness and air.
Ant, alone, without companions,
whose ant-heart I could not fathom—
how is your life, I wanted to ask.
I lifted it, took it outside.
This first day when I could do nothing,
beyond staying distant from my own kind,
I did this.