Yesterday I discovered a packet of rye flour in the cupboard.
I don’t ever remember buying it. I mean, I must have. Rye flour does not just appear in a cupboard completely unbidden. I assume it was an addition to a recipe for something. And judging by the volume that remains in the packet, quite a small addition.
But there are recipes on the back of it, for various things – bread, for example, or rum and raisin pancakes. Or my favourite thing ever. Herby Sconebread.
It’s not my favourite because it’s delicious. Although I’m sure it would be. It’s my favourite because if I ever have to come up with a name for any sort of role-playing game ever in my life then it’s clearly going to be Herbie Sconebread. I’m not letting that one lie. He needs to live in some form. Probably as a dwarf.
But anyway, I did endeavour to make the aforementioned sconebread.
Here’s the thing.
I suck at scones at the best of times. Mine just don’t rise. They’re flat and meh. I don’t know why. I think I am too heavy handed. Scones need a light touch. Whereas I am more of the “I will hug him and squeeze him and call him George” school of bakery where I should not be given delicate things because I will crush the life from them.
But they were doomed from the beginning anyway.
My first batch, I added way too much sugar but – luckily – realised before any sort of mixing had taken place, let alone baking, so ditched it fairly sharpish. The second batch got as far as the oven, where they stayed. Neglected. Until they were a deep brown. Some would say burnt. The crust on them was about 5mm thick. And given that they were flat as farts anyway, the crust to non-crust ratio was massively skewed.
I want to have another go, but I don’t think it will go better. I can’t do scones. I just need to accept it. I can make bread as sexy as the next person, but I assume that’s because I am so heavy-handed that it pays off with the kneading. When the delicate touch comes into play, I just destroy everything.
Still… when Herbie Sconebread gets on the scene…