
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
Light, crumbly British scones dotted with sticky red glace cherries, baked until tall and golden, the kind that ask for nothing more than butter, jam if you like, and a strong pot of tea.
There's a particular kind of afternoon that asks for scones. Grey light at the window, the kettle already on, nothing urgent to be doing. The sort of afternoon that arrives uninvited and is improved enormously by the smell of butter and flour and something sweet in the oven.
Cherry scones are an old-fashioned thing and I make no apology for that. The glace cherries are the point: bright, sticky, faintly artificial in the best possible way, scattered through a soft crumb that pulls apart in your hands. These are the scones of bakery windows and grandmothers' tins, the kind you remember before you remember why. There's nothing clever about them. There doesn't need to be.
The trick, if there is one, is to handle the dough as little as possible. Scones don't want to be kneaded into submission. They want a quick, light hand, a hot oven, and to be eaten the day they're baked, still warm enough to melt a knob of butter into the split. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract, but on this one I'd say: be gentle, be quick, don't twist the cutter. Everything else is forgiving.
I wrote it down in the notebook once. Rainy Wednesday. Cherry scones. Second pot of tea. That was the whole entry. Some afternoons don't ask for more than that.
Quantity
350g
plus extra for dusting
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
85g
cubed
Quantity
3 tablespoons
Quantity
100g
rinsed, dried, and quartered
Quantity
175ml
plus a splash more if needed
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1
beaten, for glazing
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| self-raising flourplus extra for dusting | 350g |
| baking powder | 1 teaspoon |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
| cold unsalted buttercubed | 85g |
| caster sugar | 3 tablespoons |
| glace cherriesrinsed, dried, and quartered | 100g |
| whole milkplus a splash more if needed | 175ml |
| vanilla extract | 1 teaspoon |
| large eggbeaten, for glazing | 1 |
Set the oven to 220C/200C fan. Line a baking tray with parchment. Scones want a properly hot oven from the moment they go in. A lukewarm oven gives you flat, sad things; a hot oven gives you the lift and the golden top you're after. Get it heating before you do anything else.
Tip the glace cherries into a sieve and rinse them briefly under cold water. This washes off the syrupy coating that would otherwise turn the scones gummy and sink the cherries to the bottom. Pat them dry on a clean tea towel. Quarter them. They want to be small enough to scatter through the crumb, not great red boulders.
Tip the flour, baking powder, and salt into a wide bowl. Add the cubed butter. Using your fingertips, rub the butter into the flour, lifting the mixture as you go to keep things cool and airy. Stop when it looks like coarse breadcrumbs with a few larger flecks of butter still visible. Those flecks are good. They're what makes the scones flaky.
Stir the sugar through the breadcrumb mixture, then scatter in the quartered cherries and toss to coat them in flour. The flour coating helps them stay where you put them rather than sinking. A wooden spoon does this gently and well.
Make a well in the centre. Pour in the milk and vanilla. Use a butter knife to bring it all together with quick, light strokes. The dough should be soft and slightly shaggy, neither dry nor sticky. If it looks too dry, add a splash more milk a teaspoon at a time. Stop the moment it holds together. Overworked scone dough goes tough and you can't undo it.
Tip the dough onto a lightly floured surface. Pat it gently into a round about 3cm thick. Don't roll it. A rolling pin compresses the layers and you lose the lift. Use a 5cm round cutter dipped in flour to stamp out the scones, pressing straight down without twisting. Twisting seals the edges and they'll rise lopsided. Gather the scraps lightly and pat out for a second cut. The first batch will always be the best.
Place the scones on the lined tray, leaving a little space between them so they have room to puff. Brush the tops with beaten egg, taking care not to drip down the sides as that can hold them back from rising. Bake for ten to twelve minutes, until they've risen tall and the tops are deeply golden. Your nose will tell you when they're nearly done: the kitchen will smell of warm butter and faint vanilla, and you'll know.
Move them to a wire rack and let them sit for five minutes, no longer. Scones are at their best while they're still warm enough to melt a knob of butter. Split them with your hands rather than a knife. Butter, jam if you like, a strong pot of tea on the side. Right food, right afternoon.
1 serving (about 95g)
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