Why Buttermilk Belongs in Your Scones

A good scone should feel almost weightless when you pick it up, and it should break open along a rough, buttery seam rather than crumbling into dust. That combination of height and tenderness comes down to two things: a generous amount of cold fat and the minimum possible handling. Buttermilk does the rest of the work. Its gentle acidity reacts with the baking powder to give an extra push in the oven, and the faint tang it leaves behind is exactly what you want against a thick spoonful of clotted cream.

This is a recipe for a small, proud batch of scones — tall enough to split, short enough to melt. Make them on a grey Sunday afternoon, or on a bright coastal morning before a walk, and eat them while the butter is still warm enough to seep into the crumb.

What You Will Need

• 450g plain flour, plus extra for dusting
• 4 tsp baking powder, fresh rather than dusty
• ½ tsp fine sea salt
• 60g caster sugar — a little more if you like them sweet
• 85g cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
• 280–300ml buttermilk, straight from the fridge
• 1 egg, beaten with a splash of milk, for glazing

If you have no buttermilk, stir a tablespoon of lemon juice into 285ml of whole milk and leave it for ten minutes until it thickens slightly. Please do not use spread or soft margarine: the water content will steam out and leave you with flat, pale discs. Cold butter, grated or cubed, is the whole point.

Minimal Handling: The Fold, Pat and Cut Method

Heat the oven to 220°C (200°C fan, gas mark 7) and put a baking tray inside to warm. In a large bowl, whisk the flour, baking powder, salt and sugar together. Add the butter and rub it in lightly with your fingertips until the mixture looks like coarse breadcrumbs with a few pea-sized lumps left in — stop before it turns to sand.

Pour in most of the buttermilk and bring everything together with a table knife, adding the last splash only if the dough is genuinely dry. It should be shaggy and slightly damp, not neat. Turn it out onto a floured surface and fold it in thirds, like a letter. Pat it flat, fold again, and pat out to a thickness of about 3cm. These two folds create the flaky layers.

Cut with a 6cm fluted cutter, pressing straight down and lifting without twisting. Twisting seals the edges and stops the rise. You should get eight or nine scones; gather the scraps, pat them together once, and cut one or two more. Anything beyond that will be tough.

Baking for Height and a Golden Top

Set the scones close together on the hot tray — they lean on each other as they climb, which helps them go up rather than out. Brush the tops only with the egg glaze; if it runs down the sides it will glue the layers shut. Bake for 12–14 minutes until risen and deep gold.

Resist opening the oven for the first ten minutes, and never slam the door. Once baked, leave them on the tray for five minutes to settle, then move them to a rack. Eat them the same day, ideally within an hour or two of coming out of the oven.

Serving Them Warm: Cream, Jam and Seasonal Twists

Split a warm scone with your fingers rather than a knife, or cut horizontally with a serrated blade and a gentle sawing motion. Then comes the cream and the jam — and the oldest argument in British baking. In Devon, cream goes on first, with jam spooned on top. In Cornwall, jam goes first and the cream sits on it like a lid. Both are correct; choose according to where you are standing.

For the cream, clotted is unbeatable, though a thick, lightly whipped double cream will do. For the jam, strawberry is traditional, but let the season lead you. Spring asks for rhubarb and ginger, or a sharp lemon curd. High summer means crushed strawberries with a little vanilla. Autumn calls for blackberry and apple, warmed through so it runs down the sides. In deepest winter, a damson or sloe jam is a lovely dark, winey thing against the cream.

By the coast, add a pinch of sea salt to the dough, or serve with a pot of strong tea and a view of grey water. A scone eaten outdoors, still warm and slightly windswept, tastes better than any plate can manage.

Little Details That Make the Difference

• Flat scones: usually tired baking powder or overworked dough. Check the date on the tin and stop mixing the moment it comes together.
• Crumbly, dry dough: buttermilk amounts vary by brand. Hold back 20ml and add only as needed.
• Tough crumb: too much flour on the work surface, or a second rolling of scraps. Be sparing with both.
• Day-old scones: split them, brush the cut sides with butter, and warm them cut-side down in a dry frying pan for two minutes. They come back surprisingly well.

Serve with butter for the first one, cream and jam for the second, and a quiet moment for the third.