Yesterday our daughter’s Mrs Woman came and together they attempted to make cheese scones. By Mrs Woman’s own admission, she can’t cook. Our daughter can – or rather could, once upon a time – cook and bake. What they made bore a closer resemblance to biscuits than scones but hey, our daughter enjoyed making them and that’s the main thing. They arranged between themselves to make muffins next week.
Realising that the ingredients had been bought this morning, our daughter decided to give chocolate chip muffins a go – it’s an old recipe and pretty foolproof. Or possibly scones just aren’t her thing. Either way, they came out fab with minimal supervision.
This afternoon, looking at the rather sad cheese scone-biscuits and realising she would be too embarrassed to offer her dad one tomorrow, I decided to see if I can still bake. Not having made anything from scratch for a long time, be not unable to remember the last time hot – or even warm – food was a thing and having an irrational fear of both the ingredients and the oven, it was hit and miss. But scones used to be something I made regularly and we already had all the ingredients. And so – to the amazement of myself, of us, and of our daughter – it turns out we can still bake. We didn’t enjoy it, we won’t eat what we made. But I can still make a mean cheese scone