Spied Out: The Best Scones

The Spy's most recent, summery attempt at scones (strawberry); recipe here.

Rejoice good people of the fens and beyond, for summer is a-coming in (although if you think The Spy is going to celebrate with a rousing chorus of ‘sing cuckoo’ or a quick burst of ‘folderiddle rahs’, quite frankly you’ve been in the sun too long). The days are long, the swifts and swallows are wheeling and squealing high above us, and the flat fields stretch out green and glowing under the sun, capped by the blue-bowl sky as it unrolls itself towards the horizon.

Poppy-trail on the fields up at Barton, by Burwash Manor.

Cambridge summertime in the botanic gardens.

The Spy can only apologise for his recent lack of posts, for he has been sneaking out and about again, sniffing out dastardly enemies and edible delicacies further afield in Oxford and Berlin. Only one incident of note to report: a visit to the farm-shop P.E. Mead and Sons, located on the route between Cambridge and Oxford, and purveyor of the oak-smoked rapeseed oil first tasted by the Spy a few months ago at the Feast East food show. At that point, the oil was still in development (smoked on trays in the smokery), but the Spy was contacted once it reached the shelves and duly hared over to pick some up (as well as some black pudding slices for his Sunday barbecue, which turned out to be a cooking revelation: try it). 

Oils aplenty in the farm shop (oak-smoked third from left).

However, to the point of this post: scones. He will dispense with the preamble, and point you only to the excellent recent 'search for the perfect scone' in The Guardian, while there are a variety of other articles dealing with crucial issues such as jam-or-cream-first (the Spy considers himself a heathen; the natural order is cream-then-jam, as in butter-then-jam, but personally adheres to the jam-then-cream school of thought), buttery-versus-bready (bready every time, if the Spy wants buttery then let him eat cake), delicate-versus-substantial (need you ask? if it’s not the size of his fist, the Spy wants two). Yet for a fully paid-up fen monkey, it’s surprisingly difficult to get a good scone. Here are the top of the crop: if anyone has any additional favourites they are happy to share, the Spy loves you and wants your babies.

The Spy seduces a buxom beauty over scones in Cafe Coucou. Who could resist...

1. The Orchard. What can be said about this most perfect of places? A walk over the fields and by the river, a tree-filled orchard to sit in if the weather is fine, and scones the size of a baby’s head, baked throughout the day and often still warm, picked out of wicker baskets and with a choice of plain, fruit or cheese (the last is good with honey). Get there at 9.30am on a Sunday morning for warm breakfast scones and the papers. Except don’t, because the Spy will be there, and he doesn’t want some other greedy bastard eating all the scones.

Sunbathing scones tremulously awaiting scoffage in The Orchard.

2. Café Coucou. A little outside Cambridge (but readily accessible by train and car), Saffron Walden is stunning, with 16^th century wooden-beamed houses painted in reds, blues and yellows and pargeting patterns covering the walls. Café Coucou is the gem in its crown; an independent café filled with wooden tables and creaky old floorboards, where their enormous scones are piled in the window to entice passers by (their sweet ones are second to the Orchard’s only because they could do with a little more salt, but their cheese ones probably have the edge). If you don’t fancy scones, there are sandwiches with homemade bread, stacks of beautiful biscuits and cakes, and hot drinks with little nubbly shortbread buttons on the side. The only downside is they are closed on a Sunday: the Spy suggests a petition to rectify this grievous situation.

Scones galore piled up in the window.

The inside counter of Cafe Coucou and its other delicious products...

3. When you want a scone to buy and take-away, those made by Tom’s Cakes in the market (only on Sunday) are big, robust and delicious; it is probably a good thing they are only there one day a week or the Spy would no longer fit into his James-Bond- -tuxedo. Elsewhere, the Farmers’ Outlet sells both Bury Lane Farm scones and others made by a little old lady in all kinds of flavours (mixed spice, raisin and almond, sweet chestnut), but you have to be lucky as they are not always there. Get a thermos-flask of tea, a pot of jam, and take those bad boys down to the river for a-guzzling.

The Spy's scone about to be picked from the pile on Tom's Cakes market stall.

 

A crate full of Farmers' Outlet lil-ol-lady scones (chestnut variety bottom right corner).

4. Michaelhouse Café in the centre of town is a great place for grub of any kind, located in the old church with the middle still cordoned off for services and concerts. The scones are good, particularly the cheese ones which rise to great heights like little golden-flecked pillars, but in general the scones can be a little hard and buttery for the Spy’s taste. Best warmed up.

Sweet scones with their sugary topping.

Towering cheese scones...

5. Wimpole Hall. The food is fabulous with roast dinners and sausage rolls straight from the farm’s own piggies and a changing selection of baked goods (on the Spy’s last trip there was a honey cakes to celebrate ‘The Year of Honey’). The scones are good and of a decent size, although better to go for the ones on the table by the baked goods rather than the ones kept in the chiller (the sight of which nearly gave the Spy a heart attack before he had even got his chops around a mouthful). For more on the best scones to be found in National Trust properties, see here.

The Spy's Wimpole Hall scone picture was pretty bad even by his standards (shaking from the excitement perhaps?) so instead, another scone picture from Cafe Coucou, and a close-up of the Spy's strawberry scones for the finale...