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...

Spied Out: The Best Chocolate Shots

A pure, unadorned chocolate shot, exulting at his glorified existence. We salute you, sir.

There is a scene in Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory where 'that great big greedy nincompoop' Augustus Gloop is so busy guzzling a river of molten chocolate that he falls in, whereupon his bulky frame is sucked up into a tube and becomes ignominiously wedged therein. The Spy realises that this portly lad was probably not intended as a positive role-model of childhood gluttony, but in his own tender years had considerable sympathy with a youth so fixated by the idea of such an unctuous, gloopy lake of joy. Cleopatra may have bathed in asses' milk, but the Spy suspects that if melted chocolate had been available, she would have ditched that calcium-rich goodie-goodie of the dairy world faster than she threw over Julius Caesar for Mark Anthony. So, while coquettish blizzards are still tickling the fens with their feathered flakes despite the sunshine, a bar of the brown stuff might not be quite enough, but thanks to the Spy, you too can indulge your inner-Gloop with a sneaky shot of warm, melted chocolate...

1. Chocolat Chocolat is a piece of handmade chocolate heaven, with excitingly flavoured, rippled slabs stacked along the walls in baskets and smaller nubbley lumps lined up on plates in the middle of the shop. Glass jars stand on the counter by the door, swirling the pure melted chocolate and cream that are the only ingredients in their shots. Nip in for a little cup of molten joy - the best of the bunch.

Ethereal shoppers cannot resist the temptation of the chocolate shots...

2. A similar set-up can be found in Benets, where the glass jar is perched high up on the counter, just above the trays of exciting-looking jammy biscuits and banana flapjack cakes. You can either cart away your spoils in triumph, else enjoy the luxury of drinking your chocolate in the warmth of the cafe, where it is decanted into espresso cups with a biscuit resting nonchalantly on the saucer. Classy and delicious.

  Note the godly hand siphoning off the Spy's very own chocolate shot.

 Just in case a cup of melted chocolate wasn't sweet enough, have a biscuit on the side...

3. The Italian restaurant/deli Carluccio's favours a darker, thicker beast, so dense that a spoon might be stood up in it. However, it might be a question of taste, but the Spy finds the Italian side of the chocolate shot market a little more bitter and a little less pure in its flavour, possibly because of the amount of cornflour that has been added to the mixture. The Spy cannot say for certain that Carluccio's uses this ingredient, since the little cup appears mysteriously from some inner sanctum behind the counter (no swirly glass jar then), but the chocolate shot at Savino's is a very similar animal, and the Spy knows for certain that this one definitely contains said powdery gloopifier. He would like to pretend that he gained this information by sneaking sneakily onto the premises at the dead of night and photographing the recipe with his miniature button-hole spy camera, but the reality is that he knows because his shot was mixed up in front of him, alchemist-style, with powders and potions from a row of exciting little silver pots hidden behind the counter. Which is nearly as exciting...

Chocolate shot with suitably heart-adorned backdrop. The Spy's sole, curmudgeonly concession to the fact that Valentine's Day is upon us, so make the most of it.

Spied Out: The Best Soups

The Spy also likes to make soups, the more colourful the better (carrot&swede, pea and beetroot jostling for a close-up). The Spy also likes to make breads that do not deserve to be yelled at: behold the mighty Scottish griddle bread, soft, thick and perfect for dippage action.

There's an old saying that 'worries go down better with soup', and in this thin, sleety weather, few things could be more heartening than a ladleful straight from the pot, steaming away happily with wodges of bread nestling close to the bowl for warmth. Blended or chunky, meaty or veggie, swollen thickly with pearl barley or a salty thin consomme, when the Spy has grown tired of soups, the Spy will have grown tired of life. Of equal importance if the accompanying bread, for many a fine soup has been ruined by a dry baguette, a lacklustre bap, or even (horror!) a square of sliced white. Indeed, the Spy is only mildly ashamed to recall an occasion upon which he ordered soup in a mediocre Italian cafe (the honourable Spy mentions no names), and accompanied said order with the vociferous demand to "Show me your rolls. SHOW ME YOUR ROLLS!" The cowering proprietor duly extend a trembling hand, upon which skulked and squirmed the sorriest, limpest specimen of dough this side of Timbuktu. The meal that followed was little more than ashes in the Spy's mouth, for the bread had soaked up the joy infinitely more effectively than it was ever able to soak up the soup. So, partly in order to exorcise this ghoulish memory, the Spy is delighted to reveal four of the best places to quaff a merry bowlful, each accompanied by a fine hunk of le pain quotidien.

1. During the colder months, Le Gros Franck offers a smooth and sophisticated number, with a proper stock that shines through and an authentic length of chewy crusty baguette. The flavour of the day is chalked up on the little blackboard propped up by the pot, along with crunchy croutons for sprinkling. The flavours are inventive and sophisticated (vegetable, split pea and celeriac have been particularly fine), but apart from one nightmarish day when the chef got creative with a tomato and fish number (ever bit as revolting as it sounds, God help us all), the soups are always bowl-lickingly good. And the Spy is not just referring to his own bowl; he is also happy to attend to the bowls of other diners at no extra cost.

 

Little chalk board, big silver pot of joy. (NB this is clearly an authentic French dish, as caution has been thrown to the wind and the extra 'c' in 'broccoli' has been tossed aside with gay abandon. None of your dirty English spellings here, they might pollute the soup.)   

2. Continuing with our international theme, the German cafe Trockel Ulmann & Freunde is perhaps the best-known soup joint in town, with three changing flavours (one creamy, two plain) chalked up every day on the board outside. The portions are generous and served in cheery yellow bowls, with thick doorstops of gloriously chewy brown bread for dipping (the Spy has been known to pop in just to pick up a brown-paper-bagful of bread, a steal at 50p a portion). The occasional lunchtime queues are testament to its popularity, and at peak times, take-away is the only options (soup-and-sandwich deals available), but if you can, take a seat in this cosy, fairylight-adorned interior with classical music playing in the background and the option of a slice of German cake for afters. Just beware of the owner, who will try to round you up and herd you out if there are other customers waiting (even if you haven't quite finished your soup).

From left to right, three bubbling silver pots, the sign outside (complete with little window box and idyllic bicycle basket), and a close-up of the soup (cream of broccoli, this time catering to the English-speaking market). The Spy worships chastely at the altar of the blonde waitress in TU&F, who took the soup close-up shot, thereby winning the Cantabrigian Espionage Award for Thoroughly Good Egginess.  

3. The two branches of Benets cafe boast a range of often brightly coloured soups served in ceramic bowls with little handles, and with squishy sofas on hand upon which to enjoy them. With their little kitchen out the back of the Benet Street site, they have been known to get creative with the bread end of the soup-and-bread model, which changes over time. Right now, it's a rather uninspiring piece of ciabatta, but look out for the return of items such as their homemade cheesy scones. These knobbled and bobbled creations were scones but not as you know them, resembling lumpy little aliens from some rock-based planet, and much approved of by the Spy, a firm supporter of such enterprise and culinary innovations.

 

Lumpy alien-free soup, from the planet vegetable.

4. Finally, get yourself by hook or by crook to the cafe in the Botanic Gardens for a slurp of their lovely daily soup, complete with a chunky triangle of granary bread. Due to building work, the cafe is currently housed in a temporary building near the scented garden and opposite Cory Lodge. However, seek it out before snazzier premises are secured, because this is a lovely (if slightly ramshackle) place complete with fairy lights, a tree-leaf mural (in the summer, individual leaves are designed by local children, but due to botanical-correctness, the tree is bare during the winter) glass jars full of gingerbread men and garlands of greenery adorning the walls. And the soup's not half bad too. 

In the absence of a soup picture, the Spy presents the cafe's bare winter tree. An artistic masterpiece.

Spied Out: The Best Croissants

Croissants, still warm and perched nonchalantly on their baking trays. 

As February swings into action, bringing with it the promise of pre-7am sunrises and post-5pm sunsets, the hope of — dare we whisper it — spring, returns to these marshy plains. Winter's belly-ballast breakfasts of syrupy porridge laced with spices, hot milky cereals studded with dried fruit, or hunks of thick-sliced buttered toast become less of a necessity.  Likewise, yearnings for fireside afternoon teas with a stack of buttered crumpets and toasted muffins begin to lessen somewhat (although come off it, even in Cambridge, the bastion of old fashioned Englishness, how often do any of us enjoy such a luxury these days? The Spy has a tealight candle that could be used for crumpet-toasting, but fears the end product would be a singed, rather underwhelming and possibly carcinogenic affair). So, as springtime hovers in the wings, something lighter and more chic can be entertained. Now is the perfect time to enjoy a croissant, out and about in the increasingly early morning sunlight, or whilst pausing with an afternoon coffee. Here are two of Cambridge’s finest, plus a wildcard.

1. The undisputed Croissant King of Cambridge, Savino’s has a fresh supply of these warm, softly squidgy delicacies constantly cooking in the oven behind the counter, filling this deceptively dingy Italian café with the smell of pastry and chocolate. The chocolate croissant comes with a thick and oozing chocolate core running down his middle, while his squat, praline-filled cousin is the stuff that dreams are made of, topped with shiny caramelised hazelnuts that make the shell crackle. Special mention must go to their oh-so-sweet almond croissants, stuffed to bursting with marzipan-like goo and dusted with icing sugar.

Savino's chocolate croissant (L) and hazelnut croissant (R). Pictures clearly from separate trips, thus confirming the Spy's gluttony.

2. If you prefer your croissants authentically flaky and full of Gallic charm, the croissants at Le Gros Franck are more your bag. Once again, the almond croissant is the one to watch, less sickly sweet than his Italian neighbour down the road, filled with a sophisticated nutty paste and topped with a chewy white crust unlike anything the Spy had hitherto experienced. While we wont go into Danish pastry territory, it is worth noting that both the jam-and-custard number and his apple puree mate are also extremely tasty. Big Frank brings his croissants over from France, and what with the French radio playing in the background and the French waiters and waitresses, Ze Spy really felt that he had somehow ended up on the other side of Ze Channel (pardon, La Manche). Tres bien.

The almond monster and the jam-and-custard imposter. Some villainous fiend seems to have stolen him and taken a bite. Or two. 

3. Finally, the wildcard of the pack, the loose basket croissants in the Co-Op on Hills Road, more specifically, warm and doughy at 7am on a sunny spring morning. The Spy is not claiming that these croissants match the quality of the previous two examples, but these little fellows, nestling snugly in their paper-lined basket beds, prove that there is nothing better than an early morning croissant fresh out of the oven. This is not to suggest that the quality is not high, merely that it is not extraordinary, but the Spy is no food snob, and will readily admit that some of the best bread to be found in Cambridge issues forth from those Co-op bread baskets (see future posts for the unavoidable Great Lament concerning the dearth of  good Cambridge bread).       

 The Cinderellas of the bunch, but with little glass slippers on their feet.

Spied Out: The Best Brownies

Brownies take priority over the Saturday papers in The Black Cat.

Are you a connoisseur of a cakey crumb, or a fan of the fiendishly fudgy? Warmed with a dollop of ice cream, or as chilled and dense as a black dwarf star? Knobbled with nuts, chock full of chocolate chunks, or as pure and smooth as a baby nun's bottom? The search for the perfect brownie is a knotty and divisive issue. There is a fine line between a chocolate cake, a brownie and a big truffle, and it must be trodden with care, for you tread upon a million chocolate-drenched dreams. However, so that this quick survey of the best brownies to be found in Cambridge does not turn into a several-volume magnum opus, a quick straw poll of fellow spies suggests a popular leaning towards a fudgy texture with a chewy crust, studded with chocolate chunks and without nuts. So, bowing to the prevailing wisdom bestowed by such a scientifically selected sample, The Cambridge Spy now turns its attention to the best on the local market. This investigation has uncovered a titanic struggle between three behemoths of the brownie world, happily all to be found in some of the best independent cafes around.  

1. The Cambridge Spy prostrates itself humbly before the altar of The Black Cat Cafe on Mill Road, the epitome of everything that it holds dear. Despite the fact that seating is limited, foods can run out and service tends to be a little erratic at the weekends, any cafe whose cake recipes come from old medieval cookbooks, South African favourites and family culinary traditions is a corker by any standards. And the brownies are the cocoa-covered jewel in their crown: moist and crackly on top with big chunks of chocolate and an enigmatic vein of chewy caramel that runs throughout the piece, gathering in crispy pools at the bottom. This final element can neither be fathomed nor replicated by The Spy, and it doesn’t look as if the mystery is going to be solved any time soon, for although the cafe brought out a cookery book based on their recipes, the brownies were conspicuous by their absence. They can be warmed up (so the chunks melt) and served with a dollop of cream in the cafe, or taken away and eaten cold; both ways are equally good. The coffee is also excellent, should you so wish to break off a piece of brownie, place it on a teaspoon and dunk the chocolatey nubble so that it melts tantalisingly at the edges...

Black Cat brownie on a day out, unaware of the fate that awaits him.

2. Origin8 on St Andrew’s Street is home to a denser, darker beast, sitting in jars on the counter and calling to customers with their fudgy siren song. The truffly texture and various flavours of the brownies give them the edge, with varieties containing chunks of milk chocolate, orange chocolate, white chocolate or brandy-soaked cherries. The Spy was once given unfettered access to these beauties at a party at which Origin8 were the caterers, and as the red mist of gluttony descended, The Spy proceeded to stuff them by the fistful into pockets, bags and even a couple of empty wine glasses. By all means, enjoy on the premises with a cup of coffee, but beware what will henceforth be known as the ‘Satan’s spoons’ provided by this worthily eco-friendly establishment: wooden monstrosities that soak up any liquid that they come into contact with and puff up into giant, unwieldy mushrooms.

Other Origin8 goodies pilfered from the party. The brownies had mysteriously disappeared.

3. The final contender in this formidable cocoa trinity is something of an unlikely hero, and hails from the deceptively low-profile Cambridge Coffee Company on Hills Road. The sofas are squishy, newspapers are stacked on the side for your perusal, and there are crisp bacon butties and thick nutella milkshakes to be had by all. Yet in an unassuming plastic tray above the sandwich spreads sit these chewy triangles of joy, with a perfect inner-fudgey-goo-to-outer-crackling-crust ratio and glorious discs of milk chocolate lining their little gooey bottoms. On one particularly magical day, The Spy discovered that the discs had been so generously bestowed upon the mixture that they had SPREAD OUT OVER THE ENTIRE BOTTOM OF THE BROWNIE LIKE A SOLID SHEET. Joy. Their coffee even comes with metal spoons. Double joy.

Cambridge Coffee Company brownie, top view. 

Same brownie, view from the bottom thus revealing chocolate discs. 100% spy commitment.

4. Finally, a special mention must go to the Cambridge brownie that comes with the most bells, whistles and nipple tassels, for the creations at The Kingston Arms (just off Mill Road) are worth a mention if only for effort alone. The end results are debatable: The Spy has limited and easily confused mental faculties, and to be confronted by an enormous cakey slab, stuffed fit to burst with enough dried fruit and nuts to pass as a bracing Swiss breakfast, was simply too much for it to bear. The Spy had to go lie down in a darkened room with a cold compress pressed against its forehead for quite some time until the flashing lights and hedgehog hallucinations had receded. However, it readily acknowledges that the creative impulse that produces such an edifice is also responsible for the rest of the fabulous food in the Kingston Arms, a Cambridge gem in its own right that doubtless will be returned to in future posts.

Spied Out: The Best Fish and Chips

An enthusiastic connoisseur of a fine establishment (Petrou Brothers, Ely).

January in Cambridge is a grim month. The wind cuts across the flat fens with nothing between us and the North Sea, and the slate grey clouds hang in the sky, stretching down across the flat fields to the horizon. The fogs and mists are no longer tinged with the warm, smoky smell of autumn fires, but are now thin and damp, cutting straight to the bone. In such weather, something crisp, salty and hot is called for, and fish and chips are just the ticket. In my quest to uncover the best of what this boggy corner of Britain has to offer, The Cambridge Spy uncovers three battered, vinegar-splattered gems.

1. The top dog (or indeed, dogs) with branches in Ely and Chatteris, The Petrou Brothers were justly recognised as Fish and Chip Shop of the Year in 2006 (finalists and regional winners in other years) and regularly appear in lists of top British chippies. The brothers credit their high-tech fryers for the crunchy, beautifully thick batter that coats the succulent flakes of fish (haddock particularly recommended), and for the true glutton-come-connoisseur, a scattering of batter ‘scrapings’ are an essential addition. The chips are of such high quality as to be almost too good for a chippie, but the unlikely heroes of the ensemble are the mushy peas, a salty goo made to an old recipe so addictive that it was apparently the reason that the brothers bought the business in the first place. Chatteris is takeaway only, but in Ely you can choose between sitting in the little cafe, or taking your spoils to sit on the grass in the shadow of Ely Cathedral in the next street. The only downsides are the early closing times, and the fact that they are shut on Sunday, but if you find yourself in Ely on that day and need a fix, Alan’s Fish Bar down the hill is a worthy (and cheaper) substitute.

Taken on a winter's night in a takeaway steamed-up car parked at in a field outside Chatteris. Note the glorious scrapings at the bottom right-hand corner of the box.

2. Until now, a lack of quality chippies in Cambridge itself has been bemoaned by more than one incomer to the region, but with the appearance of The Sea Tree on Mill Road on the scene, the dearth has been resoundingly filled. With a wooden tabled seating area at which to sit and eat, or newspapers to read as you line up for a takeaway, this is a well-thought-out business with gluten free batter available and an extensive fish menu so you don’t just have to settle for fish and chips. However, we’re here to discuss exactly those noble staples, so with a brief nod to the ice cream (their homemade lemon meringue and Christmas pudding flavours are divine), let’s get down to business. The fish batter is airy but substantial, sticking to the edges of the fish like a caramelised, chewy crust. The golden tower of chips have are proper, slightly stodgy variety that stick to your ribs as only 'chippie' chips can, and alongside the standard mushy pea offering is a mushy pea fritter; hitherto only seen by The Cambridge Spy north of the border. This mighty creation has the same light, crisp batter as the fish, and although maybe a touch more salt would bring it into line with the Petrou Brothers’ offering, let’s not split hairs.

The monster proportions and alien appearance of The Sea Tree pea fritter. Magnificent.

3. Another two-for-one deal, The Cambridge Spy introduces its wild card, The Fish and Chip Shop on the High Street in Aldeburgh, along with its sister shop (complete with cafe) a little further down the high street. Another regular on ‘top ten chippies’ lists, it may be a little further out from the base, but if commuters can make the daily drive to Cambridge (which they do), it’s worth an enthusiastic mention. The batter is the highlight, with a slightly lighter texture and flavour from others, perhaps due to the pure sunflower oil in which the fish is fried. This intrepid Cambridge Spy encountered this establishment having driven for two hours on the most blizzardly day of the January freeze, and during the course of the short walk between car and shop, took on the appearance of a walking snowman. At the sight of this shivering white blob, scrapings were shoveled pityingly onto the chips and sprinkled onto the mushy peas, thus proving once and for all that the sign of a quality establishment is the snowdrift of batter pushed up in the corner of the fish counter. Even better, you can work off the whole shebang on the beach, which is a minute’s walk away, else just decamp to the fabulous Ives Ice Cream Parlour down the road, with their glorious hot waffles and 30-odd flavours of delicious ice cream, all sourced by the knowledgeable owner from quality independent dairies.