Entries tagged with “Irish scones”.

In Ireland, these cookies are “biscuits.”

The other day, my friend Sinead was telling me about a peculiar town in England that we need to go visit. She said it was a small community full of very strange people.

“They have no teets!” she said.

What???  No teets!? I imagined a town of nipple-less women, walking down the street in slow motion like zombies in a horror film. Was there something in the water that caused this deformity?  How did they feed their newborn babies?  I surmised that bra sales in this region must be low, perhaps even non-existent.

“Why don’t they have breasts?” I asked, still trying to wrap my brain around this bizarre phenomenon.

“What? No, they have no TEET!” she said again, pointing to her mouth. 

Ohhhhhh. Teeth. Right.


Generally speaking, Americans have no idea what a real scone should taste like. We have Starbucks, with its gigantic, triangular mound of cooked dough that strangely manages to be both oily and dry at the same time, to thank for that. Whether it’s the maple glazed or blueberry, these would-be breakfast pastries are better off as door stops, flying weapons or hockey pucks than as a food source of any kind.

In Ireland, scones are as they should be: buttery, soft and a flaky. Just a few days ago, I encountered a scone that I can say, in all honesty, is the best I’ve ever eaten. Allow me to start from the beginning: I went with my friend to a “coffee morning” for charity, hosted by the fab Olga Sherlock at her home in Drogheda. Basically Olga spent the better part of two days baking up a storm, and then invited friends over to eat her baked goods with coffee or tea. Everyone is encouraged to eat as much as he or she would like and stay for a bit of chit-chat. On the way out, patrons leave a donation and Olga donates the proceeds to charity. Really, it’s a win-win situation; you get to pig out on fantastic pastries and a deserving organization gets some much-needed help.