They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

The wife demonstrated her faith in this adage when we were a courtin'... what better way to keep a man's mind on you when you're not actually there than by leaving fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies hanging on his door?

Another of her specialties is scones.

These are so good, she would have to double the batch, and there'd still be nothing left once the boys and I started grabbing for them. But we always had to beg for these treats.

Pretty hard to make, you see.

Me, I stayed out of the kitchen and out of the way whenever we finally convinced her to bake these delicious mysteries. All I did was the dishes. And, as you would expect from a complicated recipe, there were always lots of dishes. At least two mixing bowls, and two measuring cups. Two baking sheets, a cutting board, a brush, pastry mixer, and assorted spoons and knives.

We have a set of measuring spoons on a ring, probably an antique by now, but all of them, the tablespoon, the teaspoon, the half-tsp and 1/4-tsp, would all be dirty.

It has got to be a complicated procedure.

But now, with the absence of the sons, scones have become a rare thing. Even with my begging, we've only had scones twice in 2010. And the year is almost a third gone.

Guess we know where I stand, huh?

Twice in the past couple weeks I have asked for scones. Twice I got the look that somehow suggested I was asking her to sever a limb, or scale Everest. And twice I got the retort, "The recipe's in the book. Make 'em yourself."

Knowing I wouldn't.

The first time, she finally relented, and I have rationed my scones out for over a week, allowing myself one scone each day on the drive home from checking strutting grounds. But the week has been oddly quiet, other than for checking grouse.

My afternoons have been free. To either work...

Or not.

Today, I decided "Not." I checked the ancient, stained cooking book. And there, on page 586, is the recipe for scones.

You know, that doesn't look so hard. Not much more than chocolate chip cookies.

'Course, we don't have a 1/3-cup of cream, just a spill or two. Replacing with "Silk" will look right, but just because it's wet and white doesn't mean it'll cook the same.

Still...

At five after five o'clock, I commit. By 5:45 my scones are in the oven.

You know, making scones isn't hard at all. Dirties a lot of dishes, true. But I been doing those, and that's the hardest part.

She's been scamming us for years.

So, here they are:

So, you might ask: were they as good as the wife's?

Well, no. Not quite. As the wife confessed upon sampling my creations, she does alter the amount of one ingredient.

But they were still my first scones, and they were delish.

And I will never have to beg again.

At least not for pastries.

Oh, and some of you may have been astute enough to notice... yes, I piled my scones on Belleek. Seemed appropriate, even if one handle of that plate is broken.

Not a surprise, when you consider it is at least 84 years old...

( 0 comments on this entry )