Those lazy, hazy, scone-y days

Urban dictionary defines a frenemy as; an enemy disguised as a friend.
We’ve all got them. The friend that likes to point out just how many terrible decisions we’ve made after one too many tequilas. The friend who loves to top all of your stories, the best ones, the slightly mediocre ones, even the stupid ones. If you’ve done it, they’ve done it better, or more spectacularly or even made a bigger mess of it. Insert eye roll here.

For me it’s scones. Scones are my frenemy. They lull you into this false sense of security with their golden crispy outsides and fluffy warm middles. They’re liars. Horrible tiny baked liars.
I watched Mother make scones as I was growing up, she has these weirdly cold hands that work perfectly for making scones, she made it look so simple, barely touched them and they became these utterly gorgeous addictive cakes, even for a person who hates cake I adored these. When I started baking more I never really thought about baking scones as there were so many more exciting things to test, however recently I found myself craving Mother Lawlors scones and so dutifully she sent the recipe over to me, I gave it a go and it was an unqualified disaster. I wailed in melancholy as I opened the oven door and stared at biscuits, not scones. Ground my teeth in rage as I tried a second batch that turned out the same and threw a toddler like tantrum when no matter how hard I tried (which involved such hilarious things as sticking my hands in the freezer for around ten minutes) to re-create scones they just never quite worked. So, when a recent edition of Good Food appeared and I saw not only one of the strangest recipes I’ve ever seen but definitely the strangest scone recipe I’d ever seen I decided it was time to tackle my frenemy one more time. Now, warning time. This recipe makes probably the most incredible and most unhealthy scones in the entire world.

In the magazine there are two methods of making this, there is

  • The quick method
  • The very quick ‘I can’t find my scales method’

and because I could find my scales (for once) I used the first one.

The quick method



Supposedly serves 2, which is a lie. It serves one. You will eat them all

1 pint vanilla or strawberry ice cream, melted 
Yes. Yes you read that right. A whole freaking pint of melted ice cream

75g self-raising flour, plus 2 tsp of baking powder



  1. Heat oven to 200C. Mix all the ingredients with a
    punch of sea salt (if you’re feeling adventurous you can add a handful of sultanas), then pour the batter into a buttered muffin tin so that each hole is three quarters full. Bake for 20 minutes.

    I’m still reeling from what a whole pint of melted ice cream looks like. It’s a sight to behold.
    Surely that can’t be it. It can’t just be as simple as this, normally there’s kneading and blitzing and stress. I’m convinced that Emma Freud has lost her mind and created some demon recipe that will never work

  2. Cool on a wire rack. Whilst still warm split in two and add jam and whipped cream (in that order)
    Holy mother of god this actually works. These are ridiculous. It tastes so so good. They come out looking like some instagram perfect tiny cake designed to impress even your frenemies



To conclude dear reader, with some love even a frenemy can become your best friend. Except for the part where you eat 8,000 of them and your arteries become lined with all the fat and badness. Dear lord these are good though.