Food Crimes: Why Americans hate my scones…

To be clear – yes, I’m American (sometimes I feel I need to apologize for that these days) – but my tastes run to the less sweet side of what we consider sweets.

Scones… for instance.

The things you get at Starbucks are not really “scones” per se. breakfast_sweets_decoden_by_thepocketkawaii-d6z14ooThey are more like pastries, tarts, danishes, if you will.

True Scones are not made with a cup of sugar and jam already added.

The once Scottish, British usurped, Americanized scone became desirable as a more plain version of what we see in America. Although they’ve always been a touch sweeter and less flakier than biscuits, this pastry was more the base for slathering things on and siding  with coffee or tea. The topping to the taste of the person, balanced with drink (sweetened or not) of choice.

The British scone, lightly brushed with egg, usually contains very little sugar, sconesoccasionally a few currents or raisins. But the point of a good scone is to have a choice of cream, lemon curd, or jam, not a mystery filled fun fest for which consumers risk diabetes.

I discovered the lovely less sweet version in England. As I rarely eat pastries for breakfast, I found this a nice, healthier alternative to what is usually served at the continental breakfast.

I developed a love of scones when I did time at Cal State Chico in pursuit of my MFA. There was a little cafe, no longer there, which served warm scones made with fresh fruit. My jaunt over in the morning became a regular stop as I picked up a black tea and fresh out of the oven mango or apricot scone. (Even these were more biscuit-like, but still less sweet).

I won’t bother you with my own experiments with scones. I’ve won some, I’ve lost some. But I will tell you the ones I made this past weekend, part traditional, part Americanized, were the bomb!

Pistachio fig scones:42803096_2309289422433704_8343625948515532800_o

Less flour,

no sugar,

a brush of honey,

a teaspoon of coconut oil.

Food Crimes: Lavender Misdemeanors

lavender1

I like lavender, I do. In calming oil, in the vapor misting at the yoga studio, and in my shower gel. I have a few bushes in my yard, love to pick a sprig or two for the patio and to bring in the house to scent the air.  When I travel, I have a roll-on oil that I put on my scarf. Not only does it calm me, but it masks any odors left behind by previous travelers or brought on by the snugly conditions on airplanes.

lavender4I am not ignorant to the lavender cookies, ice cream, drinks and everything else floating around shopping aisles at the local markets and calling to me from the bakery store windows.

When I went to San Juan Island, I discovered there’s a lavender farm with, I think they said, 40 different varieties of lavender from all over the world. It’s absolutely beautiful.

Lavender has a light floral scent, not at all over powering, and it’s lovely to look at. It’s lavender3musk reminiscent of the sweet earth on which we thrive.

But, I have recently discovered, I’m not a fan of lavender infused food. While they are beautiful creations, the lavender macaroon I tasted at a nearby bakery was barely flavorful, made with a synthetic extract barely hinting of the purple flowering plant. The made-for-me lavender cupcake was moist and not overly sweetened – both of which I appreciate – and I ate it, liked it. But, ultimately, decided, what’s the big deal?

Overall, I’m not a fan of cross-over and maybe that’s what’s tripping me up. I have no lavender6desire to scrub my pores with chocolate scented exfoliate nor spread a mocha cappuccino mask over my hands, I don’t want a minty fresh eye gel or an apricot foot cream.

I desire separation. I don’t want to be tempted to lick a pineapple-coconut shower spray, and I’d prefer my cake not to reek of argon and tea tree oil.

Enjoy your fluff and fold mango laundry detergent and your vanilla frap leave-in conditioner; night-shade dryer sheets and white chocolate cookies are good enough for me.

lavender7