Lemon Blueberry Scones

Scones are one of those elusive pastries for me. I know I've mentioned it before, but it's quite rare for me to make a batch of scones and have them actually taste edible, let alone delicious. I've ruined more scone recipes than cakes, cookies, and tarts combined. That is quite a few scones, I might add. There is little more disappointing than tossing a fresh batch of scones into the trash can (all that butter to waste!).

Well, perhaps it is a bit more disappointing when you leave them on the counter to taunt you, hoping desperately that they will taste better the next time you grab a bite. But, as life should have it, scones aren't made of magic and they don't taste better—they might even taste worse. The scones just become a sad, pitiful reminder of what they could have been had you not miserably messed them up. Then you throw them in the trash. That's a bit more disappointing.

Not that I speak from experience or anything.

The method for making scones is actually quite simple. In fact, if you have a stand mixer, you can whip up a batch in less than five minutes (seriously!). First the butter is cut into the dry ingredients. Delicious extras (like fruit or chocolate chips) are then stirred in before mixing in the wet ingredients, which forms the mess into a dough. Making a batch of cookies is just as complicated as making scones, in all seriousness.

Which is exactly why I'm so confused that I can't seem to master the art of the scone. Perhaps practice will make perfect?

Either way, I have been practicing.

The Lemon Blueberry Scones I'm sharing with you today were so good I made them two days in a row. Very few recipes receive that kind of honor from me. The first batch I shared with a few neighbors (after eating two straight from the oven). The second batch was solely for myself, which I later realized was too dangerous an idea for my hips and ended up giving the remaining scones away to save my pants size.

To put it plainly, these scones are so delicious you will have to share them or else risk eating the entire batch by yourself. I think these are the perfect morning breakfast to serve when you've had a few guests spend the night. Not only are there enough scones to go around, but everyone will look at you like a scone-making god.

Now, tell me, who wouldn't want to be looked up to like that?

I think my scone phobia has officially been conquered.

These Lemon Blueberry Scones balance perfectly on the edge of sweet and tart, moist and crumbly, and light and dense. The scones themselves are not terribly sweet (the blueberries are the primary source of sweetness) and the addition of lemon zest adds a delightful tartness to the overall flavor. The lemon glaze itself is sweet and helps to balance out the flavors (don't skip the glaze!). The texture of these scones is also worth noting. The outside of the scone is dry and crumbly, while the inside is moist and rich, almost like a cake. This makes each bite interesting and a play on opposing textures. The scone is also fairly light (you won't feel like you are eating cake for breakfast), but is dense enough to fill you up.

These scones are worth your time. Trust me.

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Strawberry Rhubarb Lemonade

There comes a day in every baker's life where absolutely nothing will go right. And I mean nothing. Perhaps it is the great Butter and Sugar god's way of telling you that you've had enough good fortune and it is time to share it with someone else. More likely, though, they look down at you from the marshmallow clouds and loathe you for your ability to make sweet treats so much that they curse you with bitter misfortune

This happened to me last Wednesday. It was a day so bad I can scarcely speak of it now, 4 days later. My mother told me this is one of those days I'm going to laugh about someday.

She's wrong.

Last Wednesday also happened to be my first blogiversay. I was supposed to be celebrating my love for pastry and heavy cream, but instead I spent most of it in meltdown mode, in tears over spilled cake. A little ironic, yes, but, as any food blogger would tell you, sometimes that's just how it goes.

I had originally set out to create a very elaborate meringue cake for you to celebrate one year of blogging. I prepped everything the night before and set out to assemble it in the morning. It was gorgeous. Stunning. Delicious. As I was wiping the last bit of stray chocolate from the cake stand to take photographs, it happened. The entire cake stand toppled over. I don't know how. I don't know why. I managed to catch the stand before it hit the table, but it was too late. The meringue collapsed, the layers slid, and 1/3 of the cake was sitting on the table.

A few choice words were said.

I was upset. It was my blogiversary. I needed to share something with you! It wouldn't be a blogiversary without cake!

In my stubborn fit of rage, I got in the car, drove to the nearest kitchen store, and bought myself a new cake stand. I went to the grocery store and bought more ingredients. Then I went back home and I spent the next four hours baking that damn cake. Again.

As I was assembling it, the bottom layer collapsed on one side. I sucked in my breath and tried to fix it up the best I could. It would have to do. After getting everything in place for the second time, I stood back to admire my work.

You won't believe what happened next. I still don't believe what happened next. What happened next isn't even physically possible.

The cake started melting.

It had become the Virgin Mary of cakes; I didn't even need to cry because my cake was crying tears of frustration for me. Sad, clear tears ran themselves down the sides of the cake. They pooled in the bottom of the cake stand, creating a puddle of misery. The layers weeped themselves right off the cake.

To put it simply, I had a meltdown. It wasn't pretty. Over $40 of cake was lying on the table or dripping onto the floor. My kitchen was an absolute disaster. And I still didn't have anything to share with you.

I had another four failed desserts that day. You can call me persistent. You can admire my determination. But, as it so happens, I just don't know when to throw in the towel. If there was any doubt before, you now know that I am undeniably not immune to (multiple) kitchen failures.

Sigh.

So it goes.

In this case, I think it's safe to say that when life give you lemons... make lemonade.

This strawberry rhubarb lemonade, however, is definitely not a kitchen failure. It is so light, intense, and unbelievably fruity. I had to stop myself from drinking the entire two quarts in one sitting. The strawberry notes in this lemonade really stand out. The sweetness of the strawberries is cut by the tartness of the rhubarb, creating this wonderful blend of flavors. This lemonade is such a bright, bold color that you just might find it difficult to look away. This is a drink you don't want to miss.

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Lemon Thins

I have a confession to make. I'm a bit of a snob when it comes to cookbooks. I don't judge the book by the cover or even the content. I judge them by whether or not they have an extraneous amount of pictures. I need pictures. I eat with my eyes before I eat with my mouth. The best cookbook ever written may hold all the secrets to the baking universe, but if it doesn't have photographs chances are I'd never give it a second glance. If the cookbook doesn't double as a good old fashioned picture book, I'm just not interested.

I told you I was a bit of a snob.

Despite my prejudices, I took it upon myself to make a recipe from a cookbook without a photograph this week. I figured cookies were pretty self-explanatory, especially in terms of what I was aiming for. Easy, right?

Wrong.

The first batch came out of the oven looking exactly like they did going in—not exactly what I was going for. They tasted delicious, but looked terrible. Is this what they were supposed to look like? Without the cookbook's illustration, it very well may have been. I should have never strayed from my picture prejudice.

I changed up the method and the second batch came out looking marginally better. I fixed those mistakes with the third batch and finally achieved the cookie I think the cookbook wanted me to make. Nevertheless, a simple photograph could have prevented my lemon cookie nightmare. To prevent any nightmares for you, here are several photographs to show you the way of this elusive lemon cookie. If only I had these to begin with.

What is your favorite cookbook? Do you also need pictures or are you brave enough to go without?

These lemon thins are light and delicate. The cookies are flavored with both lemon zest and fresh lemon juice, yet the flavors remain subtle and do not overpower. This recipe yields small, yet tender cookies. These lemon thins are the perfect complement to a cup of tea (if adventurous, you could even dunk them).

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