London Tea Party: Lady P’s Ginger Scones

By the time Joe announced that he was moving his family to London in 2016, I knew the drill. They had already moved to Austin and New York, and now they were off on their London adventure. I cheered them on, and started searching airfares.

While I was always grateful for Joe’s career success, each move was tinged with sadness since the grandkids would be moving farther and farther away. After reacting to their first move to New York like an angry grandma, I spat out something like, “I get it. Now I’m the old woman who stays at home while you live all over the world?”, I knew to keep my comments brief, and congratulatory. That’s all they really wanted to hear.

Our role switch was hideously clear, if not ironic. The deepest wound early in my married life was the one left by leaving my hometown, New York, to follow my husband’s career. It took me ten years to take New York, New York off my playlist. Now, thirty years later, Joe was flipping the roles by moving to New York—the city that I had taught him to love.

I once read that as your children age, your seat in the theater of their lives moves from the front row to the back of the house. Headline: Just be glad you get to watch and applaud madly.

When the London news was announced, I handled it better. On a dime, I switched from pathetic old granny to adventurous older woman with a passport and many suitcases on wheels. After all, who doesn’t love the glamour and grit of London? It reminds me of New York! The beloved National Theatre and Covent Garden for theatre; the chic British Film Institute for movies; the swanky Savoy for cocktails and hundred-year-old pubs for burgers and beer; weekend visits to stately gardens with distinguished names like Hidcote; restaurants of every ethnicity, including the Ottolenghi empire wherever you turn, and too many incredible museum collections to name. Finally, I would  have the time to visit all the eccentric corners I could never see on business trips. I immediately vowed to visit London four times a year, to keep the grandparent link intact and to get to know the city deeply.

Our favorite cafe near the Luxembourg.

And then there’s Paris. My favorite city was just two-and-a-half hours away on the Eurostar. I made a commitment to improve my French, with dreams of attending an immersion school in the south of France. Retirement became the only choice, bien sûr.

High on my checklist of things to do on our first London visit in 2016 was tea at Brown’s Hotel. The experts would probably advise against jet-lagged grandparents taking a four-year-old to the fanciest tea room in London, Queen Victoria’s favorite, for a two-hour tea. But tant pis! Piper was my only granddaughter and we were going to live large! Perhaps I was compensating for the complete lack of little girls in my life so far, since I only gave birth to sons. Great guys—but not girls. We rolled past the liveried doorman and entered a world of immense privilege—white tablecloths, plush upholstery, and international tourists.

By the time the Maitre’d seated us and we looked around at the other guests—average age about 70—we recognized that we had possibly made a mistake. Piper could never sit still long enough to work our way through the set menu. Besides, how could she possibly be expected to try smoked salmon with truffled egg mayo, tiny turkey brie sandwiches, and pumpkin goat cheese tartlet? That’s before the scones with clotted cream, Dundee cake, gingerbread mousse au caramel, and of course, macarons. It had been a long time since I struck out culturally, taking my young sons to see a ballet, where they both were bored witless. Later, one actually fell asleep in the front row of a very loud Broadway musical. Would yet another cultural dream of mine be destroyed by honest young ones?

High tea didn’t end too badly though, once my husband recovered from the bill—about 150 pounds. And that’s with a discount for Piper’s portion, since she mostly spilled hot cocoa on the tablecloth and nibbled on a mini macaron, while playing with her new doll. Of course, to me, it was priceless. She was so adorable to watch!

Looking back, when I compare our London tea to the Los Angeles tea room at the American Girl store, it was a good value. At that shared cultural experience, we dined at the Grove on ice cold pigs in blankets, barely defrosted pizza treats, and kebabs of one grape and a desiccated melon ball each. I forget the price, but let’s just say that I plan never to return, even when Covid is long gone.

Tea American Girl style.

When I asked Piper whether she was interested in making a scone for our Pastry Session, she was nonplussed. Scones don’t figure high in her sweets dreams. Chances are that the Brown’s tea isn’t even lodged in her memory—the way riding the London Eye surely is. But I sold her on dough-making by hand, something she is good at and enjoys. At this point, she doesn’t need any help. As for the weird taste of candied ginger, she was game. I reassured her that it was sweet since the ginger was coated with tons of sugar. She grinned. My dream accompaniments for these scones are crême fraiche and apricot jam. She just likes to slather on the butter. Lucky, carefree girl!

By the way, Joe, really got a kick out of making these. He’d recently been doing research of his own, searching out the best biscuit in Austin, and he remarked that the taste and texture was similar to some of the fine Texas biscuits he’d been tasting. His only question was, “What do you think about substituting chocolate chips?”

“I don’t see why not,” I said. “Orange zest and dark chocolate chips could be a great spin. Let me know.”

The conversation continues.

RECIPE

Ginger Buttermilk Scones

3 cups flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
2 Tbsps sugar
1 stick butter, cold and cut in ¼ inch slices
½ cup crystallized ginger, rinsed in cold water, dried, and finely chopped
1 ¼ cups buttermilk
2 Tbsps melted butter and brown sugar for glaze

Preheat oven to 425F.

In a large mixing bowl, combine flour, baking powder, soda, and sugar. Mix with a fork. Add butter and blend with your finger tips or pastry blender until the mixture resembles coarse meal.

Stir in ginger pieces. Pour in buttermilk and stir with spoon to combine.

Turn out onto a lightly floured board and gently knead to form a smooth disk. Cut into three equal pieces. Pat each into a circle, flatten lightly with the palm of your hand and place on uncoated baking sheet. Brush tops with melted butter and sprinkle with brown sugar. Score each into four pieces. 

Bake 25 minutes, until golden and risen. Cool on racks, break apart and serve. These can be stored in ziplock bags and frozen. They defrost in 5 minutes at 350F.

Thanks to Nancy Silverton, La Brea Bakery.