Maple and lemon drop scones

This one-spoon recipe has been on my radar for quite some time. I purchased real maple syrup ages ago specifically to use for this. I’ve had two lemons in my fridge for about a week, just waiting to be used.

And finally, I got a chance to do it.

At least twice, if not thrice, times in the last week, I have had coworkers asking me about my baking. One coworker walked all the way from his desk to my desk to ask me about the baking lull. I told him that, in fact, I had felt so guilty for not sharing my last two bakings with anyone from work that I had picked up a pack of assorted Timbits as a Canadian apology.

But that was last week.

This week I needed to bake.

And sadly my whole week filled up rather fast, so I needed a quick recipe. A recipe I had been waiting for. A recipe that has both intrigued and confused me since the beginning.

When I first came across it a few months ago, I asked my Scottish friend what drop scones were. She explained her mother made them all the time, and I ignorantly asked, “Aren’t they just fluffy pancakes?” You can see from the photo above that my assumption was fair.

Then it became a question of, “Well isn’t it really weird to bring fluffy pancakes cold to work the next day?”

She informed me that they would often have it day of, but it wasn’t odd to have leftovers the next day. Even Mary and Paul say leftovers can be toasted the next day.

But then I asked her, “So do I have to bring syrup to work too? How would that work?”

Thank you, patient friend, for my stupid questions.

She helped me figure out that it would be best to make bite-sized versions of the drop scone and bring a jar of jam to work, since jam, not syrup, was her family’s drop scone jam. (Get it?)

So after an evening class and a quick trip to the grocery store for milk, I started at about quarter to 10 at night.

First up, sifting a bunch of dry ingredients that required multiple spoons:

I was really worried that I would make a lot of mistakes doing this so late. One mistake I was worried about was the amount of cream of tartar. According to the dynamic duo, I was to use twice as much cream of tartar as baking soda. I was worried the teaspoon wouldn’t even fit in the little cream of tartar container. But it did, and I reread the ingredient list to make sure that much was actually required, and I continued in blind trust.

Next up, the lemon zest. Now, Mary and Paul say that I need the zest of one small lemon, or half a medium lemon. My question, dear reader, is what size would you say this one is:

I would say it’s between a small and a medium, so I did 2/3 of this lemon. Ridiculous? Yes.

(There may have been another step in between that last one and the one I’m describing next. I often type these after I’m done a quicker recipe, so I take progress photos to remind me of what I wanted to say as I was baking. There was a photo on my camera roll of my finger blocking most of the shot. I spied a corner of a lemon. I assume it was a mistake. Or the mistake is not remembering a step. Oh well. It’s very late as i’m writing this.)

Lemon zest. Is this enough?

I hope so. Lemon zest is quite potent sometimes, so it’s probably enough.

Time to make a well. Also time to worry about the size of my eggs. Again, Mary and Paul request a medium egg, but I purchase large eggs. Not like ostrich-large eggs, but larger chicken eggs than a medium chicken egg. Also my eggs lately have been very brightly yolked lately:

This one didn’t have to be room temperature. First time, I think!

Next up, adding the recently purchased milk:

I was really worried the well wouldn’t be big enough. Once I added the two tablespoons of maple syrup, it definitely wasn’t.

Mary and Paul then wanted me to take a metal whisk and mix it all together until smooth. They warned me that overmixing it will affect the texture of the scone, so I mixed until just smooth.

Then I heated up the pan at medium temperature, wiped it with some oil and did a tester:

I have a theory about pancakes that applies to life. The first try is often garbage, but then it get easier.

I should write fortunes for fortune cookies.

I should make fortune cookies.

I love fortune cookies.

*two minutes later*

Time to flip!

Not too bad, not too bad. It is bite-sized. It also looks similar to the photo. Time to start batching!

*less than two minutes later*

Time to flip!

Flipping with four is a lot harder than flipping with one. Four makes it crowded. So there was some nudging and bumping that may have made them a little messy, but that’s okay. They still look pretty cute.

While I did the next batch, I decided to give that first tester one a try with a bit o’ jam.

So I was a fool. These are not mini pancakes. These are drop scones.

The texture is different than a pancake. Fluffier and airier somehow. The batter itself seemed to be alive and poppin’. The taste is amazing. Including lemon zest and maple syrup in the batter is a game changer. I need to apply this to pancake-making. Because pancakes these are not. They’re scrumptious! I apologize, British people, for trying to make your baking fit into my Canadian parameters. I celebrate the fact that I have no drop scone equivalent!

By the end, I made a few more than the recipe’s 16:

Hope you like these, coworkers!

UPDATE: They liked these. Everyone was very pleased to have baking again and people came back for seconds. Everyone was confused by the sticky note with “drop scones” written on it, so I kept having to say, “They’re like pancakes but they’re not pancakes” over and over again. Because they’re not pancakes. They’re drop scones.

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