There is a particular kind of cold afternoon in Britain — the sort where the light goes flat by three o'clock and the kitchen feels like the only warm room in the house. That is the moment to make cheese and onion scones. They take about twenty minutes to assemble, they ask nothing of you that a store cupboard cannot supply, and they demand a hot oven, which means the kitchen will be genuinely warm by the time the first batch comes out. A tray of savoury scones cooling on the hob is a small act of defiance against February, and it fills the house with a smell that beats any scented candle.
They are also, quietly, one of the best things to serve with soup. A bowl of leek and potato, or a spiced parsnip, with two warm cheese scones split and buttered beside it, is a proper winter lunch — cheap, filling and much better than anything you would buy in a plastic wrapper.
The whole point of this recipe is that it uses what is already there. You should not need to go out. For a batch of about eight to ten scones you will want:
If the cheese is a stub-end of something harder, grate it. If it is a soft leftover, crumble it. Nothing here needs to be precise.
This is the step most people skip and then regret. Raw onion, dropped straight into scone dough, releases water as it bakes and leaves you with scones that are heavy and faintly damp in the middle. Twenty minutes in a pan will fix it entirely.
Chop your onion finely and soften it gently in a small knob of butter over a low heat until it is translucent and just beginning to colour at the edges. Then tip it onto a plate and leave it to cool completely. If you are using spring onions, simply slice them finely and use them raw — they are mild enough not to cause trouble, and they give a pleasant green fleck through the crumb. If you are using chutney instead, stir it through the milk rather than the dry ingredients so it distributes evenly.
Heat the oven to 200°C fan, or gas mark 6, and line a baking tray with parchment. Put the flour, baking powder, mustard powder, cayenne and a good pinch of salt into a large bowl and whisk them together with a fork.
Add the cold diced butter and rub it in with your fingertips until the mixture looks like coarse breadcrumbs. Work quickly and keep your hands light — warm hands make heavy scones. Stir through the grated cheese, keeping back a small handful for the tops, then add the cooled onion and plenty of black pepper.
Pour in most of the milk and bring everything together with a round-bladed knife, adding the last of the milk only if the dough refuses to come together. It should be soft but not sticky. Turn it onto a lightly floured surface and pat it into a round about 3cm thick. Do not knead it — a couple of gentle folds are all it wants.
Cut out rounds with a 6cm cutter, pressing straight down without twisting, and gather and re-pat the trimmings once. Twisting seals the edges and stops the scones rising properly, which is the difference between a proper scone and a flat disc.
Brush the tops with a little milk and scatter over the reserved cheese. Bake for twelve to fifteen minutes, until they are risen, golden and sound hollow when you tap the base. The smell will tell you before the timer does.
Slide them onto a wire rack the moment they come out, otherwise the steam underneath will soften the bottoms. Eat them warm, split and buttered — they are at their very best within half an hour, though they revive well in a low oven the next day. Any that go stale are excellent toasted under a grill with a slice of tomato on top. They also freeze beautifully: open-freeze on a tray, then bag them, and reheat from frozen at 180°C for ten minutes.
Serve them alongside something thick and rooty — celeriac and apple, butterbean and rosemary, or a plain vegetable broth sharpened with lemon. A little chutney on the side, or a smear of mustard butter, is never wasted. If there is any soup left over, it will be better tomorrow, and so will a reheated scone.
And there is something to be said for the whole exercise that has nothing to do with eating. On the coldest afternoons the temptation is to sit still and wait for spring. Instead, put the oven on, flour your hands and make something warm. The kitchen will be the best place in the house for the next hour, and that is reason enough.
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