This week I am making cheese scones with my birth mum.

I have made thousands of scones over the years. Early mornings, busy cafes, trays lined up and ovens full. But this batch felt different. Slower. Quieter. Just the two of us, side by side, hands in flour, talking a little, and sometimes not at all.

There is something grounding about cheese scones. They are honest. No fuss, no decoration, no need to impress. They do not ask for perfection, just a light touch and a bit of confidence. You can feel when the dough is ready. You can smell when they are nearly done. They forgive you if you are slightly heavy handed, and they reward you when you are not.

And believe me, I have had my fair share of cheese scone disasters over the years.

There have been times when I have been a little too heavy handed with the milk, turning the dough just a touch too wet. Instead of rising up tall and proud, they slowly spread out in the oven, going wide and a bit flat. Still edible. Still tasty. But quietly disappointing.

Then there are the days when the wind is wild outside and it blows my oven out without me noticing quickly enough. The same thing happens. Flat scones. That one is particularly annoying.

And on the really overloaded days, when there is too much going on and I am juggling far too many things at once, I have baked a whole batch only to realise once they are out of the oven that I have forgotten to put the cheese in altogether.

Now that is annoying.
And yes, it has happened more than once.

Despite all that, they are one of the most loved things we make at the cafe. They are our number two best seller, and most days we sell out. Not because they are flawless, but because they are familiar. Comforting. Reliable in the way something handmade often is.

People come back for them again and again. Runners, regulars, people who know exactly what they want before they reach the counter.

That is why I love sharing them.

This week felt different. There was music playing, cupboards opening and closing, and the gentle rhythm of cooking together. She hunting for ingredients, me baking, both of us sharing the moment.

Some connections do not need big conversations.
Some moments do not need analysing.
Sometimes standing side by side doing something ordinary is enough.

Food has always been my language. When words feel unnecessary, or too complicated, baking fills the gaps. The rhythm of rubbing in butter, the sound of the knife cutting through soft dough, the smell of cheese melting and browning in the oven. These are shared experiences. You do not need a script for them.

At this time of year, a cheese scone feels especially right. Split open and eaten warm, alongside a homemade bowl of something steaming. Soup, stew, anything slow cooked and comforting. It is simple food, but deeply satisfying.

The flavours are straightforward and familiar, yet they always work so well together. Sharp cheese, butter, warmth. Nothing clever. Nothing forced. Just food that knows exactly what it is meant to be.

We ate them warm, crumbs on the worktop, butter melting straight away. The kind of quiet moment that does not announce itself, but stays with you long after the oven is switched off.

Just cheese scones.
And a quiet moment worth keeping.

I’ve shared the recipe below, in case you fancy making a batch of your own.

Link

Sasha x