Little Red Stove

You heard right, let me say it a little slower: wwhhiskeyy honeyyy butterrr. The stuff dreams are made of. My dreams, at least.

Speaking of dreams, let me tell you a little about mine: I started out cooking when I was very young. There was no shortage of Italian food at my family’s holiday dinners, and I learned to make my sauce and meatballs much like I image many other children do: alongside your mother, grandmother, and million great aunts who are all yelling over one another while your uncle, dad, and brothers are all sitting in the other room on the plastic covered sofa.

When I got into college however, I spent hours in my dorm room during the freezing winter months encapsulated by Food Network. I would work on my art portfolio and english papers with it constantly on in the background. Ina, Alton, Bobby, Giada, all telling me about the wonders of a ricer, dried chiles, and the science behind baking soda and yeast. This is when I smuggled a crock pot into the dorm (I’m practically on a Most Wanted list for that…) and never looked back. I walked into a local steakhouse the summer after my senior year and asked to be apprenticed. You got it, fo’ free.
I apprenticed for a few months learning the ins and outs of being in a restaurant kitchen. I vividly remember carrying pounds of chocolate mousse cake down a winding staircase, and burning my arms whisking egg yolks in a metal bowl over the pasta station. Miraculously I got hired as a baker at the cutest little bake shop on the North Shore of Long Island, New York. Baking there changed my life forever. Not only did I fall in love with the life of baking when everyone else was fast asleep, I made my best friends and found myself along the way. Here we are, 4 years of baking scones at 5:30 a.m., and I bring you this nostalgic piece of my baking history:

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Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all my non-Irish folk who still like to throw a good party!
I’m pretty sure you will get a buzz from the butter alone. These are ridiculous. They’re so tender and flavorful, with a little crunch courtesy of some demerara sugar sprinkled before baking. Make these to go alongside your corned beef and cabbage, or any time of the year as one of the best breakfast treats you’ll ever bring in to your office meeting.

These are scones. Not little breads baked in the shape of scones. Therefore, they’re incredibly quick to throw together, and you probably have almost all of the ingredients already in your home.

For 6 generous sized scones, you will need:
2 cups of all purpose flour
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 sticks very cold salted butter, cut into small pieces
1/2 cup cold buttermilk
1 egg
2 tablespoons toasted caraway seeds, cooled and crushed (yes, crushed. Smashing these a little after toasting will release their oil and make them much more fragrant)
1 cup raisins
1/2 cup Irish Whiskey
demerara sugar for sprinkling

For the Whiskey Honey Butter, you will need (self control, but that’s another story):
1 stick of salted butter, a little warmer than room temperature. I used Irish butter here, because let’s do this right.
leftover whiskey from the raisins
1 tablespoon honey

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

In a small bowl, heat the whiskey until it’s almost to a boil. Pour over the raisins to reconstitute them a little before we bake. Let sit.
In a bowl sift together the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. With your hands, combine the flour mixture with the cold butter until it’s the size of peas. Take the raisins out of the whiskey and place into the scone base along with the caraway seeds. Save. That. Whiskey.

Whisk together the buttermilk and egg, and stir into the flour just to combine.
Lightly flour your table, turn the dough out, and lightly pat into a circle.
Cut the scones into 6 triangles, and place onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.
Brush each scone with a little buttermilk and sprinkle with a little demerara sugar.
Bake those bad boys for 10 minutes, turn the tray around, and bake for another 8-10 minutes or until they’re golden brown.

While they’re perfuming your entire house with love, let’s make that butter.

Combine the soft butter, raisin whiskey, and honey in a bowl. You can do this 1 of 2 ways: whisk that baby by hand and develop those arm muscles, or grab a hand mixer and go to town. It will look separated in the beginning because of the alcohol mixing with the fat of the butter. It will come together. I do not lie.

You can tone down the whiskey in this butter, if that’s what you’re into.

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Oh, about the color of that butter. This is why:

I hope you enjoy these as much as my mom did. Which is a lot.