A la Recerche du Cheese Scones Perdu

After a successful day out, circumnavigating roadworks in a satisfying, remembrance-of-commutes-past move, Crankus, the carb demon*, in congratulatory mood, whispered, ‘Afterall, a cheese scone isn’t a cake’.  It was in this easily-led frame of carboholic-mind that a homeward bound stop at Newton Dee for candles and chocolate (always allowed), became coffee, cheese scone and a life lesson.

Driving a circular route I haven’t used in years, and hardly recognised a single part of, felt ecstatically liberated at not having had that particular commute in decades.  Remembering those younger days, loathing that drive, especially in the dark winters, the traffic, it was hell.  Now, the day is my own and the hell trip has become a nifty shortcut, especially on a Saturday.  Freedom is in the eye of the beholder.

Newton Dee, an old haunt from much later home-worker days in Aberdeen, is a Camphill Community and biodynamic farm.  Every Wednesday, I used to take a packed lunch to have in their walled garden.  Bliss, scented Nature and an hour of no meetings.  The bench isn’t there anymore.  Time marches on, rotting favourite benches in his wake.  The café used to make the best cheese scones on the planet.  They used to do great soups too.  Not so anymore.  I blame Brexit.  Certain countries, which still had compulsory national service for young people, used to offer a year assisting in Camphill communities as an alternative to learning how to shoot people.  Those young Europeans, mostly from Germany, brought a wonderful vibe and scone and sticky-date-loaf baking expertise.  Not so nowadays.  Now, there’s someone who makes the worst cheese scones on the planet.  They’d be ashamed to call themselves rock cakes.  Things change.  I fear more than a favourite bench has rotted away. 

Bright side, Crankus the carb demon was successfully foiled.

*Crankus is second cousin, twice-removed, to Krampus.

https://www.newtondee.co.uk