Scone One: Marks & Spencer strawberry scone

It was all going to be so grand.  The idea for a blog that covers the truly English concept of tea and scones has been germinating for a while, and once a suitable title was settled upon, there were plans for a spectacular entrance. 

The Sconnoisseur intended to spend a beautiful spring day visited some National Trust tearooms with companions, enjoying their freshly baked scones and mismatched china after admiring the various old buildings to which they were attached.  Unfortunately, said companion was otherwise engaged, and the day was instead spent watching an entire season of 30 Rock.  Fear not, however; with the blog up and running, any plans for tearoom visists will surely come to fruition.

Nontheless, everyone has to start somewhere, and The Sconnoisseur has decided to begin with what should be the grand dame of high street scones.  Everyone sees those Marks & Spencers adverts at Christmas, and they're enough to convince the household matriarch that the generous budget allocated for the feast of the 25th should be spent at M&S.  No other supermarket could dream of doing that; by trying to compete, Tesco, Asda et al only succeed in making themselves look tacky.  But what of the rest of the year? 

These scones have been consumed by your writer long enough to know they've jumped in price by at least 50 pence in the last seven years (currently 1.79 in most branches), and despite various packaging alterations - where they once sat in a piece of replica gingham paper case, they're now housed in a proper box, and a plastic tray - their taste remains unaltered.  The cream is mostly sugared air, the jam far too sweet and the scone itself a crumbling fib.  It's not scone at all, more a collection of crumbs and what feels like chalk dust which falls apart too easily after the first bite, and practically disintergrates once actually in the mouth.

So, as an actual scone, it fails completely.  But as an experience - something to accompany that hastily grabbed sandwich while you run through Waterloo station and try to catch the next train to wherever you need to go, or sat at your desk - it lends an air of summery liberation to proceedings, an echo of the best picnics, a promise of things to come.  Feeling wistful?  Pick up these and you'll be counting the days until you can unroll that blanket on the green again.