Maintaining Standards of Civilization

Trump's in the White House, the Russians are encroaching on Ukraine, the EU is hemorrhaging members, and there are Americans in the House of Windsor. Someone has to maintain standards.

I was just on my own recipe blog, the 2014 Recipe Project, in order to make a cheesecake. (My daughter is home from college and my husband just submitted his final grades -- end of academic year rituals ensue.) But on that recipe blog an important item is missing.

Scones.

I can't remember the first scone I ever ate, but I can call up some delicious moments, many of which took place in England. At Henley-on-Thames after a long spring trek. At St. Martin-in-the-Fields in the Crypt Cafe in London. Outdoors near the Borough Market with Tina our former Thai exchange student. Having tea and scones -- or even a cream tea, with that thick clotted cream -- is a ritual for my family.

Talking with Tina (who lived with us in 2011-12 and is now practically a medical doctor) via facetime the other day, I was gratified to have her express her yearning for my cheddar scones. Scones are a go-to recipe for us not only at teatime, but especially on a chilly day when I'm making soup.

I have yet to bake scones in Russia -- somehow I've never really set up house there when I visit -- but next time I'm over there, I can log into this blog and find the perfect scone recipe. Because I've used many recipes over the years, and I've now found the perfect one.

I'm not embarrassed to say that it comes from Emeril. More importantly, from Emeril's cookbook for kids. Adjusted a little bit by me, of course.

Here goes:

Ingredients:

2 1/4 cups flour
2 T. sugar (unless you're making savory scones)
1 T. baking powder
1 (scant) t. salt
1/2 c. unsalted butter, cold and cut into small pieces
3/4 c. + buttermilk (or milk with about 1 T. lemon juice or vinegar added)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper if you have it.

Mix flour, sugar if using, baking powder, and salt. Add butter to dry ingredients and cut into the flour with a pastry cutter until the butter is the size of small peas. Add the buttermilk (more is better) and mix with wooden spoon and/or your hands. If it's a little sticky, flour your hands.

Divide dough in half. If you're making cheddar scones, flatten one half on a floured surface and heap with grated cheddar, maybe 1/2 cup. Or for jam scones, spread flattened half with 1/4 c. jam. Or don't divide the dough, just add in about 1/2 cup or more of chocolate chips, dried cranberries, or maybe some lemon zest or dried currants -- whatever you like. And flatten the dough on a floured surface.

If you've got a filling, cover the first disk with a second flattened disk and pinch the edges together. Now cut any way you like -- in 6-8 triangles, or horizontally into squares. Separate scones and place on the baking sheet about two inches apart.

Bake for anywhere between 17 and 25 minutes -- just monitor so that the scones are browned but baked all the way through.

If you want to be civilized, eat the scones with a lovely pot of tea, with jam or butter or of course clotted cream. Or have cheddar scones with your cream of broccoli soup. You won't regret it.

You can't undo the Brexit vote, or the Trump presidency, or even the takeover of Crimea. But you can sip your tea and nibble this most delicious of all scones, and hope that maybe Meghan Markle will bring a bit of class to the situation.

RIP Randy Nolde

In everyone's life there is a teacher who motivated her to try harder, strive for more, reach beyond. Or in my case, a teacher who teased, goaded, poked, pried, laughed, lampooned, and somehow created an atmosphere where I was ready to work my tail off to make him proud. Randy Nolde, we will miss you. Mr. Nolde was my Russian teacher in high school. I first got to know him as a younger person -- the Russian Club Banquet was quite the event in my home town, and my grandmother used to take us regularly even before my sister enrolled in Russian language class. Every year, the high school cafeteria underwent a magical metamorphosis. Huge murals of scenes from Russia -- fantastic, colorful onion-domed churches, and young peasants reaping wheat, and Armenian maidens with long braids and colorful costumes -- hung all around the edges of the room. On the menu: chicken Kiev made by the cafeteria ladies, supplemented with cafeteria salad, but also khachapuri and piroshki made by the

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