Last night I thought I lost my wedding band. Well, that’s not entirely true – last night I thought that my cocker spaniel, Sadie, had eaten my wedding band. I had carefully and responsibly removed my diamonds in order to roll up some granola-nut butter balls (I have been obsessed with these since birthing them last weekend) and simultaneously mixing up a batch of dark chocolate-cranberry cookies for the soldiers in the kitchen of DTH’s restaurant. Naturally, forgetting that I’d set them precariously to blend into our grayscale granite, right near the edge, I whipped a neighboring oven mitt off the counter, knocking the set to the floor. I quickly grabbed the engagement ring that had once belonged to my mother-in-law, and grappled for the band while the two pups swarmed like gulls after moldy bread. But, alas, I couldn’t find it. No. In that area of roughly 3 square feet I had lost my band. And I knew that the spaniel must be the culprit judging from her overall lack of brain function and adoration of beautiful things. I finished my treats while debating what to do.
First, I canvased the entire kitchen on my hands and knees hoping that perhaps it was just pushed into a dark corner being held captive by an overgrown dust bunny. Next, I took a piece off the refrigerator to look behind too (a piece that I’m not convinced was truly removable), but then I couldn’t put it back on, so I just sort of rested it in place, hoping it will fall over while Davey opens the door one day, leading him to believe he must have been the cause of the clatter. Finally I decided to light some seasonally scented candles and clean the unsightly floors. Lastly, I sent a text that husband of mine to tell him that I may be dissecting spaniel scat for several days. With my spirits flagging, I mustered a laugh while drafting a tweet reading something like, “You know how I finally realized my dog was a vegetarian? Because she ate all my karats.” When Davey finally made it in the door after a long day of chef’ing, I regaled him with the same line. He gave me an impassioned thumbs down, grabbed his tools, unscrewed a lower plate of the dishwasher and found the prodigal band perched upright hanging on a corner of metal in a slot roughly .0923 centimeters wide. A very wonderfully acrobatic feat, to be sure. So I saved the karat joke to my drafts and am secretly hoping I can use it one day and retold it to him approximately five more times hoping he’d finally get the joke and laugh too. He didn’t.
All of which made me really wish I had a few more of these lightly sweet and decadently moist sweet potato scones left. I made these for a breakfast meeting this week, and it was the first time trying my hand at scones. I knew I wanted something that felt regional and slightly seasonal without the cliché of pumpkin (though I certainly wouldn’t turn those down either).
Sweet Potato Scones + Maple Cream Glaze
1 sweet potato, cooked and mashed (should yield 1 cup)
1/3 c. buttermilk
1/4 c. brown sugar
2 1/4 c. flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1 1/2 tsp. pumpkin pie spice (or equal parts cinnamon, nutmeg and clove)
3/4 tsp. sea salt
1/4 tsp. baking soda
6 T. butter, cold and cubed
1 c. powdered sugar
Heavy cream (milk is fine)
1/4 c. maple syrup
Preheat oven to 400 degrees and lightly coat cookie sheet with non-stick spray. In a large bowl, combine sugar, flour, baking powder, baking soda, spices and salt. Cut in butter cubes with fingers or with a mixer. Mixture will be very coarse and crumbly. Stir in sweet potato, buttermilk, and egg and mix until moistened. Dust counter lightly with flour. Place scone dough on counter, dust top lightly with flour and knead lightly 1-2 minutes. Pat into 8 inch circle (no need to roll out). Cut dough into eight wedge slices and arrange alternating directions about 1 inch apart on baking sheet. Bake 18-20 minutes. While scones are baking, combine powder sugar and maple sugar in a small bowl. Add cream or milk until glaze reaches a drizzle-able consistency. Once scones have mostly cooled, drizzle as modestly or generously with glaze as desired.