A TASTY TIP-OFF
The undercover cafe critic
Scone Spy heads for St Andrews.
rEGULAR readers will know I love a tip-off. So it’s with a spring in my step that I’m on my way to lovely St Andrews on the east coast.
“All sorts of scones here. From cheese and bacon to blueberry and white chocolate. Love, a fellow scone fan,” says my mysterious tipper, who hasn’t left a name. Still. Sounds good to me. The journey to St Andrews is a joy. I don’t even care when I’m stuck behind a driver who thinks going above 32 miles an hour is a bit too wild and crazy.
As long as there are scones still waiting, what’s the rush?
The Byre cafe bar is a lovely wee section within the theatre building.
It might be a sleepy Monday elsewhere, but here it’s all systems go.
It’s a bit like a social club. Everyone seems to know each other. Some of the staff stand around discussing last night’s telly. But when they see me eyeing their selection of scones, one shimmies over.
No cheese and bacon today – and I must admit I’m a wee bit disappointed.
But there are fruit scones aplenty. The waiter sees me eyeing a mystery flavour.
“Banoffee – and bloomin’ lovely,” he says. That sounds like a challenge to me.
I order one and my companion is tempted by the lemon drizzle.
“Just butter with your
scone?” asks the waiter. But I’m all for plenty of sweetness in my life and ask for jam, too.
The waiter raises an eyebrow like I’ve just asked him to show me his pants.
I haven’t, of course. What do you take me for?
“Well – I can give you jam. But I’ve had one of these scones and I can tell you jam is just a bit too much for them,” he tells me. “There’s caramel laced through it, you see.”
My companion gives me a look. He’s not sure how I’ll take this strong scone opinion.
He’s about to add his tuppence worth, but his mouth is already too full of lemon drizzle. I like this honest waiter. And when I try my scone with butter, I realise he’s right.
Mine isn’t so much laced with caramel as crammed with chunks of the stuff.
A smidge of butter is all it needs. My companion’s lemon drizzle is a wee bit dewy and has a thrillingly zesty tang.
I make a mental note to come back for lunch one day. The restaurant is filling up with jolly-looking ladies, all enjoying the local gossip.
There’s an elderly gent in one corner, enjoying a book and a civilised glass of wine. It’s a bit early, but life is for living!
A couple of students debate the merits or otherwise of Brexit. It fair puts me off having another scone.
Listen mateys, if I want to hear people talk nonsense about subjects they know nothing about, I’ll hang out with The Sunday Post team. Oops, that reminds me. I really must get back to the office.