Scone Cold Stunners: Cream Tea with Attitude

There’s something downright cheeky about a good cream tea. It sounds so civilised - a dainty affair with fine china, polite conversation, and maybe a garden view. But make no mistake: beneath that calm, jam-smeared surface lies a full-blown turf war. The scone, dear reader, is no softie. It’s a crumbly little rebel with big opinions and zero time for half-hearted toppings.

The ultimate debate: jam or cream first?

Cornwall says jam first, Devon goes cream first, and the rest of us just try not to fall out with family over it. But here’s the thing: either way, you’re stacking fat and sugar onto a baked good and pretending it’s classy. And it is. It’s gloriously indulgent, and it doesn’t need your approval.

A proper scone is not a dry, sad puck of flour

It’s golden on top, soft in the middle, and just the right height to take on a dollop of clotted cream without collapsing under the pressure. That cream should be thick enough to hold its shape but still spreadable - not frozen, not whipped, and absolutely not out of a spray can (we’re not animals).

Jam? We’re talking strawberry. Maybe raspberry if you’re feeling wild

But if you’re reaching for marmalade, lemon curd or - brace yourself - Nutella, you might be in the wrong tea room.

And speaking of tea: yes, it should be tea. Preferably loose leaf. Preferably poured from a teapot that’s seen better days and smells faintly of nostalgia. Builders’ brew or Earl Grey, whatever gets you through. Just please, for the love of etiquette, don’t ask for a flat white.

Cream tea isn’t about following the rules - it’s about creating your own ritual.

Kettle on. Napkin tucked. Jam spooned. Cream heaped. Pinky firmly down.

So whether you’re Cornish or Devonian, jam-on-top or cream-all-over, own it. Be bold. Be sticky. Be a scone cold stunner.