Triple Chocolate Scones

June. The garden is producing with the enthusiasm of something that's been waiting since October. Lettuce by the armful. Peas by the handful. Radishes for Helen, who eats her three and declares the crop a success. The first strawberries from our patch — not the farm stand ones, ours, Helen's runners from her mother, the strawberries that are practically family. They're small and deeply red and sweet in a way that makes you realize supermarket strawberries have been lying to you your whole life.

I made strawberry shortcake. The real kind — biscuit shortcake, not sponge cake, because we've been over this. Biscuits split open, buttered, strawberries macerated in sugar until they're swimming in their own juice, whipped cream piled on top like a cumulus cloud with delusions of grandeur. You eat it with a fork and a spoon because it's too soft for just a fork and too substantial for just a spoon. You need both. The shortcake demands respect and the proper utensils.

Helen and I have settled into a new rhythm. Mornings are hers — she gardens, reads, calls Sarah. Afternoons are shared — we cook together, walk together, sit on the porch together. Evenings are ours — the woodstove (if it's cool enough), books, Frost, the particular silence of two people who've said everything they need to say and can sit without talking and have it mean something rather than nothing. It's a good rhythm. It took a month to find. It'll take a year to perfect. We have the time.

I wrote about strawberry shortcake for the blog. The response was immediate and passionate — people have opinions about shortcake. Strong opinions. The biscuit camp and the sponge cake camp are apparently engaged in a culinary civil war that has been raging since before I was born. I planted my flag firmly in the biscuit camp and received six emails of support and three of censure. One woman in New Hampshire said I was "wrong about cake but right about everything else," which I consider a compliment wrapped in an insult, or possibly the reverse.

Frost ate a strawberry that fell on the kitchen floor. He made a face that suggested the strawberry was both unexpected and not entirely welcome, then ate another one. Dogs are contradictions on four legs.

June. Strawberries. Shortcake. The rhythm of retirement, found. Enough.

The strawberry shortcake was a success — biscuit camp vindicated, six emails of support duly noted — but once I had the oven hot and flour on my hands, I found myself reaching for cocoa. Helen has been tolerant of my strawberry evangelism, but her real loyalty lies with chocolate, and after a month of finding our rhythm together, it seemed fair to let her have the oven for an afternoon. These Triple Chocolate Scones are what came of it: the same flaky, biscuit-like technique I trust for shortcake, turned dark and deeply chocolatey, the kind of thing you eat on the porch when the strawberries are all gone and you need something that earns a cup of coffee.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon fine salt
6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
3/4 cup cold heavy cream, plus more for brushing
1 large egg
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1/3 cup dark chocolate chunks (60% cacao or higher)
1/3 cup white chocolate chips
2 tablespoons coarse sugar, for topping

Instructions

Preheat. Heat oven to 400°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.
Combine dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, granulated sugar, baking powder, and salt until evenly blended.
Cut in the butter. Add the cold butter cubes to the flour mixture. Using your fingertips or a pastry cutter, work the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs with a few pea-sized pieces remaining. Do not overwork — those butter pockets are what make the scones flaky.
Mix wet ingredients. In a small bowl or measuring cup, whisk together the heavy cream, egg, and vanilla extract.
Bring the dough together. Pour the cream mixture over the flour mixture and stir with a fork just until the dough begins to come together. It will look shaggy — that’s correct. Fold in the semi-sweet chips, dark chocolate chunks, and white chocolate chips, distributing them evenly without overmixing.
Shape and cut. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and gently press into a circle roughly 8 inches in diameter and 1 inch thick. Cut into 8 equal wedges with a sharp knife or bench scraper.
Prep for baking. Transfer wedges to the prepared baking sheet, spacing them about 2 inches apart. Brush the tops lightly with heavy cream and sprinkle generously with coarse sugar.
Bake. Bake for 18–22 minutes, until the tops are set and a toothpick inserted into the center of a scone comes out with moist crumbs but no raw dough. The edges should look dry and the bottoms should be firm.
Cool briefly and serve. Let scones cool on the pan for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack. Best eaten warm, with or without a smear of salted butter. Frost is not entitled to any.

Nutrition (per serving)

Triple Chocolate Scones — When the Biscuit Baker Turns to the Dark Side