Professor Butter Beard and the Medieval Scriptorium
Far in the middle of the lake was a low greyness that rose and fell in queer shadows, as though the once holy isle of Inchmahome was built up out of lake water like a mirage.– H.V. Morton, 1932.
It is the same dream, at least five times a year…….
I stir as the first hint of purple light sneaks through the darkness and my soul registers the lapping of the incoming tidal waves across the shore. Shivering slightly, my hands reach for my simple habit, already patched in several places, as my feet gently touch the cold stone floor. I whisper my thanks for another morning, lift my hood into place, and breathe in the tranquil daybreak air as I silently walk towards the warmth of the kitchen.
Young Brother Theodore dreams peacefully on the hearthstone, curled alongside both the pup that has adopted him and the fire he has been charged to tend overnight. I give him a teasing nudge with my toe, gently waking him to add another log to the flame before heading out to milk our two families of goats. The other eleven members of our monastery quietly float their way between the ancient chestnut trees towards the Chapter House for the dawn recital of the psalms.
My hands, via muscle memory, begin their meditative exercises of shaping the bread dough that was started before last evening vespers, readying the loaves for Brother Theodore to bake later that afternoon. And then the scones, baked with our own stone-ground flour, homemade butter and cream, to be shared post-prayer with our community of monks alongside Brother Simon’s raspberry jam and apples from our tiny orchard.
I return to my cell to gather my equipment into a small leather bag, and then back to the kitchen to see if there are any leftover scones and fruit to satisfy my midday cravings. I set off to my private space, the scriptorium on the far side of the boxwood bower, away from the familiar hum of the monastery so I can enjoy perfect silence to absorb myself in my tasks.
Golden light begins to fill the room as I lay out my materials on my heavily worn wooden desk. Blank sheets of papyrus rolled in a bundle, a sealed terracotta pot of ink, a reed pen and a small knife. I remember the beautiful books carried by the Roman missionaries made of purple-stained parchment and glittering with gold letters and jewels, but I prefer the humble papyrus.
I flatten the first sheet and take a small sip of water and a morsel of scone to prepare myself, careful not to let a crumb fall onto the paper’s surface. The sunlight streams through the open doorway, allowing me to measure the day by the shadows shifting across the room. Then, dipping my pen into the pot of ink, I lean in and scratch in the first words: “In principio creavit Deus caelum et terram.”
I work both silently and steadily, the ink forming neat lines of shapes, knowing that tomorrow, Brother Paul will decorate them with his masterful illuminations. The sun makes its familiar journey across the sky. I am totally absorbed in my task, but occasional moments are broken by sudden splashes as hungry osprey dive into the Loch to snag their prey, joyful shouts of greeting as visiting farmers arrive by boat to deliver their offerings, and smiles as I hear Theodore teasing the goats with his unfortunate lack of perfect pitch.
Sensing the coolness of the early evening air, I pack up my writing materials and wrap my habit a little closer to my skin. The geese honk their sunset songs as I make my way along the boxwoods, back to the smokey warmth of the kitchen to create a soup of vegetables and lentils to serve with loaves of still-warm heavily seeded bread.
And then I awake. Nels is licking my eyes reminding of my immediate surroundings and her need to coral at least a dozen deer and tease the new family of foxes in the meadow. But first, the soul warming sound and smell of freshly ground coffee beans and the gathering of ingredients for Saturday scones.
Professor Butter Beard’s Ginger Lime Scones
One dozen scones
80 grams granulated sugar
Zest of two limes
150 grams coarsely chopped crystallized ginger
500 grams bread flour
4 tsp baking powder
½ tsp baking soda
1 tsp fine sea salt
2 tsp ginger
½ tsp freshly ground black pepper
50 grams ice-cold unsalted butter
250 ml cold buttermilk
2 large eggs
Vanilla paste, if desired
Egg wash:
1 beaten egg
Dash of granulated sugar
Dash of fine sea salt
1) Preheat your oven to 425 degrees and line a thin sheet pan with parchment paper.
2) In a large bowl, whisk together the granulated sugar and lime zest until evenly combined and aromatic. Stir in the coarsely chopped crystalized ginger.
3) Make a well in the center of the sugar and add the flour, baking powder and soda, fine sea salt and ginger, and the freshly ground black pepper. Whisk together until everything is evenly combined.
4) Using a box grater, grate the ice-cold butter over the mixture. Use a plastic bench scraper to quickly fold in the butter evenly.
5) In another bowl, or glass measuring cup, whisk together the buttermilk and two eggs (and vanilla paste, if desired). Make a well in the dry mix and pour in the wet. Use the plastic scraper to fold the mixture into a dough. Lightly flour your counter surface and gently knead the dough until evenly combined and just lightly sticky to the touch. Pat the dough to roughly 4 cm tall and use a biscuit cutter to cut the dough into twelve round scones. Re-gather the dough as necessary.
6) Whisk together the egg wash ingredients and lightly brush only the tops of the scones. Bake on the middle oven rack for 20-25 minutes until risen and golden brown, rotating the pan after the first 15 minutes.
7) Slide the scones onto a wire rack to cool at least ten minutes before breaking them open to serve with cream and jam.
