Jammy Scones

(adapted from the Huckleberry Cookbook)

There’s a moment with these where you think you’ve waited long enough.

You haven’t.

These started as the walnut raspberry scones from Huckleberry, but somewhere along the way they became ours.

Less tidy. More generous. Built to hold a proper spoonful of jam—not the polite kind that stays put, but the kind that collapses into the center and burns the roof of your mouth if you rush it.

We make them often, almost always as a double batch. Some for now, some for later. A small insurance policy against a slow morning.

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Ingredients (grams)

255 g all-purpose flour

55 g granulated sugar

8 g baking powder

3 g kosher salt

115 g unsalted butter, cold, cubed

60 g toasted pecans— originally walnuts, finely ground (a coarse meal, not powder)

120 g heavy cream

1 large egg

Jam of choice (raspberry is the original, but this is flexible)

Egg wash (1 egg + a splash of cream)

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Method

Preheat oven to 190°C / 375°F.

In a large bowl, whisk together flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt.

Cut in the butter until the mixture looks like rough sand with a few larger pieces remaining. Stir in the ground pecans.

In a separate bowl, whisk together cream, egg, and vanilla. Pour into the dry ingredients and gently mix until just combined. The dough should feel soft but not wet.

Portion into rough balls—slightly larger than a golf ball—and place on a parchment-lined baking sheet.

Using your thumb or the back of a spoon, press a deep well into the center of each. This matters. Shallow wells spill.

Fill generously with jam.

Brush the edges with egg wash.

Bake for 18–22 minutes, until golden at the edges and set through the center.

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Notes

We almost always make a double batch and freeze half. Shape the dough, but leave off the egg wash and jam. Freeze solid, then bake straight from frozen—adding the jam, egg wash, and sugar just before they go in the oven.

The pecans should feel like texture, not dust. That slight grain is what makes these feel like something you can’t quite place but want again.

And give them a minute when they come out of the oven.

Everyone burns their mouth at least once. It’s part of it.

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Seasonal Variations

They rarely stay the same for long.

Spring brings lemon curd and pistachio—bright, fresh, and just a little unexpected.

Summer belongs to strawberry rhubarb. Sweet, tart, and generous enough to bubble over the edges, tasting like the height of June.

Fall shifts to apple and walnut, softly spiced and somewhere between a scone and a hand pie.

Winter circles back to raspberry, finished with toasted sliced almonds scattered over the top. Familiar enough to feel like home, just a little richer than it was before.

The recipe stays the same. Only the season changes.