The Plain Fare of a Glen Kitchen

There is a particular quiet that settles over a glen in the middle of the afternoon. The light comes low across the hills, the kettle goes on the stove, and something plain and warm is wanted on a plate. In rural Scotland, that something has long been the oatcake. It is the everyday bread of the Highlands and the Borders both — unshowy, quick to make, and made from what was to hand: oats, a little fat, a pinch of salt, and hot water. No yeast, no proving, no fuss. A batch can go from bowl to cooling rack in under an hour, which is exactly the sort of baking a working household can manage.

Oatcakes are worth learning properly for that reason alone. They cost very little, they keep well, and they are endlessly forgiving. Once you have made them a few times, you will make them by feel rather than by numbers, the way they have always been made.

What You Need for One Tray

• 250g fine or medium oatmeal, plus a handful extra for dusting. Fine oatmeal gives a closer, crisper biscuit; medium gives a rougher, more rustic bite.
• ½ teaspoon fine salt — do not skimp, the salt is what makes them worth eating with cheese.
• 40g butter, or a mix of butter and a spoonful of bacon fat if you have it. The fat should be soft but not melted.
• About 100ml hot water, just off the boil.
• A pinch of bicarbonate of soda, optional, for a slightly shorter crumb.

You will also want a large bowl, a sturdy spoon, a rolling pin, a baking sheet lined with parchment, and a round cutter about 6cm across, or a knife if you prefer to cut them into triangles.

Mixing and Shaping the Dough

Tip the oatmeal, salt and bicarbonate into a bowl and stir them together. Rub in the soft butter with your fingertips until the mixture looks like coarse sand, then pour in the hot water a little at a time, stirring with a spoon. Stop when the mixture comes together into a firm but pliable dough — you may not need all the water, and on a damp day you may need a splash more. Let it sit for ten minutes under a clean cloth. This rest lets the oats drink up the water, and the dough becomes far easier to roll.

Dust your surface generously with oatmeal rather than flour; flour makes them tough and dulls the flavour. Roll the dough out to about 4mm thick — thin enough to crisp, thick enough to hold a slice of cheese. Cut into rounds and lift them onto the lined sheet with a palette knife. Reroll the trimmings once, no more, or the last few will be heavy.

Baking to the Right Crunch

Heat the oven to 180°C fan, or 190°C without, and bake for 15 to 20 minutes. Watch them closely from about the twelfth minute. You are looking for edges that are just turning a pale gold and a surface that feels dry to the touch. Traditional oatcakes are deliberately pale — if they brown deeply they turn bitter.

Turn them once, halfway through, so they dry evenly. Then take them out and slide them onto a wire rack to cool completely. They will seem slightly soft when they come from the oven and will crisp as they cool; that is normal, and it is why you should never bake them until they look crisp in the tray. Left to cool on the sheet they will steam and go chewy.

A Simple Afternoon Tea

This is where oatcakes earn their place. Serve them on a plain plate with a pot of strong tea, and put out two sorts of topping — one savoury, one sweet, so guests can go back and forth.

• Savoury: a wedge of mature cheddar, or Scottish crowdie with a little cracked pepper and a scatter of chives. A spoonful of chutney or a few oatcakes spread with butter and topped with smoked salmon are equally good.
• Sweet: good raspberry jam and thick butter, or honey with a little whipped cream. A thin layer of marmalade is a fine thing on a cold day.
• To drink: a strong breakfast blend, or a smoky tea if you have one. Oatcakes stand up to a robust cup far better than a delicate biscuit would.

If the weather is kind, take the plate outside and eat them on a bench looking down the glen. If it is not, the fireside will do very well indeed.

Keeping Them, and a Word on Thrift

Cooled oatcakes keep for a week in an airtight tin, and rather longer in a cool larder. If they soften, spread them on a baking sheet and give them five minutes in a moderate oven — they come back as good as new. The dough also freezes well: roll and cut it, stack the rounds with parchment between them, and bake from frozen, adding a couple of minutes to the time.

That is the whole of it. A bowl, a handful of oats, and twenty minutes of your afternoon, and you have something far better than anything bought in a packet. Bake a batch this week, and make it a habit — few things suit a glen kitchen so well.