So it was with my dropscones recipe. For years I have thrown together a batch of dropscones at a moment's notice, using my trusty old griddle with its patina of age that ensured even cooking, a good colour, and no sticking, and they've been perfectly acceptable, good with butter and jam, and even less effort to make than a batch of plain scones. But I was given a new recipe the other day, using cream of tartar and bicarb instead of baking powder, more eggs, and a measured amount of milk, usually judged by eye and texture than by fluid ounces. It sounded richer and possibly producing more depth of flavour.
My mother had an expression: 'Better is the enemy of good' that she used when an attempt to improve something that had been fine in the first place ended up in disappointment, failure, ruin, even, or simply more work than it was worth.
I tried it out, and the result was horrid: thick-textured, rubbery, and tasting of bicarbonate of soda. See? Don't they look like they'd bounce if thrown? Well, they were thrown, after this picture was taken: they went into the little wooded area where local foxes clear up any non-compostable treats we care to leave for them (we're a bit silly like that round here).
Hardly a national disaster, of course; after all, a dropscone is a dropscone is a ...vehicle for lots of melting butter. Back to the old tried and true recipe.
(And see the uneven colouring? Well, that poor old griddle is on the slow road to recovery after its patina had to be thoroughly scoured off following the Lovely Son's criminal decision to cook black pudding on it.... Black pudding! On a baking griddle! I will say no more. My lips are pursed too tightly for that.)