A friend of mine from Tucson/Brooklyn/Highland Park had warned me of the deliciousness of the substance known as clotted cream. Since there’s nothing delicious-sounding about the intersection between the words “clotted” and “cream,” I wasn’t too interested. Then I saw the product in question at the supermarket, tucked in to the left of the double cream, which is to the left of the single cream. (The creaminess index increases in a leftward direction, and apparently single cream is what we call heavy cream, or whipping cream… sooo… where does that leave double cream?!?! AND CLOTTED CREAM?!?!)
I bought a tiny container of this crazy substance and discovered that, fortunately, “clotted” does in no way describe its consistency, which is smooth and buttery, somewhere between heavy cream and heaven. After a first taste, I looked at the nutritional content and discovered that it consists of 67% fat. So as not to give myself a sudden heart attack, I limited myself to a roughly 1/8 teaspoon taste every couple of days.
Now, you say, surely the English don’t eat their clotted cream out of a spoon? Surely they spread it on a scone, with some jam? Well, yes, they do… but I say, why put distractions in the path of this buttery goodness?