My Scottish grandmother, Betty, was famous for her shortbread. Unlike many, she always willingly shared her recipe. When others would inevitably lament that theirs never came out like hers, she would ask: Did you mix it by hand? Was your butter hard and cold? Did you let it firm up as a block in the fridge? Usually, she told me, the reason theirs didn’t come out as well was because their answer to one of these questions was a confessed no. In an age of stand mixers, it is hard to abandon convenience. But for some recipes, the joy in the end result is worth the effort.

My Grandma’s shortbread was simply a miracle. “Simply” because it only had three ingredients: flour, butter, sugar, in a ratio, by weight, of 4:2:1 respectively. The result was densely rich to the taste and crumbly light in texture. Family and friends would impatiently await her next batch of shortbread, which she would mix up with a large, thick wooden spoon in a big white bowl that had a side that could lie flat – a genius detail to my young eyes.

My grandmother had more patience than anyone I know, and she would kindly and gently supervise my sister and me as we learned the family recipe, offering a tip or a correction in her soft voice that still held hints of Scotland after so many years. For her, keeping traditions alive was important. From the kilts she made for us by hand as little girls, to the shortbread molds, magazines, recipe books, and linens printed with the Scottish blessing, to the many stories of her hometown of Torphichen, the great Robbie Burns, and Scottish heather, our heritage came alive thanks to her passion for her homeland. With every dish came a story, and this family recipe she learned from her older sister and went on to perfect to the version we knew. It was a recipe made with loving hands, from beginning to end, as she never used the shortbread moulds that she proudly conserved for their beauty, since cooking with them altered the consistency she sought.

As I mixed flour, butter, and sugar, seeking the taste and texture of this childhood treat, I was reminded of the truth we live by – that in the kitchen, tradition is more powerful than gluten.

Here is a gluten-free version of that Scottish shortbread, dedicated to my sisters and cousins.

 

Cuisine: Scottish

Yield: 4 roundels (Recipe can easily be halved, as we do, or doubled as my grandmother did, depending on your needs.)

Ingredients:

250 g butter

125 g sugar

500 g flour (of which: 175 g superfine brown rice flour, 60 g millet flour, 15 g amaranth flour)

Preheat oven to 350°F. Line a baking tray with parchment paper, slitting corners so that it lies flat, and set aside. Line a large flat dish with a piece of parchment paper and set aside. In a large bowl, cream butter by hand, using the back of a sturdy wooden spoon to work the butter bit by bit, working quickly to soften without heating the butter. Add sugar, a bit at a time, beating until sugar is dissolved into the butter.

Scoop the mixture onto the parchment-lined dish. Pat the butter mixture into a brick-like block, using a spatula to aid if necessary, and transfer to the refrigerator to firm up for an hour.

Once the block is firm, in a large clean bowl, place your flour. Roll the chilled block of butter around in the flour mixture, rotating, and patting in the flour. Keep the block in tact, and simply press in the flour as you rotate. When the flour is largely incorporated, knead the rest of the flour in, until it feels like soft putty. The trick is to do so as quickly as possible, so that the mixture remains rather cool to the touch.

Divide the dough into equal parts to form two balls. Flatten each ball slightly to form a disk, and place on baking tray. Flatten uniformly until about 1/2 inch thick. Prick cakes well with fork to prevent rising. Bake 15 minutes at 350°F.  Reduce heat to 300°F, and continue to bake until light golden brown, about another 20 minutes or so, depending on your oven. Remove from oven and cool thoroughly. Break into individual pieces and serve with an afternoon cup of tea – piping hot is the way my grandmother preferred.

“Aye!” as she would say.

Julia and Daniele