‘I like big buns and I cannot lie.’
A couple of months ago I was on a hen do in Bath and someone suggested we go for afternoon tea and cake before a session of zorb-football. ‘We HAVE to go to Sally Lunn’s‘ said pretty much everyone. Horrified that a baked good shop had fallen under my radar I quickly Googled it and it turned out that the whole world except me had indeed heard of (and loved) Sally Lunn’s. Situated a short walk from the picture perfect weir in the centre of Bath, we knew we’d found Sally Lunn’s by the queue of people winding down a cobbled street. I didn’t know what to expect by the buns – hot cross? sticky? – but all the girls said they were massive. I was pretty hungry and hate to be defeated by food, but when I saw the size of these buns in the window I suddenly understood why the menu suggested having a half, or sharing a bun with a friend.
This image is from Sally Lunn’s website, my picture was accidentally deleted.
Suffice to say that Sally Lunn’s buns are the most enormous buns I have ever seen. I chose the cinnamon butter bun although it was a tough choice between that, lemon curd and chocolate butter. I was also tempted by the savoury options, especially smoked salmon, and creamy brie. If it had been lunch time I would have had one of each but I was aware that we were an hour away from bashing each other wearing inflatable ball suits.
My bun friend had the lemon curd bun, which she kindly let me try, and it was delicious. My cinnamon butter bun was lightly spiced and warming, and reminded me of my mum’s house at Christmas. The buns themselves are a bit like hot cross buns, but bigger, without the cross, or the fruit. Crispy from the toasting but soft and fluffy underneath, doused in sweet, sugary cinnamon. All I can say is that you have to try it.
Whilst demolishing our buns we belatedly read the ‘bun etiquette’ section on the menu and duly ate our ‘bottoms’ with a knife and fork, and a smile on our faces.
The buns were incredibly filling although I reckon I could have managed a top if it had been covered in a delicious topping. If I hadn’t been on a hen party I’d have bought a bun to take home for my husband, but I knew I’d have demolished it on the train journey. As we left Sally Lunn’s the queue was still pouring out the door down the street.
It later turned out that Sally Lunn’s enormous buns were excellent fuel for zorb-football, during which I realised that my strengths laid in zone defence (read: taking people out) rather than kicking the ball anywhere useful.
All in all Sally Lunn’s was a fabulous hen do activity and I fully support more baked good-based hen parties.