If you’ve read my thoughts on carrot cake, brownies, and rocky road, you’ll know that I’m pretty strict on my baked goods.

To be honest, that’s because I don’t see the point in dirtying dishes, losing hours of my free time, and often spending more on ingredients than I would on a supermarket cake unless the result is really amazing.

Crumble is a rare exception. It doesn’t take long to mix fruit and sugar (for berry-based versions, I don’t even bother stewing them) and place a crown of crumbly, crunchy topping over it; even if you mess it up, the result still tastes good.

But having made over 100 of them in my life, I am no longer satisfied with “good.” I want a fall-apart topping that crumbles gently away to a shortcake-like layer at its base. I want a buttery, butty, toasty-but-not-too-intense flavour that’s so good, I could eat it by itself.

And in my extensive tests, I’ve found only Nigella’s recipe will do.

I’ve tried adding oats to the mix (Gordon Ramsay chucks in granola or muesli for a chew, too). I’ve whacked in darker brown sugar for a more treacle-y topping, and included a range of spices.

You can see the chewiest, most flapjack-like results I’ve found below (this is the recipe if that’s what you’re after). But, at the risk of sounding grumpy and obstinate, that is not a crumble.

For that, you’ll need to stick to the classics: Nigella uses only sugar (both caster and demerara, though I’ve achieved a happy middle with granulated many times before), butter, and plain flour for the base of her crumble.

But because I want inches of thick crust, her added ingredient – baking soda, which introduces air to the deepest layer of the topping – is key.

She rubs the butter and flour (about 74% butter to flour, one teaspoon of baking powder per 100g flour) together before adding the sugars (half-caster, half-demerara; 60% the volume of flour) to the mix and stirring.

The result is a light, fluffy, buttery but not claggy layer that becomes increasingly pie-crust-like as you spoon deeper into it.

And because of the raising agent, you can dig very, very deep.

Yes – though the baking powder does help to countenance the weight the demerara sugar adds, I actually prefer plain granulated or caster sugar.

That’s because I like mine so thick, though. If I wasn’t as interested in consuming basically nothing but crumble topping in the dessert, I’d probably love the caramel-y addition.

Lastly, as Nigella says, “The crumble topping can be made up to one week ahead and stored in the fridge until needed” or frozen for up to three months and taken out as needed.

I reckon that’s as good an excuse as any to do what I do; make a huge batch in one go and whip it out any time you feel a craving.

Based on how strict I am about my carrot cake, brownie, and rocky road recipes, you’d be forgiven for thinking I’m against learning new tricks.

But that’s not the case! I recently found out that freezing cookie dough before cooking can help achieve that gooey, tall finish I love; I’ve adapted a chef’s habit of cooling spuds before roasting them.

I’ve even changed how I prep my American pancakes on the advice of pros.

So, of course I was willing to listen to Nigella Lawson herself when it came to scones.

Not only does the chef replace regular milk with buttermilk (a tenderising trick I grew up with in Ireland), but she uses a clever combination of fats and adds leavener-boosting ingredients too.

Having tried it, I’ve been amazed at what a difference they’ve made; they’re more tender, fluffier, taller, and more delicious than I’ve ever cooked prior.

The TV presenter and chef adds as much cream of tartar as she does bicarbonate of soda to her scone mix.

This, combined with the acidity of the buttermilk, leads to a steep, rapid rise ― key for fluffy and tender scones.

Additionally, most people who have tried making scones will tell you that it’s very hard to keep butter cold enough to do the job.

Like puff pastry, the fat needs to be kept as solid as possible during mixing to create flaky pockets of delicious dough.

Nigella’s suggestion is easy and elegant ― she mixes two parts butter to one part vegetable shortening, which is solid at room temperature.

She “chops” the butter before adding it to the flour, too, ensuring the warmth of your fingers has less time to melt the butter when rubbing it in.

All of those changes turned my previously hockey puck-like, rubbery creations into proud, tall, tender delights.

I’ve been surprised by how hard buttermilk can be to find in the UK, but luckily, you can make your own by simply adding a little lemon juice to regular milk and letting it sit for up to 10 minutes.

Don’t be tempted to replace this part ― it’s key to the scone’s fluffiness.

If you don’t have vegetable shortening, Nigella’s team says lard is the next-best substitute.

But again, the chef adds the product for a reason; “Vegetable shortening gives the scones and also pastry a flaky texture which butter cannot replicate,” her site reads.

Having tried her adjustments, I regret to inform you that she’s completely right.