Seven years ago, I walked along Oxford Street in London with the baker and writer Henrietta Inman.I can’t remember where we’d been in order to be illuminated by Foot Locker and Muji at midnight, but I do remember we talked about spelt flour.Or, rather, Henrietta did, describing its flavour as soft and nutty, and all as part of our wider conversation about her decision to leave the subterranean pastry kitchen of a five-star London hotel and return home to Dorset, where she adapted her knowledge and skill to different ingredients, resulting in her book The Natural Baker.The Guardian’s journalism is independent.We will earn a commission if you buy something through an affiliate link.

Learn more.Back then, I knew a bit about spelt’s importance in ancient cooking (by various civilisations, including the Romans, who called it the marching grain), but I was confused as to what spelt actually was, which wasn’t helped by the translations: spelta, farro spelta, emmer, einkorn, dinkel wheat.While we crossed Regent Street and passed the many windows of John Lewis, Henrietta explained that spelt was a grass related to wheat and a cousin to farro; she also encouraged me to think less about names and more about flavour, and how it could work in pastry and biscuits.Also to try emmer, einkorn, rye and barley flour.It would take me seven years to heed her advice.

During those years, I would also have the chance to travel with Henrietta, who has since run a bakery within the Wakelyns organic agroforestry hub in Suffolk, and is about to open another (her own) as part of Hodmedods (also in Suffolk).Along with Italian journalist Laura Lazzaroni, we visited a biodynamic farm in Le Marche in eastern Italy called Coste del Sole, where we tasted just-milled farro dicocco flour, which was so fragrant and edible that I thought it contained hazelnuts.It was this same trip that also made me realise how little I had considered the flavour of flour.Henrietta was right: spelt flour is soft and nutty, with notes of acidity and natural sweetness, which means recipes such as these hazelnut shortbreads (inspired by Henrietta’s malty biscuits, Laura’s shortbread and my own need for hazelnuts) require less sugar, alongside plenty of butter.And, because they contain butter, it is crucial that the dough is well chilled (a couple of hours, to be safe), and even then the biscuits will spread slightly.

It’s a good idea to lift the biscuits from the hot tray on to a rack to cool as soon as possible after they are baked, but do so very carefully – they are fragile until cold.It is also a good idea to have these biscuits with a hot drink – tea, milky coffee, hot chocolate – because warmth wakes three things: the oil in the nuts, the butter and – I think of Henrietta as I write this – the flavour of the flour.Makes 12-14120g spelt, wholegrain or plain flour 160g toasted hazelnuts, or almonds or walnuts, ground to a fine, sandy flour with the odd chunk A pinch of salt 150g cold butter, cut into small cubes90g muscovado sugar, or soft brown sugar 1 egg yolkWorking in a bowl, mix the flour with 100g of the ground nuts (save the rest for later) and the salt.Using your fingertips, rub the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles fat breadcrumbs, then add the sugar and egg yolk, and bring everything into a ball.Form the dough into a log with a diameter of 5-6cm – it will be slightly sticky, but this is good, because the next step is to roll it in the reserved nut mix.

Wrap the nut-covered log in baking paper and refrigerate until completely chilled – so for at least a couple of hours,Heat the oven to 170C (150C fan)/340F/gas 3½ and line a baking tray with paper,Using a sharp knife, cut the log into 1cm-thick rounds, then space them out well on the tray – the biscuits will spread by about 1cm,Keeping a close eye on them, bake the biscuits for 12-14 minutes, until they are light gold and just firm to the touch,Lift carefully on to a wire rack and leave to cool completely.