Several years ago I was at a local farmer’s market, looking over a baker’s spread, when a small round pastry caught my eye. It was neatly stacked on its fellows, each crimped, golden, and speckled with grains of sugar. What’s that? I asked the amiable proprietor. Even from my side of the table they looked heavy and firm, like little pats of butter. English Eccles cakes! he said, in a rolling British accent.