Kamper Steur

It was once quite common for residents of neighboring towns to mock one another, hugely exaggerating each other’s (supposed) flaws and passing along insulting stories through local folklore. What is far less common, however, is for a town’s own resident to ridicule his fellow citizens.

Yet that is exactly what happened in the little book Kamper Stukjes, published in 1852, a collection of short stories in which the inhabitants of Kampen, a city in Overijssel, are portrayed rather unfavorably. The book was written by “a native of Kampen,” who was later revealed to be the artist Jan Jacob Fels (1816–1883).

The stories describe the people of Kampen as hopelessly foolish. In one tale, they build a new tower but forget to include a staircase. In another, the mayor’s wife’s canary escapes, prompting the mayor to order the city gates closed so the bird cannot possibly fly away. You get the idea. 

Courtesy of Gouwenaar

These stories and name-calling, once meant as insults, sometimes evolve into markers of local pride, and become foods, festivals, and traditions. The story behind today’s dish is about a sturgeon, the famous Kamper steur, sturgeon from Kampen, and is a perfect example of this. 

According to the tale, the bishop is expected to visit the city, and a grand banquet is prepared in his honor. For the main course, a large steur, a sturgeon, is caught. However, word later arrives that the bishop has fallen ill and will postpone his visit. The townspeople are left wondering what to do with the enormous fish, until one clever soul proposes tying a bell around its neck and releasing it back into the water.

After all, when the bishop eventually recovers and comes to town, they would only need to listen for the ringing of the bell to locate the sturgeon and catch it again. Right? Right!

Well, when the bishop arrives, the sturgeon is nowhere to be heard or seen. The story in the book ends here, but somehow along the years, somebody somewhere added an addendum to the story, describing what the bishop was served instead of the sturgeon: Kamper steur, hard boiled eggs in a mustard sauce. 

What's interesting is, is that the dish with its fishy name existed long before the story was published. The earliest reference I've found to this particular dish with the name "Kempensche stuer" was 1574, so long before Fels's story in 1852 - an interesting twist. The mustard sauce is not a surprise: the province of Overijssel is famous for its mustards! 

This dish is quick to make, and makes a good substitute for meat. Every now and then I add a crunchy topping to switch it up a bit - I've added instructions below. Serves four. 

Kamper Steur

6 eggs

2 Tablespoons (30 grams) butter

3 Tablespoons (30 grams) flour

1 1/4 cup (300 ml) vegetable bouillon

2 Tablespoons coarse mustard

Parsley

Hard boil the eggs in your usual manner. If you don't have a method, try this: place them in a pot, cover with water, bring to a boil and boil for one minute, then turn off heat, cover, and let sit for 13 minutes. Move to cold water or an ice bath for 5+ minutes to stop cooking. 

While the eggs are resting in the hot water, melt the butter in a saucepan over medium-low heat. Stir in the flour until you have a paste, about two minutes, and then slowly add the vegetable stock. Keep stirring until you have a thick sauce, about five minutes. Stir in the mustard. Taste, and adjust the sauce with salt and pepper or, if you're like me, more mustard. 

Chop the parsley. Peel the eggs and cut them in half, lengthwise. Place them, cut side down in a dish. Stir one tablespoon of chopped parsley in the mustard sauce, and pour over the eggs. Top with additional parsley. 

Serve hot with a green salad and bread. 

*Optional: if texture is a big thing or if you prefer to have something crunchy, add a golden-brown gratin topping by mixing 1 cup of breadcrumbs/panko (approx. 50 grams) with 1/2 cup grated cheese, 2 Tablespoons (30 grams) melted butter, and the parsley, then sprinkle over the dish and broil for 2–3 minutes until bubbly. It's not original, but it sure is tasty! 

Chinese Pindakoekjes

In the early decades of the twentieth century, the cry “Pinda! Pinda! Lekka, lekka!” (peanut, peanut, tasty, tasty) echoed through Dutch streets: the call of the Chinese peanut brittle vendors. 

Most of these vendors were seamen from southern China who had originally worked as stokers and coal trimmers on ships of the Dutch merchant marine, such as the Stoomvaart Maatschappij Nederland. When shipping jobs became scarce (especially after World War I) many of these men were stranded in port cities such as Rotterdam and Amsterdam. Without stable employment, and facing language barriers and discrimination, they resorted to selling Chinese peanut brittle for 5 cents a piece from metal boxes hanging from straps around their necks. 

So familiar was the sight of these peanut brittle vendors that their peanut cry made its way into popular song, most notably in the version performed by Willy Derby. The song exaggerates the character for the stage, as cabaret often did, but behind the humor stood a real figure in Dutch street life - a man making a living, five cents at a time. 

Fotocollectie Spaarnestad 

The somewhat romantic image in the song ("ik heb bij de mooiste meisjes sjans") however hides a harsher reality. Selling pindakoekjes or pinda platen, was not a romantic enterprise but a means of survival in a country where steady employment was uncertain and social acceptance limited. Many of these Chinese migrants became stateless after losing their jobs. They often lived in overcrowded boarding houses, while anti-Chinese sentiment and restrictive labor practices limited other opportunities. Police sometimes also purposely regulated street vending, especially after complaints from local business owners. 

Yet these vendors also represent the very first visible Chinese community in the Netherlands. The first Chinese restaurant surfaced in Rotterdam in 1920, initially to cater to the Chinese community, but eventually gaining interest and appreciation from Dutch customers. The later rise of Chinese-Indonesian restaurants after WWII grew partly from these early networks. 

Fotocollectie Spaarnestad 

The pinda platen vendors eventually ventured outside of the bigger cities.  Many in the older generations can recall stories about their city's "pindachinees”, the local Chinese peanut vendor. I remember my grandfather often speaking of a gentleman known as “Pinda Willem,” or Peanut Bill (real name Tsen Koa Pai), who lived in Venlo from 1937 to 1963 and became a familiar figure by supplying locals with peanut treats, especially the kids. As the stories go, he often carried “something for the weekend” at the bottom of his bag for the local men as well.

The koekjes themselves were practical: made with a mixture of sugar, peanuts, and a touch of vinegar, they required no oven, just heat. The warm brittle was cut into bars, which hardened as they cooled and could be snapped off and sold individually. For many Dutch people, the first taste of something “foreign” came from a paper-wrapped peanut cookie bought from a man whose story they never knew. And perhaps that is why these peanut cookies matter. They are evidence of adaptation, resilience, and the quiet ways migrants become part of everyday life.

These peanut brittles (in Mandarin Hua Sheng Tang, in Indonesian known as teng teng, a name echoed playfully in Willy Derby's refrain) remain popular in China today and are often enjoyed during Chinese New Year celebrations. Even though they never became a staple in Dutch cuisine, they sort of helped spark the emergence of Chinese-Indonesian restaurants, now firmly woven into our everyday food culture. 

These brittle bars are quick to make. Feel free to experiment with flavors: add sesame seeds, or replace the peanuts with a mix of other nuts you might like better. You could also add a little vanilla, but don't omit the vinegar. The flavor does not affect the cookies, but the vinegar will help keep the sugar from setting too quickly. If you chop the peanuts, you can roll this brittle very thin, which results in a crispy, snappy kind of treat, and much more in style of what they're used to look like. Spreading the mix out on a large baking sheet will be the best choice. I left the peanuts whole which resulted in a thicker, chewier kind of treat.

Chinese Pindakoekjes

2 cups (250 grams) roasted peanuts
1 heaping cup (250 grams) regular, white sugar
1 Tablespoon (15 grams) butter, and a bit extra for greasing the paper
2 Tablespoons white vinegar
1 Tablespoon water

Line a baking sheet or square baking pan (mine is a 9 inch/22 cm) with parchment paper, and grease both top and bottom of the paper.* 

Chop the peanuts into small pieces, or leave whole like I did. In a heavy bottomed pan, cook the sugar, butter, vinegar and water into a golden caramel, until it reaches a temperature of 300F/148C. Quickly fold in the peanuts until they are well coated, and immediately pour the mixture on the parchment paper. With a sturdy spatula or the back of a solid spoon, quickly spread out the mixture so that it has even thickness. With a knife, or the metal edge of a bench scraper, mark out the lines of the bars. As the brittle cools, you may have to do that once or twice, to make sure the indentations stay. 

Let the brittle cool fully before you snap it into bars. 

* Greasing both the top and the bottom will secure the paper in place when you are working hard on getting the peanut brittle spread out. Alternatively, if you are not using a baking pan with raised edges like mine, you can roll the brittle out thin with a rolling pin once it has started to set.  

Carnavalssoep

I was tempted to give this post a subtitle: The Curious Case of the Carnaval Soup, and here's why. For the last several years, online recipes for a dish called carnavalssoep (a rich tomato based soup with peppers, leeks, white beans, ground beef and smoked sausage) have been appearing with increasing frequency. Depending on where you look, it may also be called truujensoep, oudewijvensoep, or aldewievensoep. 

I first encountered it while researching oudewijvenkoek, and was immediately intrigued. I am a Limburgse at heart and grew up immersed in local carnaval traditions, from the festivities beginning on November 11 through Ash Wednesday, yet I had never heard of this soup before.

Unlike many Dutch dishes whose origins can be traced through old cookbooks, regional archives, or family notebooks, carnavalssoep seems to appear quite suddenly. There are no clear references in older culinary literature, no mentions in early twentieth-century household manuals, and no obvious regional variations passed down through generations. Instead, the soup enters the internet already presented as something familiar and traditional from the start. 

Dutch food culture has always been receptive to new influences and make them its own. What begins as a personal preference, a local joke, or a practical solution can, within a generation, be remembered as always having been this way. A well-known example is the kapsalon, now a staple in snack bars across the Netherlands. Yet the dish did not exist before 2003, when a Rotterdam hairdresser asked his local shoarma shop to combine fries, meat, cheese, and salad into one tray. Other customers began ordering “the kapsalon,” and within a few years it had spread nationwide: a modern invention that already feels deeply rooted in Dutch food culture. 

Something similar may be happening as we speak, on a more local level. This year, the Frisian village of Grou announces the return of Sint Pitersop, Saint Peter's soup. The soup is served during the celebration of Sint Piter on Februari 21st, an event similar to Sinterklaas that has always been unique to Grou. The festivities committee's website states that they are "reviving an old tradition: the St. Piter soup". But research into old cookbooks, online archives, and reams and reams of regional publications has not revealed any tradition regarding soup during St. Piter. 

But back to the carnaval soup. The earliest version of the carnavalssoep recipe I have been able to find dates from 2009. Many online descriptions of this soup repeat the same claims almost word for word: that it is traditional, that it was made by (and for) older women, and that it follows a familiar set of ingredients. Rather than pointing to a shared family history, this may simply reflect a recipe copied and repeated online. Over time, repetition can create the impression of age and authenticity: a gentle reminder that repetition alone does not make something historically accurate.

Carnavalssoep, like St. Pitersop, may therefore not be an old tradition at all. Perhaps it is something more interesting: a new tradition in the making, one that is just as worth documenting. If future generations continue to prepare the soup during carnaval, a tradition will truly have come into being!

The recipe can be adjusted to your liking. I rolled the beef into small balls and simmered them in the soup. If you don't have access to beans in tomato sauce, use regular white beans and two tablespoons of tomato paste, or use a can of pork and beans. 

Carnavalssoep

1 Tablespoon (15 grams) butter

1 lb (500 grams) ground beef

1 large onion, diced

2 garlic cloves, minced

3 bell peppers, diced (one red, one green, one yellow)*

1 large leek, cut in half moons

1 can (15.5 oz/ 440 grams) beans in tomato sauce 

3 cups (0.75 liter) tomato sauce

3 cups (0.75) water

1 smoked sausage, sliced

3 bouillon cubes

2 bay leaves

1 Tablespoon brown sugar

1 Tablespoon sambal or hot sauce

Salt to taste

Melt the butter and fry the ground beef until no longer pink, then add the onion, garlic, peppers, and leeks. Fry the vegetables until they have a little bit of a char and the onion is no longer raw. Add the can of beans, stir everything well and then transfer the content to a crockpot, slow cooker, or stockpot. 

Add in the tomato sauce and the water, the bay leaves, the smoked sausage and the bouillon cubes. Bring it back up to temperature and let it simmer for a good fifteen to twenty minutes, then taste and adjust the salt level. Stir in the brown sugar and the sambal or hot sauce, and you're ready to party! 

* these are the traditional Limburg carnaval colors!

Vrijerskoek

Long before text messages, before flowers delivered with printed cards, and long before dropping on one knee in front of clicking cameras, young men relied on baked goods to express intent. One of those baked goods was the hylikmaker (literally a “marriage maker”) also known as vrijerskoek, a suitor’s cake. 

The young man would purchase this cake at the kermis, the funfair, or at the bakery, when he was ready to declare his love for someone. Often, the cake was rectangular and decorated with almonds or sweet words in piped icing, other times it was in the shape of a person, like the ones in the larger wooden speculaas molds. 

We can see an image of such a vrijerskoek in the Feast of Saint Nicholas painting, by Jan Steen, ca. 1665–1668. In the lower left part of the painting, we observe a basket with baked goods, traditional for this time of year: waffles, rolls, ontbijtkoek, and right underneath it, a long elongated flat cake: the hylickmaker. It is not surprising to see this cake in a painting about Sinterklaas. His moniker, goedheiligman, is said to stem from "goed hylick man", good marriage maker, probably referencing the story that Saint Nicholas provided gold coins for three young women so that they would have a good dowry and not have to go into servanthood. 

In another painting by Jan Steen, De Koekvrijer, (The Cake Suitor, ca. 1663 -1665), we see a young man lifting his hat towards a young woman who is seated. In his other hand, he holds a large hylickmaker. The woman does not immediately take it. Instead, she looks straight at us, slightly amused. We can read a lot into the details in the painting (the woman is sewing, the bed behind her has opened curtains, the door is open to the outside, the way he is holding the cake...but I'll leave that to your imagination!). 

Presenting the cake was one part. Accepting the cake meant more than enjoying something sweet; it meant acknowledging the possibility of a future together. If the girl was partial to the young man, she would break the head of the cake and gave it back to him. If instead she handed him the feet, well....then he better get walking! In the case of the rectangular cake, the young man would be invited to have coffee at the house. If the cake appeared on the table, uncut, the proposal was declined. If the cake appeared on the table, and the young man was offered a piece of that cake and a cup of coffee, his proposal was accepted! 

Recipes for hylickmakers appeared in cookbooks as early as 1746, but they unfortunately are no longer part of the proposal tradition. The Volmaakte Hollandsche Keukenmeid lists as ingredients for the "hylikmaker": flour, brown sugar, honey, nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves, a pinch of potash, and candied citron and orange peel. She then casually mentions: "Neemt dan de rolstok en maakt het deeg daar mede plat" (Take a rolling pin and make the dough flat"). 

Now....I have tried this recipe, and our keukenmeiden (kitchen maids) back in the day must have been as strong as an ox, because the moment the honey with the sugar cools down, this dough is tougher to roll than concrete! Annie van 't Veer warns us about this in her "Oud-Hollands Kookboek", explaining that bakers back in the day used to knead this dough by pushing down on it with an iron bar, a so-called breaker bar. I could have used one of those! 

These were not everyday treats. They were baked with purpose and offered as part of a quiet negotiation between families, intentions, and futures. The citron, orange peel, and warm spices signal luxury and intention. Because the dough was so hard to roll, the second time I baked these cakes I decided to add a little bit of additional luxury, and added butter and an egg. I still rolled it out thin, like both Annie and the Keukenmeid suggest, but it was a bit easier to do! I rolled the dough out between two plastic sheets to make it easier to lift from the table.

For this recipe, I included both candied citron and candied orange. If you don't have any left over from your Christmas baking, don't worry. I don't know that the citron added that much special flavor to the cake, and the candied orange can easily be substituted with orange zest. 

This recipe baked 3 nine inch (23 cm) gingerbread men and a rectangular 11 x 7 inch (28 x 17.5 cm) cake, as can be seen in the picture. Since not many of us have those large speculaas molds, I chose a large gingerbread cookie cutter instead. You can also use heart shaped cookie cutters, or any other Valentine Day cutters! These cookies crisp up when they cool. If you prefer a breadier, thicker cake, don't roll it too thin. 

Vrijerskoek

3/4 cup (150 grams) brown sugar

1/4 cup (90 grams) honey

1 1/2 cups (250 grams) all-purpose flour 

1 teaspoon (5 grams) baking powder 

1 1/2 teaspoon (3 grams) cinnamon

1 teaspoon (2 grams) nutmeg

1 teaspoon (2 grams) ground cloves

1/4 cup (30 grams) candied citron (optional)

1/4 cup (30 grams) candied orange peel (substitute with 1 Tablespoon orange zest)

1 stick (115 grams) butter, cold and diced

2 eggs

For decoration: almonds, edible glitter, heart shaped candy, etc. 

Carefully warm the sugar with the honey on the stove, until the sugar is melted. Mix the dry ingredients
in a bowl, and when the sugar honey mix has cooled enough to handle to the touch, pour it in the bowl and mix. Then add in 1 egg, the cold butter, and continue to mix until all the ingredients have blended.  If you are using citron and orange peel or zest, mix it in now. 

Roll out the dough thin, and cut into shapes. Beat the second egg, and brush the cookies with egg wash. If you make gingerbread men, remember to poke a hole in the head (I used the lid of a pen) so you can tie a ribbon through it. 

Bake on a parchment lined baking sheet at 350F/175C for about 15 minutes, middle rack. Keep an eye out for those last several minutes, as the amount of sugar causes the cookies to go from golden to burnt in no time. 

Let cool. Store in a cookie jar, or hand it to your intended on Valentine's Day. Let's revive a centuries old tradition! 

Likkepot

If you grew up in the Netherlands, the meaty bread spread likkepot probably needs no explanation. You’d find it behind the glass at the slager's (butcher) or deli counter (often next to that other meaty bread spread, Filet Americain), where it is scooped fresh into a little container and spread generously on a slice of bread at home. Creamy, savory, and deliciously rich, likkepot is made from leverworst (liverwurst), herbs, and a few well-kept butcher’s secrets. It may well have been a way to use up those leftover ends of tubes of leverworst - we are frugal! - but that's just an assumption on my part, so don't take it for truth.

The name may remind you of the children’s "Naar bed, naar bed, zei Duimelot" rhyme (I've posted it below the recipe to refresh your memory!), but this likkepot is something else. It's a creamy, savory spread, blended with mayonnaise or whipping cream, and seasoned with herbs and spices. The result is smoother and richer than traditional liverwurst and often slightly tangier and more flavorful. 

Many versions are garnished with small pieces of onion, parsley, or red pepper for color and texture. The exact recipe varies by butcher, and you’ll find many different takes on the spread. Some are smoother, some a bit chunkier; some add pickles or other aromatics for extra zing. It's also very versatile. You can enjoy it on fresh bread or toast for breakfast or lunch, as part of a sandwich platter at gatherings, with raw vegetables or crackers as a snack, or even paired with cheese and other cold cuts on a "borrelplank", a charcuterie board, to enjoy with friends while watching TV or playing a board game. 

So because there is not a traditional, standard recipe, likkepot is a dish that you can make your own. I'm sharing two versions: one with pickles, onion and bell pepper, and one with whipping cream and cognac. The first one is a little sweeter and lighter, the second one has a more grown-up taste. I used Braunschweiger liverwurst that's readily available at grocery stores here in the US, but you can use any spreadable liverwurst. If you need a suggestion of what to use where you are, drop me a message and I'll help you look for a good substitute!

For both versions, the same rule applies: taste as you go and adjust to your liking. If there’s an ingredient you’re not fond of (capers, for example), feel free to swap it out for something else, like olives. Want it spicier? You can choose to add Tabasco or sambal. 

This will keep for a few days in the fridge. 

Slager's Likkepot 

16 oz (454 grams) liverwurst

2 Tablespoons mayonnaise

2 Tablespoons tomato ketchup

2 Tablespoons pickles, chopped fine

2 Tablespoons white onion, chopped fine

2 Tablespoons red bell pepper, small dice

Pinch of white pepper

Chop the liverwurst into small pieces. Mix all the ingredients in a bowl. Use a hand mixer or fork to blend all the ingredients until you have a creamy spread. Refrigerate until ready for use. 

Bistro Likkepot

16 oz (454 grams) liverwurst

1/3 cup (75 ml) unsweetened whipping cream

2 Tablespoons capers, chopped fine

2 teaspoons cognac

Pinch of black pepper

Chop the liverwurst into small pieces. Mix all the ingredients in a bowl. Use a hand mixer or fork to blend all the ingredients until you have a creamy spread. Refrigerate until ready for use. 

Kersenpap

Before bread became widely affordable, pap or porridge made from grains, milk, or water was one of the most common Dutch meals. It was often eaten for breakfast or supper (avondeten), especially in rural areas. With the Netherlands’ strong dairy tradition, many pap dishes are milk-based: havermoutpap (oatmeal), griesmeelpap (semolina), rijstebrij / rijstepap (rice pudding), or karnemelksepap (buttermilk) are probably the most common porridges. Nowadays, pap is usually reserved for breakfast, or dessert. 

As dessert, pap can be paired with fruit, especially preserved or seasonal fruit: in a previous post, we talked about appelepap (apple porridge), and today we're looking at kersenpap, cherry porridge, both old-fashioned and traditional porridges. 

Kersen, just like apples, are grown abundantly in the Netherlands. Old-fashioned varieties such as Mierlose Zwarte (or Udense Zwarte), Varikse Zwarte, Udense Spaanse, Meikersen, and Morellen (pie cherries) are still grown in areas such as De Betuwe or the Kromme Rijnstreek, close to Utrecht. The dark, sweet cherries are often used for dishes such as kersenstruif, kersenvlaai, or for today's recipe, kersenpap. Delicious both warm or cold, the sweetness of the cherries cuts through the custardy texture of the pap.

For this recipe I used frozen cherries, but you can also use fresh cherries, or canned. Makes four servings.

Kersenpap

For the cherries

16 oz (450 grams) cherries, pitted

1/2 cup (125 ml) water or the syrup from canned cherries

1 tablespoon sugar*

For the porridge

6 cups milk (1.5 liter)

4 heaping tablespoons (30 - 35 grams) cornstarch

2 tablespoons sugar*

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Pinch of cinnamon (optional)

In a pan, warm the cherries with 1/2 cup of liquid (either the canning juice, or water) and a pinch of cinnamon. If you are serving the porridge warm, let the cherries simmer on low while you prepare the pap. If the dessert is going to be served cold, retire the cherries from the stove and let them cool before saving them in the fridge. 

Mix the cornstarch with 5 tablespoons milk and stir into a slurry, a paste. Heat the rest of the milk with the sugar and the vanilla on the stove. When the milk is hot, stir in the cornstarch and continue stirring constantly over medium heat until the mixture thickens and just begins to boil. It will thicken further as it cools. 

If serving immediately, divide the pap over four bowls and top with the warm cherries and juice over the porridge. If you plan to serve both cold, pour the pap in a container, top with plastic film touching the pap to avoid a skin, and let it cool, then hold in the fridge. 

*you can also use honey, or a sweetener. If the cherries are canned on heavy syrup, sugar may not be necessary: taste and decide if it's sweet enough. 

Oudewijvenkoek

We were not raised to say cusswords, so even speaking the name of this particular ontbijtkoek had us in stitches when we were kids: oudewijvenkoek, old woman's cake. In Groningen, where this spiced breakfast cake is especially beloved, people even shorten it to olwief, which only made it sound funnier to our young ears.

The Dutch word wijf originally meant simply “woman”: nothing rude, nothing sharp-edged. But over the centuries, the meaning drifted. Nowadays it’s generally used in a not-so-friendly way, summoning the image of a coarse woman with few social graces, shouting across the street with her hair in curlers and a cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth. You can hear it in familiar insults like stom wijf or viswijf, neither of which you’d ever want applied to you.

And yet, Dutch can be wonderfully contradictory. That same word, "wijf" is also used in prachtwijf, a term of admiration for a strong, capable woman who’s confident, honest, and not afraid to speak her mind, a real treasure of a person.

Language is funny that way: it remembers where it came from, but it also adapts, stretches, contradicts itself, and sometimes gives us words that can mean an insult or a compliment depending on how they’re said. And nestled somewhere inside all of that is this charming old-fashioned loaf cake with the mischievous name that used to make us giggle. 

The reason behind this bread's name is not entirely clear, although generally research says that it's because it's so soft that even old women with no teeth can enjoy it. I think that can probably be said for all ontbijtkoeken. The distinguishing factor for this cake is however the taste of anijs, aniseed.  

Anise is not a stranger to our kitchen, of course. It shows up in bread toppings like muisjes, in flavorful rolls like the anijskrollen from North Brabant, and in nightcap drinks like anijsmelk, sweet and hot anise flavored milk. Once anise made it to the Netherlands from the Mediterranean, it became a tradition to give kraamanijs (crushed anise seeds) to women who had just given birth, as it was believed to help the uterus recover and stimulate milk production. This led into the commercial production of muisjes, anise seeds coated with sugar, that are served on rusks to celebrate the birth of a child. Anise was also given to the elderly because it was supposed to help with appetite, gout, and rheumatism. 

We may never find out why this cake is called what it is. But what I do know is that it's a delicious addition to your breakfast table (or midnight snack) - as long as you like anise! 

Oudewijvenkoek

1 cup (150 grams) rye flour

1 cup (150 grams) all-purpose flour

3 Tablespoons baking powder

2 teaspoons cinnamon 

2 heaping teaspoons ground anise*

1/2 teaspoon ground cloves

1/2 teaspoon ground ginger

1/2 teaspoon ground coriander seeds

1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

1/2 cup (100 grams) sugar

Pinch of salt

1/2 cup (150 grams) honey

2 Tablespoons (40 grams) unsulfured molasses

1 cup (250 grams) milk

2 eggs

Heat the oven to 325F/165C. Mix the dry ingredients and the wet ingredients in separate bowls. Grease a 9 x 5 inch cake pan (23 x 13 cm). Gradually mix the dry into the wet ingredients, and stir until there are no lumps, then pour the batter in the pan. Let it settle for two minutes, until you can see the baking powder starting to work, and add the pan to the oven. 

Bake on the middle rack for about 50 minutes, or until a skewer comes out clean. Take the pan out of the oven, and let it cool for about twenty minutes. Run a spatula or butter knife carefully around the edge of the cake, and carefully turn the pan over. Let the cake cool for a few minutes, then wrap it, still warm in cling or food film. Preferably, let it rest overnight so that the flavors can develop. 

The next day, dust with a little bit of powdered sugar, or gestampte muisjes if you have them. Slice and butter each slice generously. 

*Ground anise can often be found in Asian stores. If you have gestampte muisjes, use two heaping Tablespoons instead of two teaspoons of the ground anise. 

Warme Chocolademelk

If there’s one drink that brings instant gezelligheid to a Dutch winter day, it’s a steaming cup of warme chocolademelk, warm chocolate milk. 

In the Netherlands, chocolate milk is enjoyed year-round, but it has a special sparkle during the colder months. You'll find it in various places: in small booths at the skating rink or when skating on natural ice, at Christmas markets, during family time, at cafés where coffee and tea are served, and during Sinterklaas. Waiting on the quay for his ship to arrive, or on the evening of December 5th, when the presents are handed out, a hot cup of chocolate milk tops off the evening. 

When Did Chocolate Arrive in the Netherlands?

Chocolate reached the Netherlands in the 17th century, during the time of the Dutch Golden Age. Because the Dutch were major players in global trade through the Dutch East India Company (VOC) and the West India Company (WIC), they were among the first Europeans to encounter cacao from Central and South America but it was the Spanish Duke of Alva who introduced cocoa to the Netherlands.

1827 Silver Chocolate Pot

By the mid-1600s, drinking chocolate (then called "seculatie", made from ground cacao paste, water, and spices) was a luxury beverage enjoyed by the wealthy. It wasn’t the sweet, creamy treat we know today, but it was fashionable, exotic, and considered somewhat medicinal. Wealthy Dutch households in the 17th and 18th centuries often owned ornate chocolate pots (chocoladekannen) and special tools for frothing drinking chocolate.

At the end of the 17th century, a chocolate industry emerged in the province of Zeeland. Most cocoa was originally transported to Middelburg, while Amsterdam was also a supply port. The latter laid the foundation for the Zaan region's cocoa and chocolate factories like Pette, Boon and De Jong. Trade via Middelburg eventually declined and Amsterdam became the center of cocoa supply. 

Van Houten and Blooker played major roles in turning the Netherlands into a global center of chocolate. In 1828, Van Houten revolutionized chocolate production by inventing the cocoa press and the "Dutching" process, which created smooth, easily dissolved cocoa powder and shaped the flavor of modern chocolate worldwide. Blooker, founded around the same time, helped make cocoa a beloved staple in Dutch homes through high-quality, accessible cocoa powder and iconic branding. Together, their innovations and widespread distribution made drinking chocolate and cocoa-based baking common in everyday Dutch life and established the Netherlands as the world’s leading cocoa-processing nation.

Hot Chocolate Today

Nowadays, when it comes to chocolate milk, you have two options: either you buy it ready made, or you make it yourself. If you grew up in the Netherlands, you know that Chocomel isn’t just any chocolate milk: it’s the chocolate milk. Created in the 1930s, it quickly became a household favorite thanks to its rich, smooth flavor and signature yellow packaging. So beloved is it that many Dutch cafés serve it right on the menu, by name, either warm with a generous swirl of whipped cream (slagroom) or ice cold - both versions equally delicious.

Warme Chocolademelk

For making hot chocolate at home, cocoa powder is a key ingredient, and Dutch companies like Van Houten and Droste have been providing high-quality cocoa for centuries. Our recipe today uses both chocolate and cocoa powder to make a rich, creamy treat. It makes 2 cups, but it can easily be doubled or tripled for sharing.

For the milk

2 cups (500 ml) whole milk

1 Tablespoon quality cocoa powder

2 Tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoon corn starch

2 oz dark chocolate* 

For the topping

1 cup (250 ml) whipping cream

1 Tablespoon powdered sugar

Chocolate sprinkles (optional)

In a separate bowl, mix four tablespoons of milk with the cocoa powder, sugar and corn starch and mix until all lumps are gone. Heat the rest of the milk on the stove, add the dark chocolate, and stir until the chocolate has dissolved. Pour half of the warm milk in the bowl, stir until well mixed, and then pour everything back into the pot. Keep stirring while you bring the chocolate milk up to a simmer, and boil for a good minute. 

Whip the cream and the powdered sugar into stiff peaks. Pour the hot chocolate into mugs (leave enough space for the whipped cream!) and top with a big dollop of whipped cream. Sprinkle chocolate shavings or sprinkles over the top. 

* Choose a dark chocolate, either chips or a bar, that has over 70% cocoa. If you don't care for dark chocolate, you can also make this with white chocolate (skip the cocoa powder) or milk chocolate (skip the sugar and adjust afterwards). You could also add a splash of vanilla, rum, flavored coffee syrup, or  hazelnut or coffee liqueur to make it extra special!

Setting Your Shoe: A Tasty Sinterklaas Tradition

In the Netherlands, the magic of Sinterklaas begins long before the big night of December 5th. For many families, the excitement truly kicks off in mid-November, right after Sinterklaas arrives by steamboat from Spain. From that moment on, children may set out their shoe (“schoen zetten”) once or twice a week, usually on Saturday evenings or whenever the family decides it’s time for a little extra sparkle in the darkening days of fall.

Traditionally, the shoe is placed near the fireplace, the symbolic entry point for Sinterklaas’s helpers, the Pieten. These days, with most homes relying on central heating, the hearth may simply be a radiator, a hallway corner, or even the foot of the stairs. Children don’t mind, magic works anywhere! 

Shoe setting is far from a new tradition. Historical documents have shown that, starting in 1427, shoes were placed in the Nicolai Church in Utrecht on December 5th, the evening of St. Nicholas' Day. Wealthy Utrecht residents put money in the shoes, and the proceeds were distributed among the poor on December 6th, the official day of the death of Saint Nicholas. From the 16th century, we see descriptions of children placing shoes in the living room...and the tradition continues to this day. In the Netherlands we still place shoes. In the United States and Canada, the shoe has made place for a stocking. 

What Goes Into the Shoe

Before bedtime, children carefully select a shoe and fill it with small offerings for Sinterklaas’s horse, Ozosnel (or Amerigo, depending on the tradition). A carrot, apple, or even a handful of hay is tucked inside, often accompanied by a drawing or a hopeful note. Some kids add a bit of water in a cup "just in case the horse gets thirsty,” showing the earnest logic (though never questioning how Piet will make it through the central heating!) that makes this tradition so endearing.

Once the shoe is set, the children gather around to sing Sinterklaas songs, their voices rising with pure excitement. Whether it’s in front of an actual fireplace or a perfectly ordinary radiator, the ritual is the same: singing, hoping, and imagining.

The Morning Magic (and Parental Panic)

By the next morning, the offering has mysteriously disappeared, replaced by a small treat. Sometimes it's a mandarin orange, a tiny toy, a handful of kruidnoten, strooigoed, or the much-desired chocolate letter. But every Dutch household knows the other side of the story too: the parents’ occasional jolt of panic upon waking: The shoe! We forgot the shoe! that leads to whispered scrambling in the early hours, hoping the children haven't woken up yet, and a stealthy dash to fill the shoes to prevent disappointment. 

If the children discovered that Piet did not stop by the house that night before you were up, often a handwritten apology letter from Piet or Sint (it's good practice to keep one handy for those unfortunate moments!) or faking a text message saying that the weather kept Sint from coming over last night will help. 

Shoe-Setting Beyond the Home

The tradition doesn’t stop at the front door. Throughout the Netherlands, shops, supermarkets, garden centers, and even banks join in the fun. Merchants set out rows of paper shoes, ready for young visitors to decorate and leave behind for Sinterklaas. A week later, children return to find their paper shoes filled with tiny surprises.

A Tradition That Never Fades

Whether you're setting a shoe by the fire, the heater, or a cardboard display of a chimney at the local store, the ritual of schoen zetten captures everything people love about Sinterklaas: anticipation, generosity, laughter, a bit of mystery, and a whole lot of warmth.

It’s one of those Dutch traditions that lingers in memory long after childhood, because in those small moments of belief and excitement, the month of December becomes truly magical. We would love to encourage you to bring that magic into your own home, whether with your children, grandchildren, or any little ones in your life. Traditions connect us. They anchor our kids in where we come from, and they create warm memories that last forever. 

What You Can Do

Let’s revive the joy of setting a shoe! Not just for gifts for our (grand)children, but as a way to teach them that generosity is the real magic of Sinterklaas. Imagine a home, a school, or a store filled with little shoes meant not for the taker, but for the giver. Here are some ideas:

Shoes for Sharing: Children set their shoes with coins, small toys, or non-perishable items inside, not for themselves, but to be collected and donated to a local food pantry, shelter, or charity.

Paper Shoe Campaigns: Stores or malls can give children a blank paper shoe to decorate. Inside, children can “fill” it with messages, coins, or small gifts. The store collects these and donates the proceeds or items to a local charity.

Local Charity Tie-In: Partner with senior centers or hospitals: children decorate paper shoes with drawings or notes, which are then delivered to residents, brightening their day. 

Let us know in the comments if and how you shared this tradition! 

Mandarijnentoetje

For as far back as I can remember, oma had a package of maïzena, cornstarch, on her kitchen shelves. It was a bright yellow cardboard box, with one or two red spoons across the front, hiding out towards the back of the cupboard. I am pretty sure that box was the one and only one she ever bought, and it just resided in the cupboard for "just in case", as I don't ever remember her doing anything with it: she used to thicken her sauces and soups with flour, the traditional way. 

Nevertheless, cornstarch has a long history in the Dutch kitchen. Its arrival in the Netherlands dates back to the 19th century, around the same time that cornstarch became popular in other parts of Europe. The brand name Maizena was introduced in the United States in 1862 by the Duryea brothers, and less than a year later the product was already available on the Dutch market, and winning medals at the London and Hamburg expositions. What I found curious is that cornstarch was not only recommended as the "non plus ultra of all fine dishes" as the advertisement below indicates, but that cornstarch was also an "unsurpassable food for the weak and those with stomach ailments". How it was used for this category of sufferers I was not able to determine from my readings, but my guess is that it would make porridges that were easy on the stomach, and would potentially reduce any effects of gluten intolerance? If you know, let me know!

Nowadays in Dutch cuisine, maïzena is primarily used to thicken sauces, soups, and gravies, as not many have the knowledge (and the patience) to use flour instead. It can also be used in baking, often as a part of the mixture for cakes or pastries, contributing to a tender crumb, like in slagroomtaart, our typical birthday cake, and is essential in making several traditional desserts, such as vla (a creamy Dutch custard) or today's dessert, mandarijnenpudding.

Advertisement from Opregte Haarlemsche Courant

2 January1864

A big reason for its popularity is because of how quickly something comes together, like today's mandarijnenpudding. This is a safeguard against unexpected and last-minute guests, and you probably have all the necessary ingredients at hand. If you don't like mandarin oranges, you can use canned peaches or pears instead, or fresh raspberries or strawberries. If you prefer Nilla cookies over ladyfingers, use those - these desserts are easy to make your own and create new family favorites! Makes six medium, or four large servings.

Mandarijnenpudding

1 11 oz (315 grams) mandarin oranges, in light syrup
2 cups (475 ml) milk
1/2 cup (60 grams) cornstarch
3/4 cup (120 grams) sugar
Zest from 1 fresh mandarin orange, divided
12 ladyfingers

1 cup whipping cream

1 heaping Tablespoon powdered sugar

Drain the can of mandarin oranges, but keep the juice. Keep 6 pretty mandarin slices aside, and coarsely chop the rest. Add enough milk to the juice to make it to 3 cups (750 ml), then use a few tablespoons of the mixture to make a paste out of the cornstarch. In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, pour in the rest of the milk, juice and the sugar. Bring the milk up to a low simmer, and stir the cornstarch paste into the pan. Keep stirring until the paste dissolves and the liquid thickens, about five minutes. Take off the stove, and fold the chopped mandarin slices in. Put it back on the stove, and stir until it's incorporated, then remove off the heat. Stir in half of the mandarin zest, then set the pan aside to cool. 

In the meantime, break up 6 of the ladyfingers into small, bitesize pieces and divide them over 6 glasses. When the pudding is cooled down enough (about 20 minutes) divide over six glasses or cups. Cover with plastic film to avoid skin forming, and put the glasses in the fridge until you are ready to use. 

Right before serving, whip the cream with the powdered sugar. Pipe the whipping cream, or use a spoon to make a big dollop on top, and decorate with a slice of mandarin orange, a ladyfinger, and the remaining zest. Serve cold. 

Stamppot

Stamppot is the ultimate Dutch comfort food—a hearty, rustic dish that has been a staple of Dutch kitchens for centuries. The name stamppot literally means "mashed pot," and it perfectly describes the process of mashing vegetables together with potatoes to create a warm, filling meal. It also uses affordable, easily accessible ingredients - how Dutch is that! It’s a one-pot dish, simple yet deeply satisfying, especially on cold days.

Stamppot isn’t just food; it’s part of our Dutch heritage, it's in our genes. As soon as the cold weather hits, the cravings for stamppot explode. It evokes memories of cozy family dinners and the comforting flavors of home. It’s a dish that connects generations and reflects the down-to-earth, practical nature of Dutch cuisine. 

It’s a dish we’re often teased about, as though our only contribution to global cuisine is a humble plate of mashed potatoes with vegetables. But if you’ve been following this website for a while, you know that’s far from the truth—Dutch cuisine has had more influence than we often care to boast about.

That said, a steaming plate of stamppot may not be earning Michelin stars anytime soon… but it will win the hearts of everyone you serve it to. I have yet to meet anyone who’s turned up their nose at our beloved stamppots!

The mashed vegetables are often root vegetables (carrots, onions) or greens (kale, cabbage, endive) and stamppot is traditionally served with smoked sausage (rookworst), bacon or crispy bacon bits, meatballs and gravy, and even a fried egg on top! But it doesn't have to be meat: crispy tofu, fish sticks, dried fruit, or a handful of cashew nuts are often used as substitutes for meat. While stamppot made with potatoes is a beloved classic, modern variations often include creative ingredients like sweet potatoes, roasted garlic, or even vegan options with plant-based sausages.

The most common varieties of stamppot, with a link to the recipes, are:

• Boerenkool Stamppot: made with kale and potatoes, often regarded as the most traditional version, and still the favorite of all stamppots.
• Hutspot: a mix of potatoes, carrots, and onions—legend has it this dish dates back to the Siege of Leiden in 1574!
• Andijviestamppot: raw endive is mixed in for a slightly bitter and fresh flavor.
• Zuurkool stamppot: sauerkraut adds a tangy twist to the dish. (This is a keto version with cauliflower)
• Rodekoolstamppot: stewed red cabbage with apples are mashed into hot, fluffy potatoes.
• Spruitjesstamppot: Brussels sprouts for a slightly bitter flavor. Together with appelmoes, apple sauce, it's a great way to start kids on the more challenging vegetables.
• Hete Bliksem: the apples in the dish hold their heat so the dish is called "hot lightning". 

And we wouldn't want to miss out on that kuiltje, a little well in our stamppot to hold the pan gravy, to make sure that every bite is extra flavorful! 

Rode Kool Stamppot

Red cabbage, that wonderful red-almost-purple vegetable bowling ball, belongs (together with white cabbage, Savoy cabbage, and pointed head cabbage) to a variety called "sluitkool", or head cabbages. Head cabbage is a general collective name for those cabbages whose leaves are so densely packed that they more or less form a 'head'. Other types like bladkool, leaf cabbage, would be kale, boerenkool, farmer's cabbage.

In the Netherlands, cultivation traditionally takes place in North Holland. This reflects back in the names of vintage or heirloom varieties: Langedijker Allervroegtste, Langedijker Herfst, and Langedijker Bewaar. This is also where 60% of the Dutch red cabbage acreage is located, but cultivation also takes place in South Holland, Limburg, and North Brabant. 

The variety of cabbages in the Netherlands is high, and one can find several types sold at greengrocers or vegetable stores at the same time. The top ten most popular cabbage varieties are: 

• Witte kool (white/green cabbage)
• Rode kool (red cabbage)
• Boerenkool (farmer's cabbage = kale)
• Spruitjes (Brussels sprouts)
• Bloemkool (cauliflower)
• Savooiekool (Savoy cabbage)
• Spitskool (pointed head cabbage)
• Chinese kool (Chinese cabbage, Napa cabbage)
• Paksoi
• Broccoli

Of the head cabbages, the two types that are most easily found are the white (often called green) and the red. Both can be used raw by shredding it for salads, fermented as in zuurkool (sauerkraut) or kimchi, and in a variety of hot dishes. White/green cabbage is very flavorful as creamed cabbage, and red is great stewed with apples or pears, and a little splash of vinegar to maintain the color. 

Cabbages are also great for making a stamppot, that ultimate Dutch comfort food: mashed potatoes (or cauliflower if you're going low-carb) and vegetables. The combination of slightly salty, fluffy potatoes and the various flavors that the vegetables contribute, make each stamppot delicious. Is it pretty food? No, but it's at the heart of many as our typical, traditional winter food, like a warm embrace. 

Rodekoolstamppot pairs well with beef stews, rabbit, or pork, like slavinken. Don't feel like cooking the cabbage? There are several commercial varieties of red cabbage with apple out there which will make this dish even quicker to prepare! 

Rodekoolstamppot

2 lbs red cabbage

1 small apple

4 bay leaves

3 whole cloves

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar or apple cider vinegar

1 cinnamon stick

1 tablespoon brown sugar

1 tablespoon cornstarch

2 lbs potatoes

2 tablespoons butter

Peel the outer, tough leaves off the cabbage. Cut the cabbage in half, then each half in half again. This will give you an easy opportunity to cut out the core which is tough and bitter. Slice each quarter into thin strips. Rinse the cabbage and add to a pan with a heavy bottom. 

Add enough water to cover the cabbage about halfway, and set it on the stove. Add the bay leaves and cinnamon stick, cover and bring to a slow boil. Stir in the vinegar, add the sugar, stir and cover again. Turn down the heat to a simmer. Let it slowly braise on the back of the stove, for a good half hour.

In the meantime, peel, core and quarter your apple. Stick the three cloves in the largest piece of apple before adding them to the pan, and slowly simmer until the apple is soft. Remove the cabbage and apple from the pan until you only have the braising liquid left. Fish out the bay leaves and the cinnamon stick, and pick the cloves off the apple. 

Make a slurry with the cornstarch (one tablespoon of water to one tablespoon cornstarch). Bring the cooking liquid back up to a boil, and stir in the slurry. At first it will color the liquid pink but as the cornstarch absorbs the water, it will clear up. Continue to stir until the sauce has thickened.  Add the cabbage and apple mix back into the pan, stir a couple of times to mix the sauce with the vegetables and turn off the heat. Taste, adjust with salt and pepper. If you like it sweeter or tangier, add a bit more sugar or vinegar. 

Set the red cabbage aside to cool. Peel the potatoes, quarter them and boil them until they're cooked. Drain the potatoes, but reserve 1/4 cup (60 ml) cooking water. Turn the heat to low, and put the pan back on the stove. Add the red cabbage to the potatoes (maybe drain first if you have a lot of liquid). Mash the potatoes together with the red cabbage. If the stamppot is too dry, stir in a tablespoon of cooking liquid at a time. End with folding in the two tablespoons of butter. Taste and adjust the seasonings to your liking. 

Serve hot.  

Bloemkoolgratin

We're still in the clutches of winter, and the need for comfort food is high. I am starting to get the garden ready, doing an initial and careful cleanup from last season's growth, careful not to bother any sleeping bees, bugs, or other beneficial critters. After spending a couple of hours outside (there is always something to do!) I long to come inside where it's warm and cozy. There is something special about that tingle in your hands and cheeks, when the skin is adjusting to different temperatures! 

One of the dishes that often appears on the table during this time is vegetable gratins, like today's dish. Sometimes they're made from scratch, but most often they are made with the potatoes, meat, and vegetables that were left over from the day before. Being wasteful with food is not in our DNA, and making new dishes out of leftovers, is practically an unclaimed national sport!  

Boiled, braised, or steamed vegetables are arranged in an oven dish, sometimes over slices of boiled potato, sometimes with browned ground beef or mushrooms for a vegetarian option, and covered with a coat of breadcrumbs and butter. If the food is already heated up, like today's, it only takes about ten to fifteen minutes to get the gratin crispy and golden, just time enough to set the table. If everything is cold, it may take up to 30 minutes. In that case you may want to cover the gratin for the last ten minutes so that it doesn't burn. 

Bloemkoolgratin

2 lbs (1 kg) cauliflower, rinsed and broken into florets

5 cups (1.20 l) water

1 teaspoon salt

For the sauce

4 tablespoons (50 grams) butter

1/3 cup (50 grams) flour*

2 cups (500 ml) milk or cooking liquid

1 cup (113 grams) cheese**, shredded

Salt, white pepper, nutmeg

For the gratin

1/2 cup (approx. 25-50 grams) breadcrumbs or Panko. 

4 tablespoons (55 grams) butter, divided

Bring the water to a boil, salt, and add the cauliflower. Boil at medium heat for about fifteen minutes, then check to see if the texture is to your liking: the longer you cook it, the softer it gets.

When it's the right texture, drain the cauliflower, but save the water, and measure out two cups (500 ml). (Don't discard the rest of the cooking water if you are planning on making soup with the leftovers). Put the empty cooking pot back on the stove, and in it, melt the butter (do not brown) for the sauce. With a wooden spoon, stir in the flour until the two have come together as a paste, and slowly add the two cups of milk or cooking liquid, while stirring. Keep stirring until the lumps are gone and the sauce has thickened and is hot. Fold in half of the cheese. Bring up to taste with salt and pepper and if desired, a pinch of nutmeg. 

Add the cauliflower back into the pot with the sauce, stir once or twice so that the vegetable is covered with the sauce. 

Heat the oven to 375F/190C. Butter a baking dish (8 x 11 inches/20 x 28 cm) with a little bit of the butter for the gratin, and pour in the hot cauliflower. Give the baking dish one or two shakes so that the contents distribute evenly over the dish. Mix the breadcrumbs with the rest of the cheese, and sprinkle it over the cauliflower. Cut the rest of the butter in small pats or strips and place them strategically on the breadcrumbs. Set the baking dish on the middle rack of the hot oven, and bake for ten to twelve minutes, or until the butter has melted and the breadcrumbs are golden. If you want, you can finish the dish under the broiler during the last minute or so - the melted butter will brown the breadcrumbs nicely - but do not walk away as it will burn quickly. 

Serve with boiled potatoes and gehaktballen, meatballs, or braadworst, bratwurst. A side of appelmoes, applesauce, is also tasty. This dish lends itself perfectly for a typical Dutch practice: prakken. :-)

*If you would rather not use flour, use cornstarch to make a slurry and bind the sauce.

** Use a sharp cheese, like mature cheddar, Gouda or pepperjack cheese.