Sprung At Last

Olieballen (Dutch New Year’s Fritters)

01.01.2013 by J. Doe // 2 Comments

A friend of mine posted on Facebook the other day about his plans for New Year’s Eve cooking. I was a little surprised, mostly because I didn’t know he could cook, but also because he was researching and making a traditional Scottish New Year’s Eve pudding.

I don’t have any traditional New Year’s Eve recipes. I’ve cooked a lot of dishes for New Year’s Eve dinners and parties over the years, but something that welcomes in the New Year as part of a traditional, annual celebration – I don’t have a thing.

Well, maybe one.

When I was married to The Foreigner, I received two copies of the exact same Dutch cookbook. This shouldn’t surprise anyone as, to be blunt, there isn’t a lot of variety in Dutch food and it isn’t very interesting. Hearty, yes, and to a Dutchman, comforting and homey – but they’ll be the first to admit that if you want truly good food, it’s no more than an hour’s drive to Belgium from anywhere in The Netherlands.

For New Year’s Eve, he wanted me to make one thing, and I obliged: Olieballen. They are fritters, a yeast-raised dough containing a bit of lemon peel and assorted dried fruits (raisins and currants usually), deep fried in oil.

They were good and I liked them, and foolishly tried to make them on some random Sunday. The Foreigner got very upset and insisted that I not make them that day. They were for New Year’s Eve and only New Year’s Eve. Any other time was messing with tradition. He was adamant and though I couldn’t quite see his point, I obliged.

I made them on New Year’s Eve for him – the one or two years we were home for it, at least – and then when we divorced, banished the cookbook to storage and promptly forgot all about it.

Until I started reading about my friend’s traditional Clootie Pudding on Facebook.

Then I thought, well, perhaps The Child would enjoy being exposed to her Dutch heritage. It’s not like The Foreigner is going to do it – he didn’t even bother with sending her a gift this year for either Dutch Sinterklaas or American Christmas.

She and I didn’t have any plans, so I thought, it will be a nice way to spend the evening.

Except that, unlike me, she got an invitation for a sleepover at the last minute, leaving me home alone with a bowl full of rising dough. I set it aside and spent the evening watching a Doctor Who marathon, and enjoying the quiet house.

In the morning, the bowl was waiting for me. You’re not supposed to make Olieballen New Year’s Day. Maybe it’s a law? Something must be against the law over there.

But it’s perfectly legal here, and I made them as the sun rose on the first day of the New Year, and thought to myself: Tradition is good, but so are fresh starts.

And when you figure out how to adjust the tradition so that it fits comfortably into your life , wherever you find yourself – and it won’t be where you planned – well, that’s the best.

Happy New Year, one and all.

Olieballen (Dutch New Year's Fritters)

Prep time

15 mins

Cook time

20 mins

Total time

35 mins

Olieballen are traditionally served on New Year's Eve in Holland. They are very similar to Italian Zeppoles, so I like to coat them with powdered sugar after they've cooled - it's not called for in the recipe, but only the most tradition-steeped Dutchman will complain if you do.

Author: Sprung At Last

Ingredients

1 tsp dried yeast
1 tsp sugar
½ cup plus 2 tbsp milk
1⅔ cup flour
½ tsp salt
1 tsp grated lemon zest
2 eggs
½ cup raisins
½ cup currants
¼ cup finely minced candied ginger
vegetable oil for deep frying
powdered sugar for coating

Instructions

Dissolve the yeast and sugar in the milk, set aside.
Mix the flour, salt, and lemon zest in a large bowl. Make a well in the center and add the yeast mixture, blending it partially in. Beat the eggs lightly, then add to the flour mixture and beat with a wooden spoon until the ingredients form a smooth batter.
Mix in the fruit.
Cover and leave dough to rise until doubled (several hours or overnight).
When ready to make them, heat oil in a deep pan until very hot (375 deg.). Using a spoon or small scoop dipped in the hot oil, scoop out small egg-shaped pieces of dough and drop into the hot oil. Cook until nicely browned, turning as needed and being careful not to crowd.
Drain on brown bags.
If you wish to toss them in powdered sugar, put the olieballen into a large brown paper bag and add powdered sugar. Shake the bag a few times until coated.

Notes

If you don't dip the spoon into oil as you scoop out the dough, your olieballen will be somewhat deformed. They'll taste as good, with some extra crunchy bits.

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Through Rain, and Sleet, and Twitter

12.31.2012 by J. Doe // 3 Comments

One day just before Christmas, I come to the conclusion that my house is haunted by the ghost of a very, very angry postal worker.

For several months, the mailman neglects to take my outgoing mail. I chalk this up to any number of things, until the day I mention it to my next door neighbor, who replies: I’d be furious if he did that to me. I haven’t had that problem.

It has to be true, because if she had that – or any other – problem, I’d know.

Have you left mail out for him recently? I ask.

Yes, she says. A couple times a week, at least.

I get mad, and complain in person at the post office, which doesn’t solve the problem, so I start calling every time it happens – which, being December, is near daily.

A supervisor helpfully suggests that perhaps I’m not using the flag on the box. That’s true, I say, because the box has no flag. Neither does my neighbor’s box, and she doesn’t have that problem. For eight years, I didn’t either. Not until a couple months ago.

The supervisor says he’ll send the mailman back for my mail every day that he misses it.

I vent about this on Twitter.

Some guy in Europe replies.

No, I have no idea who this guy is. This is one of the things I love about Twitter: Suddenly, randomly, someone you’ve never met before can deliver your perfect punchline or helpful thought or provide some arcane piece of information that you can’t figure out how to Google.

So I reply. Anyone who’s willing to listen to my theories about Beetlejuice-like postal workers, I’m willing to talk to – at least briefly.

He counsels patience.

The next day, someone decides to – quite legally – park in front of my mailbox, despite the half mile of adjacent, legal, empty curb they could have chosen instead. I explode, and vent on Twitter again. I leave an irate note on the car’s windshield, which I start to sort-of regret a half hour later when the tow-truck arrives to cart off the apparently broken-down vehicle.

It looked fine to me.

A day or so later, EuroTweeter checks in again. How’s my Christmas going?

I vent some more about the post office, and then regale him with enthralling tales of my office-cleaning.

The fact that he – or anyone, for that matter – is interested in any of it, is a red flag of the type that even I can see. I check his profile.

I can’t work out where he currently lives, and much of his tweeting appears to be in Swedish, which is another big red flag: The Foreigner is fluent in Swedish,too. This guy isn’t The Foreigner, and I have nothing against Sweden (in fact, I’m a big fan of IKEA), but in the absence of any additional information, any parallels I can draw to past, failed relationships are of critical importance.

I inquire how his holidays are going, and he says fine, not too busy. He’s not really very social, he says. Presumably he meant to add, in person.

I ask where he’s from and he suggests I follow him back if I want to know more. I don’t really, but I think, what harm could it do? I follow lots of people on Twitter, and vice versa.

He direct messages me the next day. He’s very glad to “see” me again on Twitter.

I feel very uneasy, like I was offered a walk to a well-lit bus stop on a major street and ended up being driven in a stranger’s car on a very dark road.

EuroTweeter messages me privately again the next day. There’s nothing odd about the messages, just hello and where he’s from and so on. But I can’t shake the feeling and although I consider any number of responses, public and private, I decide the best response is none.

Apple Jellies Revisited

12.29.2012 by J. Doe // 10 Comments

I spent a lot of time wondering what went wrong after my Apple Jellies fiasco. After all, as one of my readers pointed out, Lottie and Doof didn’t have trouble with the recipe when they made it. I love that blog, and have had good luck with other recipes on it.

They wouldn’t lie to me any more than Alice Waters would.

I thought of two possibilities. First, I live in the Seattle area, and thus, a damp climate (mildew is our state flower), which could have resulted in problems getting the jellies to dry out. But that problem should have been resolved, I think, by the extensive oven drying time I added.

The second possibility was suggested by this line of the ingredient list: 8 medium apples (3 pounds).

I used eight apples, as the recipe suggested.

I did not, however, weigh them.

It’s a funny thing to have an a-ha moment in the produce section of the supermarket, and probably would have been embarrassing, too, had I not been so caught up in my moment of revelation. Three pounds of apples in my part of the world equals five apples, not eight.

I did calculate the percentages, but I’ll spare you the math; I used much too much. Of course it didn’t dry out the way it should have.

I bought five apples and re-did the recipe, making no other changes to it. It did work – the apples jelled – although they still did require an hour in the oven. They still lacked the gummy-type texture that I was – rightly or wrongly – hoping for, but I noticed that there were bits like that on the sides of the cooking pan, so I suspect if I cooked the apples down a bit further, the whole thing would work out the way I wanted it too.

There was just one other problem: I still didn’t like them very much. They were okay, to be sure, but just sort of plain. I would have preferred a bit of citrus-peel bite or some spiciness or … something. On the other hand, The Child thought they were great this time around – which seems to be just my luck with these things.

I’m pleased to have learned a few things from the experience, but will not likely make Apple Jellies again. I do like the Jellies idea, though, and will probably play around with the recipe posted at The Spiced Life, which involves pectin and sounds like it will be a bit less fuss and a bit more adaptable.

We’ll see.

This is my contribution to Weekend Cooking, hosted by Beth Fish Reads. Why not swing by and see if the other participants had better luck?

Olieballen (Dutch New Year’s Fritters)

Through Rain, and Sleet, and Twitter

Apple Jellies Revisited

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