A real princess

Once upon a time there was a little girl. Hours she sat, flicking through pages of the toy shop catalogue. Time and time again she glanced back at that one page that glimmered and shone. There was nothing else we could have put under the Christmas tree for her. When she opened the parcel she uttered a long and resonant Ahhh. Linde’s pincess dress. Finally, a real one, pink and pearly. And a golden crown. The dress went on and never came off again. Our daughter is no longer an ordinary blonde. Linde is a princess.

With the matching attitude. Regular food, the princess does not like. Yes, peanut butter sandwiches. Warm aniseed milk. Chocolate and gingerbread. Pancakes with salmon. But baked potatoes? She shakes her pedantic little nose. Pasta bolognaise? Well, one bite, high handed, from the tip of her fork. So mama has no choice. She cooks Princess-pasta. Pink pasta, garnished with pink fish and a dash of cream. And now we hope it will gain her highness's approval.

Princess-pasta, with beetroot and salmon

4 cooked beetroot

juice of one lemon

125 ml sour cream

200 g soft goats cheese

1 teaspoon corn flour

hand of (fresh) dill

pepper and salt

smoked salmon

Cook you favourite pasta. Heat the beetroot and puree them. Stir the corn flour into the sour cream and add this mixture to the beetroot puree. Add lemon juice, pepper, and salt to your taste. The sauce should be nice and thick, so it will stick to the pasta. Stir everything together, with some finely chopped dill, hen crumble the cheese over the dish. Finish with a dash of sour cream and some dill.

A gingerbread house for all

Bells ring, lights twinkle and carols swirl gently through the room. Christmas time has arrived. Hail and wind pound the house from the outside, but as school is closed we have nowhere to go. We stay in, where it’s warm and smells of pine needles and spicy cake. The Christmas holidays last long but have a lot of things to do. Things that taste good. We will bake a gingerbread house.

Only what kind? Glutenfree, for me? Dairy free for Jasmijn? Cooking in our house is no longer easy. Can I make a solid, easy recipe for glutenfree gingerbread from which I can build a house that won’t fall apart? I like a challenge. .

But, I have promised Moodkids Magazine a recipe, with pictures, so I can take no risks. Besides, most of their readers won’t eat glutenfree. To make a long story short I ended with not one, not two, but three recipes. A simple recipe for a quick house, with gluten and butter, but no egg. A glutenfree variation that works. And finally, I baked some traditional german Lebkuchen.

Lebkuchen resembles gingerbead but is spiced with spices not so different to the Dutch speculaas spices. And, it is made with rye flour and no butter. Rye flour contains very little gluten but still builds a strong house. I used a fairly coarse rye flour, and would recommend using a finer one for a better texture.

Gingerbread (can be made glutenfree or dairyfree)

250 g cold butter, chopped *
600 g flour (wheat flour or glutenfree **)
200 g fine brown sugar
7 table spoons golden syrup
1 teaspoon dark treacle (optional)
1 egg (only when baking glutenfree)
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
4 teaspoons ground ginger
1 tablespoon xanthan gum (only when baking glutenfree)
1 table spoon psyllium husk (only when baking glutenfree)

* Can be replaced by a dairy free hard margarine

** I use Dove's Farm gluten free flour

We have a lot to do so I put the kids to work. First we knead the dough. In a large bowl we mix the ingredients.Together we knead all the ingredients into supple dough. If it is too wet add some extra flour, it should not be sticky. Then we let it stiffen up in the fridge for about half an hour. When it is ready we pre-heat the oven at 200 degrees.

We dust a wooden chopping board and a rolling pin with flour and roll the dough until it is about half a centimetre. Then we cut our walls and roof. If you wish you can cut out doors and windows. To make sure you get all your measurements right you can download and print the

Moodkids template

. We bake the walls and roof around 10 to 12 minutes. When they are out of the oven we leave them to cool completely before we touch them. This is especially important with the glutenfree variant, hot biscuit will break. When they are proper cold we can assemble the house. This is best done at night, with no prying toddler fingers and daddy’s helping hands. It then has plenty of time to dry before we decorate. To glue the house together we mix 250 g icing sugar with an egg white.

If necessary, add some more icing sugar or some water. It should be liquid enough to flow but when it is runny it will take very long to set. With a piping bag, which you can easily make from a small plastic bag with the tip cut off, we kit the house together from the inside. If there are any breakages you can mend these with the icing by gluing broken bits together. You can cover this up later while decorating.

When the house is assembled it is time for the best part: decorate! You can use everything you like. Biscuits, candy, marshmallows, chocolate, candy canes, coloured sprinkles. With the same icing mixture we glue all the decorations onto the house. When you work with small children, try to put your perfectionism aside. Let them mess around, it is their house, and if you wanted a perfect one you should have done it alone. Watch out for prying fingers though, especially when you use glutenfree gingerbread

It can be a good idea to let small children not decorate the house directly. From leftover dough bake some small gingerbread man, Christmas trees, stars or even simple circles. Let the children decorate those and stick them to the house later.
Does your house still look a bit worse for wear? A good snow shower of icing sugar covers up a lot. Alternatively spoon some runny icing over the roof and let it drop down.

German Lebkuchen
600 g rye flour
350 g sugar
4 eggs
80 g honey
1 table spoon baking powder
3 to 4 tea spoons spices (ginger or speculaas)

Knead the ingredients together. Let the dough rest at room temperature for a few hours or overnight. Process as described above, but bake at 165 degrees for around 20 minutes.



And so everyone can enjoy one’s house. With or without gluten, dairy, egg or wheat. We hope you will too! Merry Christmas.

Podding peas

I put down a large, green bag. And a pot.
‘Beans,’ growls Tijm. He looks angry. He does not like green beans.
‘No, peas,’ I correct him.
Tijm shakes his head. Peas are green, but little and round. Not long and thin.
He does like peas.
I show Tijm, I crack the pod and it’s treasure rolls out.
‘Peas!’ Tijm cheers.

Linde comes running as well and soon all three of us are hard at work. Four toddler hands break open the beans and peas are rolling everywhere.
‘They are supposed to go in the pot,’ I point out.
Most of them do. The pods go in the strainer.
Baby Jasmijn comes crawling. The strainer intrigues her. She pulls, shakes it, and boom, it tumbles over. Jasmijn gets covered in a wave of pods. Surprised her blue eyes look at me from under the green. She shakes her head, shakes off the pods and grabs one from her hair. Curious she eyes it and sticks it in her mouth. She nibbles and chews the pod.
‘No,’ Tijm shouts, ‘silly Jasmijn. You can’t eat the pod. Eat the pea!’
‘Et pea,’ Linde nods.
She fiddles a pea between her fingertips and puts it in Jasmijn’s mouth.
‘No,’ Tijm shouts again, ‘we need to cook them first.’
Linde agrees and gets her little pan, she fills the saucepan and Tijm rushes to get his own, a frying pan. They cook and stir and fry, all the lovely peas, while I keep podding until the bag is empty and all the pots full. Now we are really going to cook!



We make risi e bisi, a venetian recipe. It is a mild, creamy risotto, and very easy as it does not have to be continuously stirred since that would break up the peas.



Risi e bisi

1 small onion
150 g pancetta, cubed
250 g podded peas
250 g risotto rice
about a litre of stock (vegetable or chicken)
a handful of grated parmesan cheese
olive oil

Cut the onion in little pieces and fry it in a bit of oil. When it get’s transparent add the pancetta and fry a few minutes more. Add the rice and fry this as well, stirring thoroughly to coat every grain in some oil. This will protect the grains from leaking too much starch when we add the broth. Then add the peas and ladle by ladle the hot stock. Stir after every ladle. You should add some stock and stir every few minutes, until the rice is cooked. That should last about twenty minutes. The risotto can stay fairly fluid, but should not become a soup. Creamy and runny it is at it’s best. When the risi e bisi is ready add a good handful of parmesan cheese and pepper and salt to taste.

Happy Christmas!

I want to wish everybody very happy holidays. With family, friends, teasing smells, scrumptious tastes, merry carols and enticing stories. A touch of magic. And maybe a dusting of snow.

I hope to see you all in the new year, with new energy and new inspiration. Happy 2012!

PS if you want a pretty little gingerbread house just like in the picture, check out my food website, Kamel-food for more pictures and the recipe!

Breakfast talk

‘Tijm, come and eat your breakfast.’
The lego click, clicks.
‘Tijm, stop with the lego and come to the table. Now.’
Step by step he saunters over.
‘Do you want cereals? Or toast?’
He thinks for a moment. ‘Cereals. Weetabix, chocolate stars and raisins, but no milk. And marmite toast.’
Without thinking I mix his usual blend of cereals and put the bowl in front of him.
Immediately he bursts out. ‘No rice crispies, I said no rice crispies.’
‘What do you mean no rice crispies? You always have rice crispies.’
‘I Said No Rice Crispies Mama.’
I try to remember what he said. No idea. ‘But you eat rice crispies every day. Why not now?’
‘Because I said, no rice crispies!’
‘But you like them. Just eat them.’
‘No mama, today I don’t like them.’
‘But yesterday you did like them?’
He thinks for a bit. ‘Yes, yesterday I liked them. And tomorrow I will like them.’ Then, shouting. ‘But today I don’t!’
I sigh.
‘Eat them anyway. They are already in the bowl.’
He screams. ‘No mama, I said no rice crispies today. No!’
‘Tough luck. I am not making anything else. Eat them anyway.’
Tijm squeals, louder, hysterically.
‘Mama, take them out. Mama. I don’t like you today. I said no rice crispies. I won’t play with you today mama. Mahama?’
‘Stop screaming. Eat your breakfast. This is not a hotel. I am fed up with you ordering me about. Eat up!’ Now I scream too.
‘Mama, be quiet. You hurt my ears. I don’t like you today. Stop talking mama. Stop.’
I say nothing.
‘Mama,’ he screams again. ‘Stop talking.’
I still say nothing.
‘Mama. Mahama. I want you to say yes.’
‘Yes?’
‘I want you to take the rice crispies out. Now.’
‘No.’
‘Mama, I want you to say yes.’
‘No. Take them out yourself. And give them to your sister.’
Angrily, he keeps screaming, muttering away. I leave the room, preserving the very last energy and self-control I have left.
When I come back he has taken out all the rice crispies, one by one.
I stroke his hair. ‘Enjoy your breakfast?’
He nods, his mouth full.

And now he’s four

In England birthday parties are serious business. It starts with the guest list. Where in the Netherlands the rule is to invite as many as the age of your child, here no limits apply. And once your child has been invited, not asking back would not be polite. Then location. Pokey English rooms would not take an invasion of the kind, so a soft play area or gym is preferred. At the start of the party presents are whisked away invisibly. They will be opened later, in private, so impolite awkwardnesses can be avoided. One should never, like me, forget to attach a card. One also, again like me, shouldn’t forget to make notes while opening. A written thank you will be expected.
Then, it’s playtime. No party will pass without Pass the Parcel, where paper is ripped, presenting layer after layer of little gifts, so no one will feel left out. There is, often, a bouncy castle.
Only towards the very end, tea is served. A birthday tea of white and brown triangles, cheese, ham, jam and marmite. No peanut butter, there might be an allergy. Bowls of carrot sticks, cucumber, crisps and sausages. Pitchers of squash. While the kids fill up on the soft inside of the bread, the mothers watch. Who grabs a carrot that the kids won’t touch can expect avoiding looks. After tea the highlight of the party is brought in. The Cake. Home baked, off course, by any self-respecting mum. After Happy Birthday the cake disappears mysteriously. At the door it is handed out, rolled in a napkin, in a colourful plastic bag filled with sweets and cheap plastic toys, that will hover round the house for a few days until reaching their final destination, the bin.

As a foreigner I was going to do it differently. I thought. Well, I did not want to risk my son’s social status, so I invited all his friends. And more, I realised when I added up numbers. And actually, maybe we should intercept those presents at the door as well. We did hold the feast at home, keeping our fingers crossed that the weather would allow overspill in the garden. After some cursing and swearing at the oven and sticky moulds a few shop bought pound cakes, with the help of eighteen small children, five colours of icing and many, many sweets, transformed in a colourful train with pretty messy carriages. The sun made an appearance and the garden hosted bag and egg races while the mothers made their own tea and ate home baked muffins. During the baking of eighteen pizza’s dressed by as many children a puppet show was staged where Sinterklaas played Father Christmas. At the door no-one was disappointed when they did not get a bag but a book. With on top their own carriage, rolled in a napkin, because we forgot to serve the cake in the merry chaos. We sang Happy Birthday and Lang zal hij leven and it was the best party on either side of the Channel. Said Tijm.

The English mothers complimented, extensively. The Dutch mother flopped down on the sofa and dreamt of soft play area’s with bouncy castles and little white triangles that required no baking.

Cloudy days

A depression hangs over the British Isles. Grey clouds pack together and smother the sun. Tiny drops spit down. The days get shorter and colder. While we press our noses against the back door and stare at the muddy garden I feel trapped in myself. The dark clouds drape a grey veil over my eyes and I am losing myself. Who is this mad, freaky woman? Who lost her patience miles ago, and whirls through the house like a cranky tornado? Who rushes from euphoria to desperation, driven yet stressed, till only exhaustion remains? From a distance I observe, and I think, this should be different. Better.

One morning I come down, hairs still wet, and in the kitchen Tijm bounces towards me. He points. ‘Mama, the sun is shining, look, mama. It’s lovely out there.’
Looking out the window I blink my eyes. A blue sky grins at me. Tijm has his wellies out already. ‘Mama, let’s go!’
I put the kettle on. ‘Shall we have breakfast first?’

Not much later we’re off to the park. The air is crackling, frost glitters on the grass and sunshine polishes the world. We wear hats and mittens. In the park we turn into a muddy track. It is only nine o’clock and all sounds are frozen still. We climb over the sluice, pass the sandy wall and stop at the cascade. Despite the cold the sun beams away the grub from inside my head. I breathe the sharp air and feel my senses awaken. My brain rolls a merry tumble in my head. Hello, it cheers. I’m back.

Tijm scampers away to collects sticks. We play pooh-sticks, we toss sprigs and branches in the water, and see which one is the first swirling down. Linde's stick get's stuck and Tijm wins. We play, again and again. The children run round collecting more. The water sparkles, the trees rustle and the world shines. Linde slumps in the mud and screams. I pull her up and kiss the scare away. Jasmijn whinges in the buggy, with cold fingers. Biscuits buy her peace. Like small white clouds the problems sail through my head. Confident I blow them away and the sky stays clear. We cross the stepping stones, one by one. I hold Linde and Tijm’s hands and step by step we brave the river. I turn back, get Jasmijn, and then the buggy. We fall, tumble and roll. We smile. We are covered in mud but the cobwebs are cleared from my head.

That afternoon the clouds return. The sun is hidden, far away, as if it was never there. I stand in the kitchen, the clock chimes four and I turn on the lights. Night is coming, but bedtime is far away. Tijm and Linde jump from chair to sofa, Jasmijn bawls hungry in her playpen. Slowly I count to ten and try to go back to the park. Back to that place inside me, where I was this morning, where the sun shines. Where I can be a nice mother and enjoy life without getting lost. I know I can do it. It’s just so darn difficult.