It's not Stollen, it's Kerstbrood.

Semantics, Brexit and remembering Ton.

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Not unlike a brioche dough to make, but one that is filled with sultanas, raisins and nuts, with the addition of a long baton of lemon zest and almond paste. Folded, proved then baked to a burnished ochre, brushed with melted butter for a sticky sheen, dusted with a tonne of icing sugar, then cut into thick slices and smeared with butter. It is eaten for breakfast with black coffee. It is also nice in the afternoon with tea. Thickly slathered butter is essential I am instructed to tell you. The debate also rages as to the digging out of the almond paste and adding it to the butter, as you would spread jam on your toast. In polite company, you might be considered a farmer for such habits (see also resting your elbow on the table and burping).

Not for the fainthearted.

Kerstbrood

A delicious recipe that I only hope that Ton, my late Dutch father-in-law would approve of. If he was still with us, he’d have been 93 yesterday, and I would have loved to have offered him a slice of my Kerstbrood with his coffee, though he invariably would have told me it was rubbish, nothing like his (he was a baker). Like the time he eyed me nervously as I poured him a glass of beer and the head wasn’t up to Dutch standards, what with me being English and all that. Once when I hadn’t seen him for about a year, the first thing he said to me at the airport was ‘Ah, you’re getting fat then William’, and patted me on the tummy.

Happy birthday, Ton.

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With the fallout from the great political divide otherwise known as Brexit still reverberating here in England, the only thing I will say on the matter, as it is still such a divisive subject, is that it now prevents my wife’s Dutch family from sending over Kerstbrood at Christmas. For whatever reason, it has been deemed illegal to send the offending baked delight by post. Much in the same way as it is now illegal, or at least requiring a manifest of paperwork completed in triplicate in blue ink only, then signed and countersigned on pain of death, to be able to send a packet of hobnobs from the UK to my elderly mother-in-law in Amsterdam. Absurdly, these things now take over six weeks to arrive, if indeed they ever do, as customs thoroughly inspect every parcel and remove any biscuit or cake that might be hidden in packets erroneously marked as containing a gift of a pair of socks. You’d think with the international drug trade flourishing, the people at customs might have better things to do than seek out biscuits.

But then what would I know?

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Kerstbrood- My recipe

This isn’t the easiest of recipes, so at least I’ve given you fair warning. If you enjoy baking then this is most definitely one for you. If however, you’re someone who struggles with basic kitchen tasks such as the boiling of milk in a pan without covering the stove with burned froth for instance, then perhaps sit this one out.