Nigella's Amsterdam Christmas (2023) Movie Script
1
# Hang all the mistletoe
# I'm gonna get
to know you better
# This Christmas
# And as we trim the tree
# How much fun it's gonna be
together
# This Christmas
# Fireside is blazing bright
# And we're carolling
through the night, yeah
# Yeah, this Christmas will be, oh
# A very special Christmas
# Oh, yeah, for me
# Yeah... #
Right, I think
we'll kick things off
with a little Christmas
cocktail, don't you?
And what a cocktail!
The Amsterdamage.
You know it makes sense.
What, you mean you don't have
a cocktail shaker about your person
at all times?
First, load up with ice.
And then it's an equal part
of three things.
Dry, white vermouth.
And then Triple Sec Cointreau,
any orange liqueur.
And Old Genever.
Now Genever, and I'm saying it
in the English way,
does mean juniper in Dutch and
Genever is often called Dutch gin,
but, actually, it doesn't taste
enormously like gin, Old Genever.
It's more like vodka with a splash
of malt whisky in it.
Right, in it goes.
Little thing more.
Some orange bitters.
Something very Christmassy
about orange.
And then, frankly,
I just shake it all about.
And Bob's your Dutch uncle.
# This Christmas
# Fireside is blazing bright
# And we're carolling
through the night, yeah
# Yeah, this Christmas will be, oh
# A very special Christmas
# Oh, yeah, for me
# Yeah... #
Prost!
# Yeah, yeah
# Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
yeah, yeah, yeah
# This Christmas... #
I first came to Amsterdam
at this time of year
about half a lifetime ago, and
I was just entranced by it,
and I still am.
There's something so magical
about the evocation of the season,
the way the light is so distinct
and the way it plays on the water.
Well, you can see why this is known
as the Venice of the North.
And although it's a really vibrant,
modern city, I always feel
the bustle of the past here.
Christmas is celebrated
very differently in the Netherlands.
And yet, there's something
about their baking tradition
that speaks so eloquently to us
at this time of year.
There's so much gingerbread
of various sorts, but there's
a particular pastry that they make
from about end of November onwards
that I've really
fallen in love with.
It's called banket, or
banketstaaf, and effectively,
it's like a long log of almond paste
wrapped in puff pastry.
Now, in the Netherlands,
it is served warm still and cut
into lengths, short lengths.
Now I've taken some liberties.
I add some flaked almonds -
so far, so normal -
and a bit of zingy glace icing.
But where I really differ is
I cut the banketstaaf
into short lengths before baking.
And not only because this way
they look like sweet sausage rolls,
but also because what you get,
these ends where they meet the heat
of the oven, is a bit of chewy
macaroon and it is sensational.
Now, these are really simple to
make, but it is a two-stage affair
and the first stage is simply
making the almond paste.
To do this, blitz 250g each
of blanched almonds and caster sugar
till finely ground.
Grate in the zest of a lemon.
Add a fragrant drop of rose-water.
And a quarter-teaspoon of salt.
Then crack in an egg and mix again
till you have a grainy paste.
Tip out and swodge the sticky
mixture together in your hands.
And then, on a piece
of baking parchment,
form roughly into
a long sausage shape.
Now curl the baking parchment
over the paste
and, as if it were a rolling pin,
place the flat of your hands gently
over it and roll up and down
until you have a fairly slender log.
Finally, put it in the fridge
to rest.
Right, so, the almond paste is
chilled, my puff pastry is thawed
and I am ready to roll.
But before I encase my
almond paste log in pastry,
I have one important thing
to say to you.
May all your Christmas wishes
come true.
I love my magic wand.
So, I can unfurl the pastry.
Let's just do it this way.
Very conveniently,
it is exactly the right length
for my almond paste log.
Sort of cutting it in half.
Just imagine it is properly in half.
Let's just wrap this up again.
All right.
And...
This should fit pretty much
exactly lengthwise.
It will need a bit of trimming,
but that's all right.
Let's do this here.
Ah, it's a pretty neat fit.
And now, I'm just going to
paint the egg wash
down the exposed area
of the puff pastry
to help it stick
to the almond log.
This side too.
A bit of daubing.
So, the way I cover it is just
tenderly lift up this end,
the far side of the pastry,
and then roll it towards me.
Just going to take off excess flour.
Maybe I got carried away
with my magic wand.
So at this stage, it is very much
banketstaaf.
I am now going to turn it
into banketstaaf stukjes,
my banket bars, which is not hard.
I want to cut this into pieces
of about five centimetres,
which for this length
should be eight pieces.
I prefer just to go by eye and
cut it in half and then
carry on until I've got
my eight pieces.
But the thing is, you know,
some people feel reassured
by ultra-precision and
some feel irritated by it.
So you just do what makes you happy.
Now, let's see, half again.
They do really look
like little sausage rolls
at this stage, don't they?
It's in serried ranks now.
And now I just have to load up
my baking sheet.
Come on, little babies.
A bit more painting.
Bit of winter bronzer.
These need 15 minutes in a hot oven,
by which time, they will be
plump and puffy,
but who isn't at Christmas?
And golden on top.
Once the banket bars
are out of the oven,
you'll see that some of the paste
has popped out, but you can just
press it back in.
Now, I have asbestos hands,
but I advise you to use the back
of a couple of spoons or
some such to do this safely.
Immediately brush the banket bars
with apricot jam,
spiked with lemon juice.
Cover with a generous scattering
of flaked almonds.
Then drizzle and zigzag over
a citrus glaze,
made simply by mixing some icing
sugar and a little lemon juice.
Now, this isn't a universal
feature of banketstaaf
but I find its bright sharpness
really gives an enlivening zing.
And we all need that.
The cheese shops are spectacular
in Amsterdam
and obviously I have to visit
my favourite, De Kaaskamer,
where the cheese wheels
are stacked to the rafters.
Once you try proper Dutch gouda,
there's just no turning back.
I love it all, but in a shop
as specialised as this,
I'm after the advice of an expert
who can tell me what seasonal
cheeses they have on offer.
Hello! Hello!
Welcome to De Kaaskamer.
Now, I need your help.
All right.
Serious matter.
I'm having a party, and I want
a fabulous cheese board.
But what I don't want to do
is that thing when it's many
different sorts of cheeses
but a small bit of each.
So I want to focus on
three cheeses, but proper,
generous, generous wedges.
Where do we start?
Let's build it up, then.
Let's start with something creamy.
This is a middle old, classic
gouda shaped cheese."Houda."
I'm going to learn to say "houda"
and not gouda.
After...I have to.
..after today, you will be
fully integrated.
From a little island
above the Netherlands.
The sea breeze infects the soil,
the milk and therefore the cheese.
Poetry. Creamy and silty it is.
It is creamy.
But it's still got oomph.
It is.
It is a bit punching.
Shall we try something a bit older?
Sure.
This is Remeker, one of
the most pure cheeses we make.
Raw, organic, Jersey cow milk, with
a rind made of clarified butter.
So, it's still creamy
because of the extra creamy,
thick Jersey cow milk, you taste...
..tones of nuts.Yes.
Still fruity.Very nutty.
You have this little crunch...
Crystals?
Yeah, that's the proteins.
People say it's salt crystals,
we kick them out.
It's proteins.
They crystallise, the molecules
connect.It's wonderful. Yeah.
I'd love it if the third cheese
could be goat.
I love goat gouda,
goat houda.
Oh, yeah, for Christmas,
we have something extraordinary.
You see, the proteins, they make
these ridiculous, huge crystals.
It's a wonderful deep colour.
It is.
It's a cinnamon-coloured
goat cheese.Touch of grey,
which I'm rather liking.
Really extraordinary.
It is. It tastes like
cheese and wine in one.
It's got a kind
of fermented tang.
It's eating and drinking
in the same time.
Three years old, still some
sweet tones in it.
But this just recommends
some good old white port.
It's extraordinary. And a bit
of good company.
Ha, ha! Well, you know, I don't need
any more convincing.
Once I have my cheese board
settled, I feel my Christmas
happiness is assured.
I know a lot of people like to get
absolutely everything organised
for Christmas in November,
but for me, it's only now
that I feel so deeply infused
with the Christmas spirit,
and I get childishly excited
thinking of the happy hubbub
of a party and a table laden
with the food I love
and around it, the people
I want to enjoy it with me.
For the party, I'm making my
Christmas cup, and that's fizzy
white wine mixed with ginger ale
and a touch of great-aunt's tipple,
some Dutch cherry brandy.
With the drink, I'm serving
some spiced, toasted nuts
with an intriguing Dutch flavour.
The main course is a rapturous
Indonesian chicken biryani.
With it, my pineapple plus salad
with rujak dressing.
It's the perfect accompaniment
to the sumptuous biryani,
meeting its aromatic heat and
savoury depth with a compelling
sweet-and-sour tang.
Pudding is my no-bake
advocaat and ginger cake,
a lazy but luscious layered affair.
Finally, there's all that
gorgeous gouda with biscuits.
In other words,
my tulips and cheese.
A proper feast, but none of it
needs weeks of planning.
Look, I'm not saying I want to do
the sort of cooking where everything
has to be done at the last moment.
I mean, that would obviously
be terribly stressful.
What makes me feel cosy
and Christmassy is a bit of serene
and seasonal stove-side pottering.
And right now, that seasonal
stove-side pottering involves
making the dough for my speculaas,
which are Dutch
gingerbread biscuits.
And I like to get on with the dough
the night before I actually
bake the biscuits.
I've made up a jar of my
special speculaas spice,
a heady mixture of cinnamon, cloves,
ginger and more
so I can feel Christmas
wafting up at me.
I add a tablespoon of this
to 300g of plain flour,
along with half a teaspoon of bicarb
and a quarter-teaspoon of salt.
Then I just fork them together
to combine.
Next, I cream 100g each
of soft, unsalted butter
and light brown sugar, beating them
briskly until fluffy and soft.
I oil the receptacle to stop
my next ingredient from sticking,
100g of gorgeously gleaming
black treacle.
Strictly an Anglo addition,
I must confess.
Next in is an egg followed
by the spice flour,
spoonful by spoonful.
Once the dough's come together,
I shape it into a disc and put it
in the fridge overnight to let
the spice flavours develop fully.
My speculaas dough has rested,
as have I.
So, before I roll it out,
I'm going to give this slab
a bit of a dusting
with my magic wand.
Or perhaps it's more
of a seasonal sceptre.
Let's unwrap this fat patty.
My drag name.
I think a bit of flour on top,
wise move.
Rather lovely to roll out
because it's very pliable and also
very forgiving,
so if it cracks,
you just stick it back together.
You can re-roll.
Traditionally, speculaas biscuits
aren't rolled out and then cut out,
but they are pressed
onto a wooden mould like this.
You press them in.
And the idea, I have to say,
makes me hyperventilate
because I know I wouldn't get
the dough out of this
and it is hard
to print biscuits.
That is the technical term.
And this is easy and
they taste the same.
And talking of cutting this out,
I have the most amazing cutters.
Look.
They are in the shape
of those narrow
17th-century canal houses.
So I'm making a little
bit of edible Amsterdam.
Beautiful though they are,
the shape of these houses,
their narrowness wasn't actually
a purely sort of
decorative decision.
It was because the wider
the frontage on the house,
the more tax was levied on it.
Strictly speaking,
you shouldn't ice speculaas,
but if I don't ice these houses,
sketchily though
I might have to do it,
they do look a bit like
gingerbread tombstones.
And I have also this tulip cutter.
So my plan is to ice
as best I can the houses,
but leave the tulips bare and
beautiful, because these speculaas
just so happen to make
cheese biscuits
of utter, unparalleled gorgeousness.
And I love the idea of being able
to offer people a tulip and cheese.
So that I can hang
some from the tree,
I need to cut out a little hole,
for a bit of ribbon or twine,
thread them
and hang them from the tree.
Beautiful!
These need about ten or 12 minutes
in an oven at 180
or 160 if the fan's on.
And don't worry if there's
a crack or two on the surface,
that's baking, that's life.
# I love you, I love you,
I love you, I love you
# I love you, I love you,
I love you
# I love you, I love you,
I love you, I love you
# I love you, I love you, I love you
# I love you... #
The most atmospheric way
to see the city is by boat,
and there are few more beautiful
sights than seeing the lights
that are draped throughout
Amsterdam, dancing on the waters
of the canals at night-time.
# My, my, my, my...
# Giving you my heart
because I love you... #
Every Christmas,
the city hosts a light festival
with installations
dotted along the watery way.
# Please give your
loving heart to me
# And say we'll never part... #
For me, the magic happens
the further I travel
through the canals.
The 21st century seems to melt away,
and the golden age of Amsterdam
shimmers into view.
# I'm never lonely
# Whenever you are in sight
# I know, I know, I know
I love you... #
And it's treasure from Dutch waters
that inspires my next recipe.
The Dutch do love their mussels,
although it is true
that their neighbours the Belgians
unfairly get more credit for them.
So I am cooking my Dutch mussels,
which actually are so called
for the beer I cook them in.
And another Dutch touch,
if we may call it that,
is to partner the mussels
with fennel.
It's a classic combination
for a reason, and it's wonderful
the way that gentle aniseed
flavour just permeates the broth
like a whisper.
Just remove the core of each half
and then cut them thinly.
My detritus bowl. I'll keep all the
offcuts for soup or stock later.
And before I had mussels in beer
for the first time,
I really worried that the bitterness
would be too savage.
But the key
is to cook them in butter.
But then the key to so much
in life, I find, is butter.
And once the butter is melted,
in goes the fennel.
Going to give it a bit of a stir.
Now, I'm not frying the fennel
in butter so much as braising it.
And to aid that, I'm just going to
give it a teeny little bit of time
with a lid on.
Now, I have to say, fennel-phobes,
you can just use shallots
in place of the fennel.
I, however, am a fennel-phile,
so I'm punching up the aniseed
element with some dill.
I'm adding the feathery fronds
to the mussels later,
but now I'm just chopping
some of the stalks.
No point wasting all that flavour.
And I have some chives to chop.
Now a bit of a splosh
of my Dutch beer.
You can use any lager.
A bit of garlic.
And my herbage.
The chives, dill stalks
and some parsley.
Turn this up a bit now.
More beer, I feel.
So all that remains
to go into this pan
are the mussels.
And they are waiting for me
under their Amsterdam houses.
I've soaked these mussels
for 15 minutes in cold water,
and then after I drained them,
I went through them one by one,
making sure they were all closed.
If any mussels stay open
at this stage, chuck 'em.
OK, I'm ready for them to go in,
these beautiful,
beautiful creatures.
This treasure.
Black gold,
mussels are often called
in the Netherlands.
I'll give it a go.
Zwarte goud.
So, lid on,
so the mussels steam open.
I mean, it takes hardly any time.
And in a few minutes, the heat
will make the mussels gape open
to reveal
that golden treasure inside.
And just to encourage the mussels,
I give the pan a shake and a shimmy
every now and again.
Mm. A quick beer and fennel facial.
And they are ready for me.
I am more than ready for them.
In they go.
So I'm looking as I go,
because any mussels at this stage
which don't open, you discard them.
These are all behaving beautifully.
And now it's time for the fabulous
fennel, butter and beer broth.
So some chives, parsley and dill
stalks went on at the beginning.
And now chives and parsley again.
It's like a salad
on top of my mussels.
And these beautiful fronds of dill.
Mm.
Don't mind me.
Good evening, madam.
Good evening to you.
What can I do you for tonight?
Oh, well, I think it should be
choice of the house, don't you?
Oh, that looks perfect.
And I haven't even tasted it yet,
but I can tell.
Thank you very much.
Merry Christmas.
Merry Christmas.
Mm.
That is heaven.
Whenever I come to Amsterdam,
I just have to head out
for some bitterballen.
These crispy, crunchy, deep-fried
croquettes are the best bar snack.
I mean, I wouldn't
make them at home.
But there's a real difference
between the food you go out for
and the food you make at home,
especially at this time of year.
You know, of course
I want the food to have impact,
but I want it to
be unstressful to make.
And actually, you could say
that the bar has inspired
my party pud as well,
because one of its chief
ingredients is advocaat.
At Christmas-time especially, I find
this kind of assembly job number,
especially one
that you can do in advance,
a complete life-saver.
It's a divine pile-up of rich, boozy
cream and squidgy gingerbread,
and I am going to get started
with the rich, boozy cream.
I've already got
some mascarpone in here,
and to that I am adding
some double cream.
I did say it was rich.
Some icing sugar, two tablespoons.
Not that we're counting.
And to augment the eggy-ness of
the advocaat, some custard powder.
I'm going to set this a-whirring,
just on low at first
to combine everything.
A little faster.
And now I can pour in
my yolk-yellow advocaat.
I just need to whisk the cream
until it's aerated,
softly whipped and voluminous.
And we're there.
Not too strenuous so far, I think.
So although I'm making this today,
I have a little final touch
tomorrow. And for that...
..I need to reserve
some of the boozy cream.
It's very tempting just to start
inhaling it now, to be honest.
And into the cream I'm using now,
I want some crystallised ginger.
My favourite.
And another Christmassy taste,
chopped dried figs.
And I have some macadamias
in my nut-bashing bag.
Quick bash, very useful.
We all need an outlet at Christmas.
And finally, some folding.
So this is the rich, boozy cream,
and now I have my squidgy
gingerbread to attend to.
I know I've got a comedy amount
of gingerbread, but I've got a lot
of layering up to do.
Start with the foundation.
First floor here.
Amsterdam abounds in gingerbread
this time of year, as do we.
But the one I recommend going for
is the sticky kind, much in the
style of a Jamaica ginger cake.
And in this sort of gingerbread,
it's the top of it
that's particularly sticky.
So when I slice it up and put it
in the tin, I keep those bits
away from the edges
so they're facing inwards.
Just helps with
the un-moulding later.
I mean, I can't say it really
makes a crucial difference,
but it makes me feel like
I'm establishing some sort of order.
That's a ground floor done.
Creamy filling
is applied in two layers,
so layer one coming up.
Delicate, a delicate dollop.
And now I just want to smooth
this layer of nubbly cream.
I love the way you can feel
that smooth, voluptuous cream.
And there's nubbly bits of chewy
ginger fig and crunchy macadamia.
I just have a thing
about layering up.
I find it calming and celebratory
at the same time.
I suppose what it is
is that it's entirely stress-free,
but at the same time I feel
I'm building to a sense of occasion.
Right, the final layer
of nubbly cream.
# I'd like you for Christmas
# Please make my wish come true
# Because I'd trim trees... #
And then the final layer
of gingerbread,
and then it's into the frigo
till tomorrow.
# If I knew you'd be mine... #
And then when I un-mould it,
I'm going to swirl that smooth
reserve cream all over the top
and then shower it
with Dutch chocolate sprinkles.
# If old Saint Nick comes through
# And he remembers
# That I'd like you for Christmas
# New Year's, Easter too
# She'd like you for Christmas... #
I so love it when the air
is crisp and frosty.
It really feels like
proper Christmas.
# Cos she'd trim trees
# And deck the hallways... #
But I, however,
need to get my skates on
and do a little late-night prep
for the party tomorrow.
# For always...
# I won't be blue... #
Without getting into the vexed
complexities of colonial history,
Indonesian food plays a vital part
in the cultural life of Amsterdam,
and I'm celebrating that with
an Indonesian-inspired biryani.
And I started off by putting some
chicken thighs in a spicy marinade.
And the heart of that marinade
is this wonderful
Indonesian sambal oelek.
It's a punchy, vinegary
chilli sauce.
And you could use a similar one,
but I absolutely adore this.
And its significant other
in my marinade
is kecap manis,
which is an Indonesian sweet soy
sauce with a really treacly texture.
And it's an extraordinarily
easy marinade to make.
I add both sambal oelek
and kecap manis to plain yoghurt.
Next comes sharp tamarind paste.
Followed by pungent
garlic and ginger.
Then I add the Christmassy warmth
of cinnamon and piney cardamom...
..and finally turmeric, which
strikes a golden note of its own
and helps the other spices
chime better together.
I give it a good stir until I have
a uniformly vibrant gloop
and add chicken thighs, swiping them
in the spice yoghurt as I go.
Now, these chicken thighs have
the bone in but the skin removed,
and you do need to use
bone-in chicken thighs.
Waiting and ready to receive them
is a pan full of soft sweet onions.
And I often make a vegan version
using butternut squash
and coconut milk yoghurt.
Once all the chicken thighs
are in the pan, I turn up the heat
and clamp on the lid to give them
about 15 minutes at a fast simmer
before leaving them to cook
uncovered for half an hour or so.
This also helps the sauce
to reduce and intensify.
With the chicken cooked in a thick
and scant sauce, I leave it to cool,
and you could debone the chicken
at this stage, actually,
and then leave it overnight
in the fridge.
It will be so tender
and full of flavour
when it meets the rice tomorrow.
And it just happens to be
the perfect time
to make the rujak dressing
for my pineapple plus salad.
It's easy-peasy.
For this,
I stir brown sugar into some water,
bring it to the boil
and let it bubble.
To the now caramelly liquid
I add a hit of lime juice and
some fermented shrimp paste,
full of rich funkiness,
though you could use miso.
And finally I drop in
some bird's eye chillies.
So that's done.
And it can sit happily
until the party tomorrow.
In the brisk morning light,
I need to make one more stop
for an essential ingredient
for proper party pleasure.
And, besides, my liquorice
box needs a restock.
BELL TINKLES
Hello. Hello.
Oh, what treasure!
Hello, welcome.
I have over 100 different
kinds of liquorice.
Now, what should I try first?
They start very sweet with fruit.
Or we have very salty
with herb flavours.
Salty for me, please. Salty?
May I try one, please?
There you go.Thank you.
Mm! It's quite intense.
This is salmiak inside, which is
ammonium chloride.That's strong!
SHE LAUGHS
I love the look of those.
There you go.Perfect. Thank you.
You're welcome.
Here you go.Thank you.
And don't forget...
I would have done.
Thank you very much. You're welcome.
Enjoy.I will.
It would be an absolute
abomination to go to Amsterdam
and not load up on liquorice.
They take it very seriously there.
They call it drop.
And I take it very seriously, too.
I have this new addition to my
collection, and I just love them.
Let's see. I'm going to have
to use my arm, you know,
to do a little
architectural display.
Look, they are little liquorice
Amsterdam canal houses.
I can't get enough of them.
So there they are.
A little canal view that I'm
modelling myself at no extra cost.
Now, this is a new
essential in my life.
It's my flask of liquorice liqueur,
full of the divinely salty Dutch
dynamite I found in Amsterdam.
It could come in useful the
morning after the night before.
Now, these caramel liquorice logs,
I think of them rather like tonally
refined liquorice allsorts.
So, deep, dark liquorice
inside and, on the outside,
a rather butterscotchy coating.
Now, this is some liquorice
powder that I have acquired -
I'm very happy with it.
The Dutch liquorice powder seems
to be much more mellow and indeed
paler than most liquorice
powders I've ever encountered.
And I find that it has a sort of
gorgeous, almost toffee-ish-ness
about it that makes it sort of
understandable, even enjoyable,
by people who don't
think of themselves
as natural liquorice lovers.
Anyway, I'm counting on that
because it is the key ingredient
for the liquorice nuts I'm serving
at the beginning of the party.
To make them, I simply add
a teaspoon of liquorice powder to
30g of melted unsalted butter,
followed by two teaspoons
of brown sugar.
Then I tip in 400g of mixed nuts
that I've toasted briefly
and stir to coat and,
to finish them off,
I sprinkle them with sea
salt and chopped rosemary.
With the guests due to arrive soon,
I should get on and cook the rice
for my Indonesian-inspired biryani.
And to make the rice
gorgeously aromatic,
I scent the water
it's going to cook in with a few
bruised cardamom pods, a couple
of cinnamon sticks, some beautiful
star anise and cloves.
Next I drop in fried coconut
and some pink peppercorns that look
like berries in the snow.
Then I pour in two
litres of water...
..I add salt, followed
by a little lime juice
and some toasty sesame oil,
before letting it come to the boil,
infusing gloriously as it does so.
I've soaked 600g of basmati rice
for 30 minutes, then drained it,
and I add it gradually
to the boiling water,
cooking it just for two
minutes with the lid on.
When it's ready, you'll be able
to break up a grain of rice
rolled in your fingers.
I've reheated the chicken I
cooked yesterday and it is now
going to be so incredibly
tender and full of flavour.
The aromatic rice has been cooked
and drained and now all that remains
to be done is my
favourite activity -
layering up.
I'm adding a little bit
of sesame oil to the pan.
This will help stop the rice
from sticking, but it will also
give you some wonderful
crispy bits from the bottom.
So half the rice in now.
And I leave all those
bits and pieces in it.
Before I add the chicken
to the rice, I have some
important scattering to do.
First, some toasted cumin seeds.
"Desicrated" coconut.
That's what we call it at home.
And some dry cranberries.
Now, I can't pretend that
cranberries are remotely Indonesian,
but it is Christmas.
Now it's the turn of the chicken.
Just...
I'm going to sit the pieces
on top of the rice.
And what happens as the biryani
steams is that the juices
from the chicken and the sauce
drip into the rice below,
infusing it with flavour.
And this is what makes a biryani
so delicate, so perfumed -
such a special feast.
My final layer, bar the sprinklings.
Trying to spoon it in lightly...
..to cover the chicken.
And again the scattering.
Just like you have to
treat children the same,
the top layer of rice gets the
same treatment as the bottom.
So toasted cumin seeds,
the rest of the coconut.
Just a light snowfall.
And, finally, the remaining
dried cranberries.
I cover the pan with foil to get
a tight seal before clamping
the lid back on
and I leave it to steam
for about 40 minutes.
Then, off the heat, I simply replace
the foil with a tea towel, put
the lid back on again and leave
it till I'm ready to serve.
And while it's doing its thing,
I'd better get myself ready.
# Merry Christmas, baby! #
Right, I'm coming in.
I have a drink.
I'm not going to pour it.
My Christmas cup is perfect
for parties, not least
because it's made in jugfuls
rather than mixed by the glass.
So, for each bottle of fizzy wine,
you need 125ml of cherry brandy
and half a litre of ginger ale.
A winning combo of
sparkle and spice.
Darling?
Just a few last-minute
touches needed.
My rujak dressing is waiting for me
and I've also got a bowl of
pineapple and cucumber chunks,
ready to be anointed.
I've also steeped some thinly sliced
red onion in lime juice, and I add
these now pink pickled onions
to the salad, along with a tumble
of pomegranate seeds and some
finely sliced fresh mint. Heaven!
It's back to my biryani,
which has been steamed
to tender perfection.
I have a little something extra
for my biryani. When I cooked
the chicken thighs,
they were skinless, and that's
because I removed the skin
and whopped them at max
in the air fryer...
..to make chicken crackling
to sprinkle over the top.
MUSIC: It May Be Winter Outside
by Love Unlimited
Mm!
# When the temperature dips... #
Here, come on!
Chicken biryani.
# His tender fingertips
# Knows just how
to keep me warm... #
How was that?
# It may be zero degrees
# With the snow falling down... #
Yes, I must.
# But I've got warm and tender love
# Just as long as he's around
# It may be winter outside
# But in my heart it's spring
# How much joy
and pleasure, baby... #
Much as I love eating,
I think I might love
feeding people even more.
Talking of which, I have
pudding to attend to -
just a few final flourishes.
I've got the reserved
advocaat cream, ready...
..to be swirled on top...
..of my no-bake advocaat
and ginger cake.
# I try to have a white Christmas
# There's always something
that makes it blue
# Try to have a white Christmas... #
This is so gorgeous.
# There's always something
that turns it blue
# Maybe I'm asking for a fall
# Just what I wish for
don't come true... #
Tulip and cheese?
# Happy holidays, baby... #
Mm!
# I hope
# You have
# A merry Christmas
# And may all
# Your seasons
# Be bright
# Oh, yeah
# And I wish
# Santa brings you... #
Hi. Welcome.
Oh, am I glad to be here!
Right, my need is great.
All right.So I think this
means the Parmesan fries
with spicy mayonnaise.
Spicy-spicy. Yes.
# I want to spend a merry
# Merry Christmas with you... #
Oh!
That's a beautiful sight and noise!
# All the lovely things
you want him to
# But most of all
# Most of all I want
to spend Christmas... #
Ah! Much needed - the
post-carousing carb cure.
# All by your side
# Most of all
# I want to spend Christmas
# With you. #
# Hang all the mistletoe
# I'm gonna get
to know you better
# This Christmas
# And as we trim the tree
# How much fun it's gonna be
together
# This Christmas
# Fireside is blazing bright
# And we're carolling
through the night, yeah
# Yeah, this Christmas will be, oh
# A very special Christmas
# Oh, yeah, for me
# Yeah... #
Right, I think
we'll kick things off
with a little Christmas
cocktail, don't you?
And what a cocktail!
The Amsterdamage.
You know it makes sense.
What, you mean you don't have
a cocktail shaker about your person
at all times?
First, load up with ice.
And then it's an equal part
of three things.
Dry, white vermouth.
And then Triple Sec Cointreau,
any orange liqueur.
And Old Genever.
Now Genever, and I'm saying it
in the English way,
does mean juniper in Dutch and
Genever is often called Dutch gin,
but, actually, it doesn't taste
enormously like gin, Old Genever.
It's more like vodka with a splash
of malt whisky in it.
Right, in it goes.
Little thing more.
Some orange bitters.
Something very Christmassy
about orange.
And then, frankly,
I just shake it all about.
And Bob's your Dutch uncle.
# This Christmas
# Fireside is blazing bright
# And we're carolling
through the night, yeah
# Yeah, this Christmas will be, oh
# A very special Christmas
# Oh, yeah, for me
# Yeah... #
Prost!
# Yeah, yeah
# Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
yeah, yeah, yeah
# This Christmas... #
I first came to Amsterdam
at this time of year
about half a lifetime ago, and
I was just entranced by it,
and I still am.
There's something so magical
about the evocation of the season,
the way the light is so distinct
and the way it plays on the water.
Well, you can see why this is known
as the Venice of the North.
And although it's a really vibrant,
modern city, I always feel
the bustle of the past here.
Christmas is celebrated
very differently in the Netherlands.
And yet, there's something
about their baking tradition
that speaks so eloquently to us
at this time of year.
There's so much gingerbread
of various sorts, but there's
a particular pastry that they make
from about end of November onwards
that I've really
fallen in love with.
It's called banket, or
banketstaaf, and effectively,
it's like a long log of almond paste
wrapped in puff pastry.
Now, in the Netherlands,
it is served warm still and cut
into lengths, short lengths.
Now I've taken some liberties.
I add some flaked almonds -
so far, so normal -
and a bit of zingy glace icing.
But where I really differ is
I cut the banketstaaf
into short lengths before baking.
And not only because this way
they look like sweet sausage rolls,
but also because what you get,
these ends where they meet the heat
of the oven, is a bit of chewy
macaroon and it is sensational.
Now, these are really simple to
make, but it is a two-stage affair
and the first stage is simply
making the almond paste.
To do this, blitz 250g each
of blanched almonds and caster sugar
till finely ground.
Grate in the zest of a lemon.
Add a fragrant drop of rose-water.
And a quarter-teaspoon of salt.
Then crack in an egg and mix again
till you have a grainy paste.
Tip out and swodge the sticky
mixture together in your hands.
And then, on a piece
of baking parchment,
form roughly into
a long sausage shape.
Now curl the baking parchment
over the paste
and, as if it were a rolling pin,
place the flat of your hands gently
over it and roll up and down
until you have a fairly slender log.
Finally, put it in the fridge
to rest.
Right, so, the almond paste is
chilled, my puff pastry is thawed
and I am ready to roll.
But before I encase my
almond paste log in pastry,
I have one important thing
to say to you.
May all your Christmas wishes
come true.
I love my magic wand.
So, I can unfurl the pastry.
Let's just do it this way.
Very conveniently,
it is exactly the right length
for my almond paste log.
Sort of cutting it in half.
Just imagine it is properly in half.
Let's just wrap this up again.
All right.
And...
This should fit pretty much
exactly lengthwise.
It will need a bit of trimming,
but that's all right.
Let's do this here.
Ah, it's a pretty neat fit.
And now, I'm just going to
paint the egg wash
down the exposed area
of the puff pastry
to help it stick
to the almond log.
This side too.
A bit of daubing.
So, the way I cover it is just
tenderly lift up this end,
the far side of the pastry,
and then roll it towards me.
Just going to take off excess flour.
Maybe I got carried away
with my magic wand.
So at this stage, it is very much
banketstaaf.
I am now going to turn it
into banketstaaf stukjes,
my banket bars, which is not hard.
I want to cut this into pieces
of about five centimetres,
which for this length
should be eight pieces.
I prefer just to go by eye and
cut it in half and then
carry on until I've got
my eight pieces.
But the thing is, you know,
some people feel reassured
by ultra-precision and
some feel irritated by it.
So you just do what makes you happy.
Now, let's see, half again.
They do really look
like little sausage rolls
at this stage, don't they?
It's in serried ranks now.
And now I just have to load up
my baking sheet.
Come on, little babies.
A bit more painting.
Bit of winter bronzer.
These need 15 minutes in a hot oven,
by which time, they will be
plump and puffy,
but who isn't at Christmas?
And golden on top.
Once the banket bars
are out of the oven,
you'll see that some of the paste
has popped out, but you can just
press it back in.
Now, I have asbestos hands,
but I advise you to use the back
of a couple of spoons or
some such to do this safely.
Immediately brush the banket bars
with apricot jam,
spiked with lemon juice.
Cover with a generous scattering
of flaked almonds.
Then drizzle and zigzag over
a citrus glaze,
made simply by mixing some icing
sugar and a little lemon juice.
Now, this isn't a universal
feature of banketstaaf
but I find its bright sharpness
really gives an enlivening zing.
And we all need that.
The cheese shops are spectacular
in Amsterdam
and obviously I have to visit
my favourite, De Kaaskamer,
where the cheese wheels
are stacked to the rafters.
Once you try proper Dutch gouda,
there's just no turning back.
I love it all, but in a shop
as specialised as this,
I'm after the advice of an expert
who can tell me what seasonal
cheeses they have on offer.
Hello! Hello!
Welcome to De Kaaskamer.
Now, I need your help.
All right.
Serious matter.
I'm having a party, and I want
a fabulous cheese board.
But what I don't want to do
is that thing when it's many
different sorts of cheeses
but a small bit of each.
So I want to focus on
three cheeses, but proper,
generous, generous wedges.
Where do we start?
Let's build it up, then.
Let's start with something creamy.
This is a middle old, classic
gouda shaped cheese."Houda."
I'm going to learn to say "houda"
and not gouda.
After...I have to.
..after today, you will be
fully integrated.
From a little island
above the Netherlands.
The sea breeze infects the soil,
the milk and therefore the cheese.
Poetry. Creamy and silty it is.
It is creamy.
But it's still got oomph.
It is.
It is a bit punching.
Shall we try something a bit older?
Sure.
This is Remeker, one of
the most pure cheeses we make.
Raw, organic, Jersey cow milk, with
a rind made of clarified butter.
So, it's still creamy
because of the extra creamy,
thick Jersey cow milk, you taste...
..tones of nuts.Yes.
Still fruity.Very nutty.
You have this little crunch...
Crystals?
Yeah, that's the proteins.
People say it's salt crystals,
we kick them out.
It's proteins.
They crystallise, the molecules
connect.It's wonderful. Yeah.
I'd love it if the third cheese
could be goat.
I love goat gouda,
goat houda.
Oh, yeah, for Christmas,
we have something extraordinary.
You see, the proteins, they make
these ridiculous, huge crystals.
It's a wonderful deep colour.
It is.
It's a cinnamon-coloured
goat cheese.Touch of grey,
which I'm rather liking.
Really extraordinary.
It is. It tastes like
cheese and wine in one.
It's got a kind
of fermented tang.
It's eating and drinking
in the same time.
Three years old, still some
sweet tones in it.
But this just recommends
some good old white port.
It's extraordinary. And a bit
of good company.
Ha, ha! Well, you know, I don't need
any more convincing.
Once I have my cheese board
settled, I feel my Christmas
happiness is assured.
I know a lot of people like to get
absolutely everything organised
for Christmas in November,
but for me, it's only now
that I feel so deeply infused
with the Christmas spirit,
and I get childishly excited
thinking of the happy hubbub
of a party and a table laden
with the food I love
and around it, the people
I want to enjoy it with me.
For the party, I'm making my
Christmas cup, and that's fizzy
white wine mixed with ginger ale
and a touch of great-aunt's tipple,
some Dutch cherry brandy.
With the drink, I'm serving
some spiced, toasted nuts
with an intriguing Dutch flavour.
The main course is a rapturous
Indonesian chicken biryani.
With it, my pineapple plus salad
with rujak dressing.
It's the perfect accompaniment
to the sumptuous biryani,
meeting its aromatic heat and
savoury depth with a compelling
sweet-and-sour tang.
Pudding is my no-bake
advocaat and ginger cake,
a lazy but luscious layered affair.
Finally, there's all that
gorgeous gouda with biscuits.
In other words,
my tulips and cheese.
A proper feast, but none of it
needs weeks of planning.
Look, I'm not saying I want to do
the sort of cooking where everything
has to be done at the last moment.
I mean, that would obviously
be terribly stressful.
What makes me feel cosy
and Christmassy is a bit of serene
and seasonal stove-side pottering.
And right now, that seasonal
stove-side pottering involves
making the dough for my speculaas,
which are Dutch
gingerbread biscuits.
And I like to get on with the dough
the night before I actually
bake the biscuits.
I've made up a jar of my
special speculaas spice,
a heady mixture of cinnamon, cloves,
ginger and more
so I can feel Christmas
wafting up at me.
I add a tablespoon of this
to 300g of plain flour,
along with half a teaspoon of bicarb
and a quarter-teaspoon of salt.
Then I just fork them together
to combine.
Next, I cream 100g each
of soft, unsalted butter
and light brown sugar, beating them
briskly until fluffy and soft.
I oil the receptacle to stop
my next ingredient from sticking,
100g of gorgeously gleaming
black treacle.
Strictly an Anglo addition,
I must confess.
Next in is an egg followed
by the spice flour,
spoonful by spoonful.
Once the dough's come together,
I shape it into a disc and put it
in the fridge overnight to let
the spice flavours develop fully.
My speculaas dough has rested,
as have I.
So, before I roll it out,
I'm going to give this slab
a bit of a dusting
with my magic wand.
Or perhaps it's more
of a seasonal sceptre.
Let's unwrap this fat patty.
My drag name.
I think a bit of flour on top,
wise move.
Rather lovely to roll out
because it's very pliable and also
very forgiving,
so if it cracks,
you just stick it back together.
You can re-roll.
Traditionally, speculaas biscuits
aren't rolled out and then cut out,
but they are pressed
onto a wooden mould like this.
You press them in.
And the idea, I have to say,
makes me hyperventilate
because I know I wouldn't get
the dough out of this
and it is hard
to print biscuits.
That is the technical term.
And this is easy and
they taste the same.
And talking of cutting this out,
I have the most amazing cutters.
Look.
They are in the shape
of those narrow
17th-century canal houses.
So I'm making a little
bit of edible Amsterdam.
Beautiful though they are,
the shape of these houses,
their narrowness wasn't actually
a purely sort of
decorative decision.
It was because the wider
the frontage on the house,
the more tax was levied on it.
Strictly speaking,
you shouldn't ice speculaas,
but if I don't ice these houses,
sketchily though
I might have to do it,
they do look a bit like
gingerbread tombstones.
And I have also this tulip cutter.
So my plan is to ice
as best I can the houses,
but leave the tulips bare and
beautiful, because these speculaas
just so happen to make
cheese biscuits
of utter, unparalleled gorgeousness.
And I love the idea of being able
to offer people a tulip and cheese.
So that I can hang
some from the tree,
I need to cut out a little hole,
for a bit of ribbon or twine,
thread them
and hang them from the tree.
Beautiful!
These need about ten or 12 minutes
in an oven at 180
or 160 if the fan's on.
And don't worry if there's
a crack or two on the surface,
that's baking, that's life.
# I love you, I love you,
I love you, I love you
# I love you, I love you,
I love you
# I love you, I love you,
I love you, I love you
# I love you, I love you, I love you
# I love you... #
The most atmospheric way
to see the city is by boat,
and there are few more beautiful
sights than seeing the lights
that are draped throughout
Amsterdam, dancing on the waters
of the canals at night-time.
# My, my, my, my...
# Giving you my heart
because I love you... #
Every Christmas,
the city hosts a light festival
with installations
dotted along the watery way.
# Please give your
loving heart to me
# And say we'll never part... #
For me, the magic happens
the further I travel
through the canals.
The 21st century seems to melt away,
and the golden age of Amsterdam
shimmers into view.
# I'm never lonely
# Whenever you are in sight
# I know, I know, I know
I love you... #
And it's treasure from Dutch waters
that inspires my next recipe.
The Dutch do love their mussels,
although it is true
that their neighbours the Belgians
unfairly get more credit for them.
So I am cooking my Dutch mussels,
which actually are so called
for the beer I cook them in.
And another Dutch touch,
if we may call it that,
is to partner the mussels
with fennel.
It's a classic combination
for a reason, and it's wonderful
the way that gentle aniseed
flavour just permeates the broth
like a whisper.
Just remove the core of each half
and then cut them thinly.
My detritus bowl. I'll keep all the
offcuts for soup or stock later.
And before I had mussels in beer
for the first time,
I really worried that the bitterness
would be too savage.
But the key
is to cook them in butter.
But then the key to so much
in life, I find, is butter.
And once the butter is melted,
in goes the fennel.
Going to give it a bit of a stir.
Now, I'm not frying the fennel
in butter so much as braising it.
And to aid that, I'm just going to
give it a teeny little bit of time
with a lid on.
Now, I have to say, fennel-phobes,
you can just use shallots
in place of the fennel.
I, however, am a fennel-phile,
so I'm punching up the aniseed
element with some dill.
I'm adding the feathery fronds
to the mussels later,
but now I'm just chopping
some of the stalks.
No point wasting all that flavour.
And I have some chives to chop.
Now a bit of a splosh
of my Dutch beer.
You can use any lager.
A bit of garlic.
And my herbage.
The chives, dill stalks
and some parsley.
Turn this up a bit now.
More beer, I feel.
So all that remains
to go into this pan
are the mussels.
And they are waiting for me
under their Amsterdam houses.
I've soaked these mussels
for 15 minutes in cold water,
and then after I drained them,
I went through them one by one,
making sure they were all closed.
If any mussels stay open
at this stage, chuck 'em.
OK, I'm ready for them to go in,
these beautiful,
beautiful creatures.
This treasure.
Black gold,
mussels are often called
in the Netherlands.
I'll give it a go.
Zwarte goud.
So, lid on,
so the mussels steam open.
I mean, it takes hardly any time.
And in a few minutes, the heat
will make the mussels gape open
to reveal
that golden treasure inside.
And just to encourage the mussels,
I give the pan a shake and a shimmy
every now and again.
Mm. A quick beer and fennel facial.
And they are ready for me.
I am more than ready for them.
In they go.
So I'm looking as I go,
because any mussels at this stage
which don't open, you discard them.
These are all behaving beautifully.
And now it's time for the fabulous
fennel, butter and beer broth.
So some chives, parsley and dill
stalks went on at the beginning.
And now chives and parsley again.
It's like a salad
on top of my mussels.
And these beautiful fronds of dill.
Mm.
Don't mind me.
Good evening, madam.
Good evening to you.
What can I do you for tonight?
Oh, well, I think it should be
choice of the house, don't you?
Oh, that looks perfect.
And I haven't even tasted it yet,
but I can tell.
Thank you very much.
Merry Christmas.
Merry Christmas.
Mm.
That is heaven.
Whenever I come to Amsterdam,
I just have to head out
for some bitterballen.
These crispy, crunchy, deep-fried
croquettes are the best bar snack.
I mean, I wouldn't
make them at home.
But there's a real difference
between the food you go out for
and the food you make at home,
especially at this time of year.
You know, of course
I want the food to have impact,
but I want it to
be unstressful to make.
And actually, you could say
that the bar has inspired
my party pud as well,
because one of its chief
ingredients is advocaat.
At Christmas-time especially, I find
this kind of assembly job number,
especially one
that you can do in advance,
a complete life-saver.
It's a divine pile-up of rich, boozy
cream and squidgy gingerbread,
and I am going to get started
with the rich, boozy cream.
I've already got
some mascarpone in here,
and to that I am adding
some double cream.
I did say it was rich.
Some icing sugar, two tablespoons.
Not that we're counting.
And to augment the eggy-ness of
the advocaat, some custard powder.
I'm going to set this a-whirring,
just on low at first
to combine everything.
A little faster.
And now I can pour in
my yolk-yellow advocaat.
I just need to whisk the cream
until it's aerated,
softly whipped and voluminous.
And we're there.
Not too strenuous so far, I think.
So although I'm making this today,
I have a little final touch
tomorrow. And for that...
..I need to reserve
some of the boozy cream.
It's very tempting just to start
inhaling it now, to be honest.
And into the cream I'm using now,
I want some crystallised ginger.
My favourite.
And another Christmassy taste,
chopped dried figs.
And I have some macadamias
in my nut-bashing bag.
Quick bash, very useful.
We all need an outlet at Christmas.
And finally, some folding.
So this is the rich, boozy cream,
and now I have my squidgy
gingerbread to attend to.
I know I've got a comedy amount
of gingerbread, but I've got a lot
of layering up to do.
Start with the foundation.
First floor here.
Amsterdam abounds in gingerbread
this time of year, as do we.
But the one I recommend going for
is the sticky kind, much in the
style of a Jamaica ginger cake.
And in this sort of gingerbread,
it's the top of it
that's particularly sticky.
So when I slice it up and put it
in the tin, I keep those bits
away from the edges
so they're facing inwards.
Just helps with
the un-moulding later.
I mean, I can't say it really
makes a crucial difference,
but it makes me feel like
I'm establishing some sort of order.
That's a ground floor done.
Creamy filling
is applied in two layers,
so layer one coming up.
Delicate, a delicate dollop.
And now I just want to smooth
this layer of nubbly cream.
I love the way you can feel
that smooth, voluptuous cream.
And there's nubbly bits of chewy
ginger fig and crunchy macadamia.
I just have a thing
about layering up.
I find it calming and celebratory
at the same time.
I suppose what it is
is that it's entirely stress-free,
but at the same time I feel
I'm building to a sense of occasion.
Right, the final layer
of nubbly cream.
# I'd like you for Christmas
# Please make my wish come true
# Because I'd trim trees... #
And then the final layer
of gingerbread,
and then it's into the frigo
till tomorrow.
# If I knew you'd be mine... #
And then when I un-mould it,
I'm going to swirl that smooth
reserve cream all over the top
and then shower it
with Dutch chocolate sprinkles.
# If old Saint Nick comes through
# And he remembers
# That I'd like you for Christmas
# New Year's, Easter too
# She'd like you for Christmas... #
I so love it when the air
is crisp and frosty.
It really feels like
proper Christmas.
# Cos she'd trim trees
# And deck the hallways... #
But I, however,
need to get my skates on
and do a little late-night prep
for the party tomorrow.
# For always...
# I won't be blue... #
Without getting into the vexed
complexities of colonial history,
Indonesian food plays a vital part
in the cultural life of Amsterdam,
and I'm celebrating that with
an Indonesian-inspired biryani.
And I started off by putting some
chicken thighs in a spicy marinade.
And the heart of that marinade
is this wonderful
Indonesian sambal oelek.
It's a punchy, vinegary
chilli sauce.
And you could use a similar one,
but I absolutely adore this.
And its significant other
in my marinade
is kecap manis,
which is an Indonesian sweet soy
sauce with a really treacly texture.
And it's an extraordinarily
easy marinade to make.
I add both sambal oelek
and kecap manis to plain yoghurt.
Next comes sharp tamarind paste.
Followed by pungent
garlic and ginger.
Then I add the Christmassy warmth
of cinnamon and piney cardamom...
..and finally turmeric, which
strikes a golden note of its own
and helps the other spices
chime better together.
I give it a good stir until I have
a uniformly vibrant gloop
and add chicken thighs, swiping them
in the spice yoghurt as I go.
Now, these chicken thighs have
the bone in but the skin removed,
and you do need to use
bone-in chicken thighs.
Waiting and ready to receive them
is a pan full of soft sweet onions.
And I often make a vegan version
using butternut squash
and coconut milk yoghurt.
Once all the chicken thighs
are in the pan, I turn up the heat
and clamp on the lid to give them
about 15 minutes at a fast simmer
before leaving them to cook
uncovered for half an hour or so.
This also helps the sauce
to reduce and intensify.
With the chicken cooked in a thick
and scant sauce, I leave it to cool,
and you could debone the chicken
at this stage, actually,
and then leave it overnight
in the fridge.
It will be so tender
and full of flavour
when it meets the rice tomorrow.
And it just happens to be
the perfect time
to make the rujak dressing
for my pineapple plus salad.
It's easy-peasy.
For this,
I stir brown sugar into some water,
bring it to the boil
and let it bubble.
To the now caramelly liquid
I add a hit of lime juice and
some fermented shrimp paste,
full of rich funkiness,
though you could use miso.
And finally I drop in
some bird's eye chillies.
So that's done.
And it can sit happily
until the party tomorrow.
In the brisk morning light,
I need to make one more stop
for an essential ingredient
for proper party pleasure.
And, besides, my liquorice
box needs a restock.
BELL TINKLES
Hello. Hello.
Oh, what treasure!
Hello, welcome.
I have over 100 different
kinds of liquorice.
Now, what should I try first?
They start very sweet with fruit.
Or we have very salty
with herb flavours.
Salty for me, please. Salty?
May I try one, please?
There you go.Thank you.
Mm! It's quite intense.
This is salmiak inside, which is
ammonium chloride.That's strong!
SHE LAUGHS
I love the look of those.
There you go.Perfect. Thank you.
You're welcome.
Here you go.Thank you.
And don't forget...
I would have done.
Thank you very much. You're welcome.
Enjoy.I will.
It would be an absolute
abomination to go to Amsterdam
and not load up on liquorice.
They take it very seriously there.
They call it drop.
And I take it very seriously, too.
I have this new addition to my
collection, and I just love them.
Let's see. I'm going to have
to use my arm, you know,
to do a little
architectural display.
Look, they are little liquorice
Amsterdam canal houses.
I can't get enough of them.
So there they are.
A little canal view that I'm
modelling myself at no extra cost.
Now, this is a new
essential in my life.
It's my flask of liquorice liqueur,
full of the divinely salty Dutch
dynamite I found in Amsterdam.
It could come in useful the
morning after the night before.
Now, these caramel liquorice logs,
I think of them rather like tonally
refined liquorice allsorts.
So, deep, dark liquorice
inside and, on the outside,
a rather butterscotchy coating.
Now, this is some liquorice
powder that I have acquired -
I'm very happy with it.
The Dutch liquorice powder seems
to be much more mellow and indeed
paler than most liquorice
powders I've ever encountered.
And I find that it has a sort of
gorgeous, almost toffee-ish-ness
about it that makes it sort of
understandable, even enjoyable,
by people who don't
think of themselves
as natural liquorice lovers.
Anyway, I'm counting on that
because it is the key ingredient
for the liquorice nuts I'm serving
at the beginning of the party.
To make them, I simply add
a teaspoon of liquorice powder to
30g of melted unsalted butter,
followed by two teaspoons
of brown sugar.
Then I tip in 400g of mixed nuts
that I've toasted briefly
and stir to coat and,
to finish them off,
I sprinkle them with sea
salt and chopped rosemary.
With the guests due to arrive soon,
I should get on and cook the rice
for my Indonesian-inspired biryani.
And to make the rice
gorgeously aromatic,
I scent the water
it's going to cook in with a few
bruised cardamom pods, a couple
of cinnamon sticks, some beautiful
star anise and cloves.
Next I drop in fried coconut
and some pink peppercorns that look
like berries in the snow.
Then I pour in two
litres of water...
..I add salt, followed
by a little lime juice
and some toasty sesame oil,
before letting it come to the boil,
infusing gloriously as it does so.
I've soaked 600g of basmati rice
for 30 minutes, then drained it,
and I add it gradually
to the boiling water,
cooking it just for two
minutes with the lid on.
When it's ready, you'll be able
to break up a grain of rice
rolled in your fingers.
I've reheated the chicken I
cooked yesterday and it is now
going to be so incredibly
tender and full of flavour.
The aromatic rice has been cooked
and drained and now all that remains
to be done is my
favourite activity -
layering up.
I'm adding a little bit
of sesame oil to the pan.
This will help stop the rice
from sticking, but it will also
give you some wonderful
crispy bits from the bottom.
So half the rice in now.
And I leave all those
bits and pieces in it.
Before I add the chicken
to the rice, I have some
important scattering to do.
First, some toasted cumin seeds.
"Desicrated" coconut.
That's what we call it at home.
And some dry cranberries.
Now, I can't pretend that
cranberries are remotely Indonesian,
but it is Christmas.
Now it's the turn of the chicken.
Just...
I'm going to sit the pieces
on top of the rice.
And what happens as the biryani
steams is that the juices
from the chicken and the sauce
drip into the rice below,
infusing it with flavour.
And this is what makes a biryani
so delicate, so perfumed -
such a special feast.
My final layer, bar the sprinklings.
Trying to spoon it in lightly...
..to cover the chicken.
And again the scattering.
Just like you have to
treat children the same,
the top layer of rice gets the
same treatment as the bottom.
So toasted cumin seeds,
the rest of the coconut.
Just a light snowfall.
And, finally, the remaining
dried cranberries.
I cover the pan with foil to get
a tight seal before clamping
the lid back on
and I leave it to steam
for about 40 minutes.
Then, off the heat, I simply replace
the foil with a tea towel, put
the lid back on again and leave
it till I'm ready to serve.
And while it's doing its thing,
I'd better get myself ready.
# Merry Christmas, baby! #
Right, I'm coming in.
I have a drink.
I'm not going to pour it.
My Christmas cup is perfect
for parties, not least
because it's made in jugfuls
rather than mixed by the glass.
So, for each bottle of fizzy wine,
you need 125ml of cherry brandy
and half a litre of ginger ale.
A winning combo of
sparkle and spice.
Darling?
Just a few last-minute
touches needed.
My rujak dressing is waiting for me
and I've also got a bowl of
pineapple and cucumber chunks,
ready to be anointed.
I've also steeped some thinly sliced
red onion in lime juice, and I add
these now pink pickled onions
to the salad, along with a tumble
of pomegranate seeds and some
finely sliced fresh mint. Heaven!
It's back to my biryani,
which has been steamed
to tender perfection.
I have a little something extra
for my biryani. When I cooked
the chicken thighs,
they were skinless, and that's
because I removed the skin
and whopped them at max
in the air fryer...
..to make chicken crackling
to sprinkle over the top.
MUSIC: It May Be Winter Outside
by Love Unlimited
Mm!
# When the temperature dips... #
Here, come on!
Chicken biryani.
# His tender fingertips
# Knows just how
to keep me warm... #
How was that?
# It may be zero degrees
# With the snow falling down... #
Yes, I must.
# But I've got warm and tender love
# Just as long as he's around
# It may be winter outside
# But in my heart it's spring
# How much joy
and pleasure, baby... #
Much as I love eating,
I think I might love
feeding people even more.
Talking of which, I have
pudding to attend to -
just a few final flourishes.
I've got the reserved
advocaat cream, ready...
..to be swirled on top...
..of my no-bake advocaat
and ginger cake.
# I try to have a white Christmas
# There's always something
that makes it blue
# Try to have a white Christmas... #
This is so gorgeous.
# There's always something
that turns it blue
# Maybe I'm asking for a fall
# Just what I wish for
don't come true... #
Tulip and cheese?
# Happy holidays, baby... #
Mm!
# I hope
# You have
# A merry Christmas
# And may all
# Your seasons
# Be bright
# Oh, yeah
# And I wish
# Santa brings you... #
Hi. Welcome.
Oh, am I glad to be here!
Right, my need is great.
All right.So I think this
means the Parmesan fries
with spicy mayonnaise.
Spicy-spicy. Yes.
# I want to spend a merry
# Merry Christmas with you... #
Oh!
That's a beautiful sight and noise!
# All the lovely things
you want him to
# But most of all
# Most of all I want
to spend Christmas... #
Ah! Much needed - the
post-carousing carb cure.
# All by your side
# Most of all
# I want to spend Christmas
# With you. #