Anijsmelk

In my grandmother's second notebook, between pancakes and a pudding that never quite set, there is a line so short it almost disappears: melk, anijs, klontje boter. Milk, anise, knob of butter. That was enough. Some recipes are written for strangers; this one was written for a house that already knew the weather.

But let me tell you a secret. Anijsmelk looks like nothing, just a pale cup held between two hands, and yet it carries half the Dutch nursery with it. The name already tells you the honest truth: anijs is anise, melk is milk. No grand disguise. The seed came to Dutch kitchens as both spice and household remedy, the same sweet liquorice scent that appears on beschuit met muisjes, rusks with aniseed sprinkles, when a child is born. At night, it softened milk into something almost ceremonial.

The pressed anijsblokje, the little anise block, is the practical Dutch answer to a longer infusion: sugar and anise held together until hot milk persuades them apart. The butter is older kitchen wisdom, not luxury. It rounds the edge of the anise, gives the milk a faint golden gloss, and makes the cup feel sustaining after the walk home from ice. Hou het altijd simpel. Heat the milk gently, melt the block completely, whisk in the butter, and stop before the milk boils hard. Scalded milk tells on you immediately.