
Chef Joost
Advocaat (Dutch Egg Liqueur)
Advocaat is the Dutch liqueur you eat with a spoon: brandewijn, yolks and sugar turned into a glossy Easter glass, with a hat of slagroom and no apology.
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The bishop's red wine, scented with orange and clove, belongs to Pakjesavond as surely as pepernoten: a small pot of spice-route history passed between cold hands.
On Pakjesavond, package evening, a Dutch house learns to smell before it speaks. The shoes are near the door, the pepernoten have rolled under a chair, and somewhere a pan of red wine holds orange peel, clove, and cinnamon at the edge of a simmer. In my grandmother's second notebook, the recipe takes less room than a shopping list. That is proper. The drink is not meant to impress the room; it is meant to warm the hands that have just come in from December dark.
The name already tells you, provided you listen in Dutch. Bisschop is bishop, wijn is wine, and the bishop at the table is Sinterklaas, Saint Nicholas of Myra, with his mitre and red cloak and the annual talent for turning grown adults into children with bad handwriting. But let me tell you a secret: this is also a spice-route drink hiding in plain sight. Cinnamon and clove, the same perfumes that make speculaas a cargo manifest in biscuit form, slip into an ordinary bottle of red wine and make it festive without making it grand.
The method is a lesson in restraint. Wine is not soup, so don't boil it. Warm it until the surface shines and the spices open, then let it sit covered so the orange gives its oil and not its bitterness. Hou het altijd simpel, always keep it simple: a modest red, a real orange, whole spices, and enough sugar to soften the edge. Then ladle it into small glasses and let the bishop do his quiet work.
Bisschopswijn belongs to the Dutch Sinterklaas season, especially Pakjesavond on 5 December, the evening before the feast of Saint Nicholas on 6 December. Its name is literal Dutch, bishop's wine, and points to Nicholas of Myra, the fourth-century bishop whose feast became one of the Low Countries' major winter household celebrations. The drink sits within the broader European family of spiced hot wines and bishop punches, but the Dutch version keeps close to orange, clove, and cinnamon, the same spice-trade household perfumes that season speculaas.
Quantity
750ml
Quantity
1
scrubbed
Quantity
8
Quantity
1
Quantity
1 whole
Quantity
2 to 3 tablespoons
Quantity
1 wide strip
yellow peel only
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| soft dry red wine | 750ml |
| unwaxed orangescrubbed | 1 |
| whole cloves | 8 |
| cinnamon stick | 1 |
| star anise | 1 whole |
| dark basterdsuiker or light brown sugar | 2 to 3 tablespoons |
| lemon peel (optional)yellow peel only | 1 wide strip |
Use a vegetable peeler to take two wide strips of orange zest, leaving the white pith behind. Cut the orange in half, juice one half, and slice the other half into thin rounds. Press the cloves into one orange round or into a strip of peel so they are easy to lift out later; cloves are generous at first and bossy if forgotten.
Pour the wine into a medium heavy saucepan and add the orange juice, orange zest, clove-studded orange, cinnamon stick, star anise, sugar, and lemon peel if using. Warm over low heat for 10 to 12 minutes, until tiny bubbles gather at the edge and the surface looks glossy. Keep it below a boil, around 70C if you use a thermometer. Boiled wine tastes tired, and tired wine has no place at a feast.
Turn off the heat, cover the pan, and let the wine stand for 10 minutes. Taste it. Add the third tablespoon of sugar only if the wine still feels sharp, because bisschopswijn should be rounded, not syrupy. The spices should speak clearly, not shout across the table.
Strain the wine into a warm jug or ladle it directly into small heatproof glasses. Add a fresh orange slice or return one of the spiced slices to each glass if you like the look of it. Serve at once, while the glass still warms your palms and the room remembers why winter invented gatherings.
1 serving (about 130g)
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