
Chef Joost
Bokkenpootjestaart
Goat-hoof biscuits made into a whole taart: almond meringue, chocolate, advocaat, and cream, the Dutch bakery counter quietly becoming a dinner-party secret.
A cooking platform built around craft, culture, and the stories behind what we eat.

Created by
Kaneelkussentjes are little cinnamon pillows from the old sweet shop jar, proof that Dutch thrift could turn sugar, spice, and sharp fingers into a holiday treasure.
The name already tells you almost everything: kaneel is cinnamon, kussentjes are little pillows. Not grand pillows, mind you. Small ones. The Dutch language is fond of making things modest just when they are most charming, and these sweets are exactly that: little amber cushions of boiled sugar, sharp with cinnamon, the kind that lived in glass jars behind the counter of an old snoepwinkel, a sweet shop, where children spent coins slowly and with the seriousness of bankers.
But let me tell you a secret. These are not only children's sweets. Cinnamon in the Dutch kitchen is never innocent. It smells of speculaas, apple pie, rice pudding, Sinterklaas, and the ships that made such spices ordinary in a country that still pretended to be frugal. Exuberant cookery in a frugal country. A kaneelkussentje is the VOC spice trade reduced to one hard little sweet you can keep in your coat pocket.
The method is simple, but hot sugar asks for respect. You cook sugar, glucose, and water until the syrup reaches hard crack, then work quickly while it is still pliable enough to pull into ropes and snip into cushions. Hou het altijd simpel, always keep it simple: measure the temperature, oil the scissors, do not touch the syrup with bare fingers, and let the little pillows cool before you pretend patience was easy.
Hard-boiled sugar sweets became common in the Netherlands in the nineteenth century as refined beet sugar grew cheaper and confectioners filled glass shop jars with kussentjes, zuurtjes, and other small candies sold by weight. Cinnamon had entered everyday Dutch baking and sweet-making through the seventeenth-century spice trade, especially after the VOC made Ceylon cinnamon and related spices familiar to urban households. Kaneelkussentjes preserve that meeting of shopkeeping thrift and spice-route luxury: inexpensive sugar shaped into a sweet that still tastes of a much wider world.
Quantity
300g
Quantity
100g
Quantity
120ml
Quantity
1/4 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1/4 teaspoon oil or 1 teaspoon extract
Quantity
1/8 teaspoon
Quantity
1 to 2 drops
Quantity
1 tablespoon
for scissors and gloves
Quantity
2 tablespoons
for dusting
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| granulated sugar | 300g |
| glucose syrup or light corn syrup | 100g |
| water | 120ml |
| cream of tartar | 1/4 teaspoon |
| ground cinnamon | 1 teaspoon |
| cinnamon oil or strong cinnamon extract | 1/4 teaspoon oil or 1 teaspoon extract |
| fine salt | 1/8 teaspoon |
| red or amber food colouring (optional) | 1 to 2 drops |
| neutral oilfor scissors and gloves | 1 tablespoon |
| icing sugarfor dusting | 2 tablespoons |
Line a baking tray with a silicone mat or lightly oiled baking paper. Oil a pair of sturdy kitchen scissors and, if you have them, wear thin heatproof gloves with a little oil rubbed over the fingertips. Once sugar reaches the right stage it waits for no scholar, no child, and no misplaced scissors.
Put the sugar, glucose syrup, water, and cream of tartar into a heavy saucepan. Stir only until the sugar is wet, then bring it to a steady boil over medium heat. Clip on a sugar thermometer and cook without stirring until the syrup reaches 150C, the hard-crack stage.
Take the pan off the heat. Stir in the ground cinnamon, cinnamon oil or extract, salt, and colouring if using. It will bubble fiercely for a moment, so keep your face and hands clear. Stir just long enough to spread the cinnamon through the syrup; too much fuss now cools the candy before you can shape it.
Pour the syrup onto the prepared tray and let it sit for one to two minutes, until the edges are thick enough to lift with an oiled spatula. Fold the edges toward the centre again and again, gently, until the mass is glossy, still flexible, and just cool enough to handle with protected hands.
Divide the warm candy into two or three pieces and roll each one into a rope about 1.5 centimetres thick. Work quickly but calmly. If a rope firms up too fast, set the tray in a very low oven for a minute or two to soften it again; history forgives reheating better than burnt fingers.
Use the oiled scissors to snip the ropes into small cushions, about 1.5 centimetres long. Each cut pinches the ends slightly, giving the kussentjes their pillow shape. Drop them apart on the tray so they don't glue themselves into one long cinnamon argument.
Let the candies cool completely until hard. Dust very lightly with icing sugar and shake off the excess. The sugar keeps them from sticking in the jar, but do not bury them in it; you want cinnamon first, powder second.
1 serving (about 5g)
Culinary guides, cultural storytelling, and the editorial depth that makes cooking meaningful.
Discover Culinary Explorer
Chef Joost
Goat-hoof biscuits made into a whole taart: almond meringue, chocolate, advocaat, and cream, the Dutch bakery counter quietly becoming a dinner-party secret.

Chef Joost
Borstplaat began as sugar for the chest and ended as Sinterklaas candy: a pale slab of cream, crystals, and winter thrift that sets before you can change your mind.

Chef Joost
Drop is the Dutch national argument in miniature: sweet, salty, soft, hard, and medicinal at the edges, a black little candy that carries zoethout from apothecary jars to every coat pocket.

Chef Joost
The name means little Hops, and inside that modest sweet is The Hague around 1800: coffee, cream, sugar, a forgetful baron, and Dutch thrift turning accident into habit.