
Chef Joost
Beschuit met Muisjes
The airy Dutch rusk sold in rolls of thirteen, twice baked until crisp, then buttered and crowned with sugared aniseed for the birth of a child.
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A soft Dutch loaf so crowded with krenten, currants, and raisins that every slice looks almost reckless, made for butter, toasting, and the quiet argument that frugal bread can still be generous.
In my grandmother's second notebook, krentenbrood sits on a page worn at the lower corner, the sort of page you turn with flour still on your thumb. It wasn't the ceremonial bread. That honour went to kerststol, Christmas bread with its almond heart, or to the long Twentse krentenwegge carried to births and weddings in Twente. Krentenbrood was quieter: Saturday breakfast, a slice after school, the heel toasted the next day and buttered while the currants woke up again.
The name already tells you the secret, but in a modest voice. Krenten are currants, and krent carries the old memory of Corinthe, Corinth, the Mediterranean trade name for the small dried grapes that travelled north until a Dutch baker could stir them into a rainy-morning dough without calling it grand. But let me tell you a secret: the world calls the Dutch frugal as if that ends the matter. It is exactly frugality that teaches you to notice generosity, and this loaf is so full of fruit that bakers joke the krenten were shot into it with a rifle.
What I want from you is not complicated bread-making. Hou het altijd simpel, always keep it simple. Soak the currants and raisins so they don't steal moisture from the dough, dry them well so the crumb doesn't go muddy, and knead the dough before the fruit goes in, because little dried grapes are charming at the table and badly behaved in gluten. Then let time do what time does. A dish without its story is half a meal, and this one tastes best sliced thick, toasted, and put within reach of the butter knife.
The Dutch krent shares its lineage with English currant: both come from raisins de Corinthe, raisins of Corinth, the medieval trade name for the small dried grapes later associated with the Ionian islands, especially Zakynthos. Dried currants and raisins were established imports in the Low Countries by the late sixteenth century and entered breads at the prosperous end of household baking, with regional relatives such as the long Twentse krentenwegge served at births and weddings. Plain krentenbrood became the everyday bakery version: no almond paste, no feast-day decoration, just enough enriched dough to hold a near-reckless quantity of fruit.
Quantity
300g
Quantity
150g
Quantity
50g
finely diced
Quantity
as needed
for soaking
Quantity
500g
Quantity
7g
Quantity
50g
Quantity
8g
Quantity
1 teaspoon
finely grated
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
Quantity
250ml
lukewarm
Quantity
1 large
Quantity
75g
softened
Quantity
1 tablespoon
for brushing
Quantity
as needed
for greasing, brushing, and serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| currants (krenten) | 300g |
| raisins | 150g |
| candied citrus peel (sukade) (optional)finely diced | 50g |
| lukewarm waterfor soaking | as needed |
| bread flour | 500g |
| instant yeast | 7g |
| light brown basterdsuiker or light brown sugar | 50g |
| fine sea salt | 8g |
| lemon zestfinely grated | 1 teaspoon |
| ground cinnamon | 1/2 teaspoon |
| whole milklukewarm | 250ml |
| egg | 1 large |
| unsalted buttersoftened | 75g |
| milkfor brushing | 1 tablespoon |
| butterfor greasing, brushing, and serving | as needed |
Put the currants and raisins in a bowl and cover them with lukewarm water for 20 minutes. Drain them well, then spread them on a clean tea towel and pat them dry. This looks fussy until you skip it once: dry fruit steals water from the dough, wet fruit makes the crumb heavy and smeared. The middle road is the Dutch road.
In a large bowl, mix the flour, yeast, sugar, salt, lemon zest, and cinnamon. Add the lukewarm milk and egg, then mix to a rough dough. Knead for 5 minutes, add the softened butter in pieces, and knead another 8 to 10 minutes until the dough is soft, elastic, and just a little tacky. It should pull away from the bowl or counter without leaving half itself behind.
Flatten the dough slightly, scatter over the dried currants, raisins, and the sukade if using, then fold and knead gently until the fruit is spread through the dough. At first it will look like too much fruit. Good. Krentenbrood with shy fruit is a misunderstanding. Keep folding and turning until the dough has accepted most of it, then press any escapees back in with your fingers.
Place the dough in a lightly buttered bowl, cover it, and leave it somewhere warm for 60 to 90 minutes, until visibly swollen and nearly doubled. A fruit-heavy dough rises more slowly than plain bread, for obvious reasons: it is carrying luggage. Wait for the dough to look alive and puffy rather than watching the clock like a tax inspector.
Butter a 30cm loaf tin. Turn the dough out, press it gently into a rectangle, and roll it into a snug log. Place it seam-side down in the tin and tuck any exposed currants back under the surface, because fruit left proud on top can scorch before the bread is done. Cover and prove for 45 to 60 minutes, until the loaf domes over the tin and a fingertip leaves a slow, soft dent.
Heat the oven to 180C. Brush the top with the tablespoon of milk and bake for 35 to 40 minutes, until the crust is deep golden brown and the loaf sounds hollow when tapped underneath. If the top darkens too fast, lay foil loosely over it for the last 10 minutes. Brush the hot crust with a little butter for softness, then cool on a rack for at least 45 minutes before slicing. Cut too soon and the fruit drags the crumb into paste; patience gives you clean, proud slices.
1 serving (about 115g)
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