Nieuwjaarsrolletjes

On the last afternoon of the year, the house changes sound. Not church bells yet, not fireworks, but the dry little click of the wafer iron closing at the kitchen table. In my grandmother's second notebook the recipe appears in a borrowed hand, because even a coastal woman knew when a tradition belonged farther east: Groningen, Drenthe, Twente, the parts of the Netherlands where New Year is not properly allowed in until the iron has worked.

Nieuwjaarsrolletje means exactly what it says, a little roll for the New Year. But the older cousin's name, kniepertje, does the philologist's work. It is usually linked with knijpen, to pinch, because batter is squeezed between two hot patterned plates. The old-year wafer is often served flat, the year already opened and known; on January 1 it is rolled, because the year ahead is still closed around its sweetness. Dutch symbolism likes to arrive as a biscuit. For obvious reasons.

But let me tell you a secret: the cream is not the point. It is lovely, yes, and children approve of it with troubling speed, but the point is timing. Roll the wafer the second it leaves the iron, before sugar and butter stiffen into memory. Wait half a minute and it cracks, and the new year, like most new years, refuses to be corrected.

So we keep it simple. Hou het altijd simpel, always keep it simple. A thin batter, a hot iron, a wooden handle or dowel waiting beside you, and no wandering away. Fill them just before serving, or leave some empty for the people who know that crispness is its own celebration.