Spritsen

In my grandmother's second notebook, the spritsen recipe is written in the practical handwriting of a woman who had no patience for decorative fuss. Butter. Sugar. Flour. A little egg. Press through the spuitzak, the piping bag, and stop talking. This is how Dutch baking often works: the grandeur hides in restraint.

The name already tells you what to do. Spritsen belongs to the same family as German Spritzgeback, from spritzen, to squirt or pipe. No mystery, no romance invented after the fact. The dough is not rolled, not stamped, not cut into clever shapes. It is pressed out in ridged strips or commas, and those ridges matter because they give the butter somewhere to crisp.

But let me tell you a secret. A good sprits is not a hard biscuit. It should break cleanly at the edge, then soften into butter and sugar almost before you've finished deciding whether to take another. The trick is not ambition, it is temperature: soft butter for piping, rested dough if the kitchen is warm, and an oven hot enough to set the ridges before the cookie slumps into a puddle of good intentions.

Hou het altijd simpel, always keep it simple. Use real butter, pipe generously, bake to pale gold with darker ridges, and let the tin do its old Dutch work. Spritsen keep beautifully, which is why they belong to coffee tables, visiting afternoons, and the quiet confidence of a house that always has something to offer.