Watergruwel (Krentjebrij)

In my grandmother's second notebook, watergruwel sits among the modest dishes with the dangerous names. It looks like something a serious aunt would prescribe for moral improvement: barley, water, dried currants, a little juice. Then it chills, turns deep crimson, and becomes the sort of pudding children remember while pretending they don't.

The name already tells you why this dish needs defending. Gruwel belongs to the old family of gruel, grain cooked soft in liquid, not to the Dutch gruwel that now means horror or abomination, though I admit the misunderstanding has done no favors at the table. In the north they often call it krentjebrij, currant porridge, which is kinder and more accurate, but less funny. But let me tell you a secret: many of the best Dutch dishes begin by sounding poorer than they are.

This is frugal food with a bright shirt on. Pearl barley gives the body, dried fruit gives chew and sweetness, red-currant juice gives that sharp Dutch fruit-acid that keeps the pudding from becoming dull. The method asks for almost nothing theatrical. Simmer until the barley is tender, add the berry juices late so their color stays vivid, sweeten only after the fruit has spoken, and chill it properly. Hou het altijd simpel, always keep it simple. A cold bowl, a spoonful of cream, and the old name has argued itself innocent.