Nigella's Amsterdam Christmas (2023)

[bunniefuu]

Hang all the mistletoe

♪ I'm gonna get

to know you better

♪ This Christmas

♪ And as we trim the tree

♪ How much fun it's gonna be

together

♪ This Christmas

♪ Fireside is blazing bright

♪ And we're carolling

through the night, yeah

♪ Yeah, this Christmas will be, oh

♪ A very special Christmas

♪ Oh, yeah, for me

♪ Yeah... ♪

Right, I think

we'll kick things off

with a little Christmas

c*ck, don't you?

And what a c*ck!

The Amsterdamage.

You know it makes sense.

What, you mean you don't have

a c*ck shaker about your person

at all times?

First, load up with ice.

And then it's an equal part

of three things.

Dry, white vermouth.

And then Triple Sec Cointreau,

any orange liqueur.

And Old Genever.

Now Genever, and I'm saying it

in the English way,

does mean juniper in Dutch and

Genever is often called Dutch gin,

but, actually, it doesn't taste

enormously like gin, Old Genever.

It's more like vodka with a splash

of malt whisky in it.

Right, in it goes.

Little thing more.

Some orange bitters.

Something very Christmassy

about orange.

And then, frankly,

I just shake it all about.

And Bob's your Dutch uncle.

♪ This Christmas

♪ Fireside is blazing bright

♪ And we're carolling

through the night, yeah

♪ Yeah, this Christmas will be, oh

♪ A very special Christmas

♪ Oh, yeah, for me

♪ Yeah... ♪

Prost!

♪ Yeah, yeah

♪ Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,

yeah, yeah, yeah

♪ This Christmas... ♪

I first came to Amsterdam

at this time of year

about half a lifetime ago, and

I was just entranced by it,

and I still am.

There's something so magical

about the evocation of the season,

the way the light is so distinct

and the way it plays on the water.

Well, you can see why this is known

as the Venice of the North.

And although it's a really vibrant,

modern city, I always feel

the bustle of the past here.

Christmas is celebrated

very differently in the Netherlands.

And yet, there's something

about their baking tradition

that speaks so eloquently to us

at this time of year.

There's so much gingerbread

of various sorts, but there's

a particular pastry that they make

from about end of November onwards

that I've really

fallen in love with.

It's called banket, or

banketstaaf, and effectively,

it's like a long log of almond paste

wrapped in puff pastry.

Now, in the Netherlands,

it is served warm still and cut

into lengths, short lengths.

Now I've taken some liberties.

I add some flaked almonds -

so far, so normal -

and a bit of zingy glace icing.

But where I really differ is

I cut the banketstaaf

into short lengths before baking.

And not only because this way

they look like sweet sausage rolls,

but also because what you get,

these ends where they meet the heat

of the oven, is a bit of chewy

macaroon and it is sensational.

Now, these are really simple to

make, but it is a two-stage affair

and the first stage is simply

making the almond paste.

To do this, blitz 250g each

of blanched almonds and caster sugar

till finely ground.

Grate in the zest of a lemon.

Add a fragrant drop of rose-water.

And a quarter-teaspoon of salt.

Then crack in an egg and mix again

till you have a grainy paste.

Tip out and swodge the sticky

mixture together in your hands.

And then, on a piece

of baking parchment,

form roughly into

a long sausage shape.

Now curl the baking parchment

over the paste

and, as if it were a rolling pin,

place the flat of your hands gently

over it and roll up and down

until you have a fairly slender log.

Finally, put it in the fridge

to rest.

Right, so, the almond paste is

chilled, my puff pastry is thawed

and I am ready to roll.

But before I encase my

almond paste log in pastry,

I have one important thing

to say to you.

May all your Christmas wishes

come true.

I love my magic wand.

So, I can unfurl the pastry.

Let's just do it this way.

Very conveniently,

it is exactly the right length

for my almond paste log.

Sort of cutting it in half.

Just imagine it is properly in half.

Let's just wrap this up again.

All right.

And...

This should fit pretty much

exactly lengthwise.

It will need a bit of trimming,

but that's all right.

Let's do this here.

Ah, it's a pretty neat fit.

And now, I'm just going to

paint the egg wash

down the exposed area

of the puff pastry

to help it stick

to the almond log.

This side too.

A bit of daubing.

So, the way I cover it is just

tenderly lift up this end,

the far side of the pastry,

and then roll it towards me.

Just going to take off excess flour.

Maybe I got carried away

with my magic wand.

So at this stage, it is very much

banketstaaf.

I am now going to turn it

into banketstaaf stukjes,

my banket bars, which is not hard.

I want to cut this into pieces

of about five centimetres,

which for this length

should be eight pieces.

I prefer just to go by eye and

cut it in half and then

carry on until I've got

my eight pieces.

But the thing is, you know,

some people feel reassured

by ultra-precision and

some feel irritated by it.

So you just do what makes you happy.

Now, let's see, half again.

They do really look

like little sausage rolls

at this stage, don't they?

It's in serried ranks now.

And now I just have to load up

my baking sheet.

Come on, little babies.

A bit more painting.

Bit of winter bronzer.

These need 15 minutes in a hot oven,

by which time, they will be

plump and puffy,

but who isn't at Christmas?

And golden on top.

Once the banket bars

are out of the oven,

you'll see that some of the paste

has popped out, but you can just

press it back in.

Now, I have asbestos hands,

but I advise you to use the back

of a couple of spoons or

some such to do this safely.

Immediately brush the banket bars

with apricot jam,

spiked with lemon juice.

Cover with a generous scattering

of flaked almonds.

Then drizzle and zigzag over

a citrus glaze,

made simply by mixing some icing

sugar and a little lemon juice.

Now, this isn't a universal

feature of banketstaaf

but I find its bright sharpness

really gives an enlivening zing.

And we all need that.

The cheese shops are spectacular

in Amsterdam

and obviously I have to visit

my favourite, De Kaaskamer,

where the cheese wheels

are stacked to the rafters.

Once you try proper Dutch gouda,

there's just no turning back.

I love it all, but in a shop

as specialised as this,

I'm after the advice of an expert

who can tell me what seasonal

cheeses they have on offer.

Hello! Hello!

Welcome to De Kaaskamer.

Now, I need your help.

All right.

Serious matter.

I'm having a party, and I want

a fabulous cheese board.

But what I don't want to do

is that thing when it's many

different sorts of cheeses

but a small bit of each.

So I want to focus on

three cheeses, but proper,

generous, generous wedges.

Where do we start?

Let's build it up, then.

Let's start with something creamy.

This is a middle old, classic

gouda shaped cheese."Houda."

I'm going to learn to say "houda"

and not gouda.

After...I have to.

..after today, you will be

fully integrated.

From a little island

above the Netherlands.

The sea breeze infects the soil,

the milk and therefore the cheese.

Poetry. Creamy and silty it is.

It is creamy.

But it's still got oomph.

It is.

It is a bit punching.

Shall we try something a bit older?

Sure.

This is Remeker, one of

the most pure cheeses we make.

Raw, organic, Jersey cow milk, with

a rind made of clarified butter.

So, it's still creamy

because of the extra creamy,

thick Jersey cow milk, you taste...

..tones of nuts.Yes.

Still fruity.Very nutty.

You have this little crunch...

Crystals?

Yeah, that's the proteins.

People say it's salt crystals,

we kick them out.

It's proteins.

They crystallise, the molecules

connect.It's wonderful. Yeah.

I'd love it if the third cheese

could be goat.

I love goat gouda,

goat houda.

Oh, yeah, for Christmas,

we have something extraordinary.

You see, the proteins, they make

these ridiculous, huge crystals.

It's a wonderful deep colour.

It is.

It's a cinnamon-coloured

goat cheese.Touch of grey,

which I'm rather liking.

Really extraordinary.

It is. It tastes like

cheese and wine in one.

It's got a kind

of fermented tang.

It's eating and drinking

in the same time.

Three years old, still some

sweet tones in it.

But this just recommends

some good old white port.

It's extraordinary. And a bit

of good company.

Ha, ha! Well, you know, I don't need

any more convincing.

Once I have my cheese board

settled, I feel my Christmas

happiness is assured.

I know a lot of people like to get

absolutely everything organised

for Christmas in November,

but for me, it's only now

that I feel so deeply infused

with the Christmas spirit,

and I get childishly excited

thinking of the happy hubbub

of a party and a table laden

with the food I love

and around it, the people

I want to enjoy it with me.

For the party, I'm making my

Christmas cup, and that's fizzy

white wine mixed with ginger ale

and a touch of great-aunt's tipple,

some Dutch cherry brandy.

With the drink, I'm serving

some spiced, toasted nuts

with an intriguing Dutch flavour.

The main course is a rapturous

Indonesian chicken biryani.

With it, my pineapple plus salad

with rujak dressing.

It's the perfect accompaniment

to the sumptuous biryani,

meeting its aromatic heat and

savoury depth with a compelling

sweet-and-sour tang.

Pudding is my no-bake

advocaat and ginger cake,

a lazy but luscious layered affair.

Finally, there's all that

gorgeous gouda with biscuits.

In other words,

my tulips and cheese.

A proper feast, but none of it

needs weeks of planning.

Look, I'm not saying I want to do

the sort of cooking where everything

has to be done at the last moment.

I mean, that would obviously

be terribly stressful.

What makes me feel cosy

and Christmassy is a bit of serene

and seasonal stove-side pottering.

And right now, that seasonal

stove-side pottering involves

making the dough for my speculaas,

which are Dutch

gingerbread biscuits.

And I like to get on with the dough

the night before I actually

bake the biscuits.

I've made up a jar of my

special speculaas spice,

a heady mixture of cinnamon, cloves,

ginger and more

so I can feel Christmas

wafting up at me.

I add a tablespoon of this

to 300g of plain flour,

along with half a teaspoon of bicarb

and a quarter-teaspoon of salt.

Then I just fork them together

to combine.

Next, I cream 100g each

of soft, unsalted butter

and light brown sugar, beating them

briskly until fluffy and soft.

I oil the receptacle to stop

my next ingredient from sticking,

100g of gorgeously gleaming

black treacle.

Strictly an Anglo addition,

I must confess.

Next in is an egg followed

by the spice flour,

spoonful by spoonful.

Once the dough's come together,

I shape it into a disc and put it

in the fridge overnight to let

the spice flavours develop fully.

My speculaas dough has rested,

as have I.

So, before I roll it out,

I'm going to give this slab

a bit of a dusting

with my magic wand.

Or perhaps it's more

of a seasonal sceptre.

Let's unwrap this fat patty.

My drag name.

I think a bit of flour on top,

wise move.

Rather lovely to roll out

because it's very pliable and also

very forgiving,

so if it cracks,

you just stick it back together.

You can re-roll.

Traditionally, speculaas biscuits

aren't rolled out and then cut out,

but they are pressed

onto a wooden mould like this.

You press them in.

And the idea, I have to say,

makes me hyperventilate

because I know I wouldn't get

the dough out of this

and it is hard

to print biscuits.

That is the technical term.

And this is easy and

they taste the same.

And talking of cutting this out,

I have the most amazing cutters.

Look.

They are in the shape

of those narrow

17th-century canal houses.

So I'm making a little

bit of edible Amsterdam.

Beautiful though they are,

the shape of these houses,

their narrowness wasn't actually

a purely sort of

decorative decision.

It was because the wider

the frontage on the house,

the more tax was levied on it.

Strictly speaking,

you shouldn't ice speculaas,

but if I don't ice these houses,

sketchily though

I might have to do it,

they do look a bit like

gingerbread tombstones.

And I have also this tulip cutter.

So my plan is to ice

as best I can the houses,

but leave the tulips bare and

beautiful, because these speculaas

just so happen to make

cheese biscuits

of utter, unparalleled gorgeousness.

And I love the idea of being able

to offer people a tulip and cheese.

So that I can hang

some from the tree,

I need to cut out a little hole,

for a bit of ribbon or twine,

thread them

and hang them from the tree.

Beautiful!

These need about ten or 12 minutes

in an oven at 180

or 160 if the fan's on.

And don't worry if there's

a crack or two on the surface,

that's baking, that's life.

♪ I love you, I love you,

I love you, I love you

♪ I love you, I love you,

I love you

♪ I love you, I love you,

I love you, I love you

♪ I love you, I love you, I love you

♪ I love you... ♪

The most atmospheric way

to see the city is by boat,

and there are few more beautiful

sights than seeing the lights

that are draped throughout

Amsterdam, dancing on the waters

of the canals at night-time.

♪ My, my, my, my...

♪ Giving you my heart

because I love you... ♪

Every Christmas,

the city hosts a light festival

with installations

dotted along the watery way.

♪ Please give your

loving heart to me

♪ And say we'll never part... ♪

For me, the magic happens

the further I travel

through the canals.

The 21st century seems to melt away,

and the golden age of Amsterdam

shimmers into view.

♪ I'm never lonely

♪ Whenever you are in sight

♪ I know, I know, I know

I love you... ♪

And it's treasure from Dutch waters

that inspires my next recipe.

The Dutch do love their mussels,

although it is true

that their neighbours the Belgians

unfairly get more credit for them.

So I am cooking my Dutch mussels,

which actually are so called

for the beer I cook them in.

And another Dutch touch,

if we may call it that,

is to partner the mussels

with fennel.

It's a classic combination

for a reason, and it's wonderful

the way that gentle aniseed

flavour just permeates the broth

like a whisper.

Just remove the core of each half

and then cut them thinly.

My detritus bowl. I'll keep all the

offcuts for soup or stock later.

And before I had mussels in beer

for the first time,

I really worried that the bitterness

would be too savage.

But the key

is to cook them in butter.

But then the key to so much

in life, I find, is butter.

And once the butter is melted,

in goes the fennel.

Going to give it a bit of a stir.

Now, I'm not frying the fennel

in butter so much as braising it.

And to aid that, I'm just going to

give it a teeny little bit of time

with a lid on.

Now, I have to say, fennel-phobes,

you can just use shallots

in place of the fennel.

I, however, am a fennel-phile,

so I'm punching up the aniseed

element with some dill.

I'm adding the feathery fronds

to the mussels later,

but now I'm just chopping

some of the st*lks.

No point wasting all that flavour.

And I have some chives to chop.

Now a bit of a splosh

of my Dutch beer.

You can use any lager.

A bit of garlic.

And my herbage.

The chives, dill st*lks

and some parsley.

Turn this up a bit now.

More beer, I feel.

So all that remains

to go into this pan

are the mussels.

And they are waiting for me

under their Amsterdam houses.

I've soaked these mussels

for 15 minutes in cold water,

and then after I drained them,

I went through them one by one,

making sure they were all closed.

If any mussels stay open

at this stage, chuck 'em.

OK, I'm ready for them to go in,

these beautiful,

beautiful creatures.

This treasure.

Black gold,

mussels are often called

in the Netherlands.

I'll give it a go.

Zwarte goud.

So, lid on,

so the mussels steam open.

I mean, it takes hardly any time.

And in a few minutes, the heat

will make the mussels gape open

to reveal

that golden treasure inside.

And just to encourage the mussels,

I give the pan a shake and a shimmy

every now and again.

Mm. A quick beer and fennel facial.

And they are ready for me.

I am more than ready for them.

In they go.

So I'm looking as I go,

because any mussels at this stage

which don't open, you discard them.

These are all behaving beautifully.

And now it's time for the fabulous

fennel, butter and beer broth.

So some chives, parsley and dill

st*lks went on at the beginning.

And now chives and parsley again.

It's like a salad

on top of my mussels.

And these beautiful fronds of dill.

Mm.

Don't mind me.

Good evening, madam.

Good evening to you.

What can I do you for tonight?

Oh, well, I think it should be

choice of the house, don't you?

Oh, that looks perfect.

And I haven't even tasted it yet,

but I can tell.

Thank you very much.

Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas.

Mm.

That is heaven.

Whenever I come to Amsterdam,

I just have to head out

for some bitterballen.

These crispy, crunchy, deep-fried

croquettes are the best bar snack.

I mean, I wouldn't

make them at home.

But there's a real difference

between the food you go out for

and the food you make at home,

especially at this time of year.

You know, of course

I want the food to have impact,

but I want it to

be unstressful to make.

And actually, you could say

that the bar has inspired

my party pud as well,

because one of its chief

ingredients is advocaat.

At Christmas-time especially, I find

this kind of assembly job number,

especially one

that you can do in advance,

a complete life-saver.

It's a divine pile-up of rich, boozy

cream and squidgy gingerbread,

and I am going to get started

with the rich, boozy cream.

I've already got

some mascarpone in here,

and to that I am adding

some double cream.

I did say it was rich.

Some icing sugar, two tablespoons.

Not that we're counting.

And to augment the eggy-ness of

the advocaat, some custard powder.

I'm going to set this a-whirring,

just on low at first

to combine everything.

A little faster.

And now I can pour in

my yolk-yellow advocaat.

I just need to whisk the cream

until it's aerated,

softly whipped and voluminous.

And we're there.

Not too strenuous so far, I think.

So although I'm making this today,

I have a little final touch

tomorrow. And for that...

..I need to reserve

some of the boozy cream.

It's very tempting just to start

inhaling it now, to be honest.

And into the cream I'm using now,

I want some crystallised ginger.

My favourite.

And another Christmassy taste,

chopped dried figs.

And I have some macadamias

in my nut-bashing bag.

Quick bash, very useful.

We all need an outlet at Christmas.

And finally, some folding.

So this is the rich, boozy cream,

and now I have my squidgy

gingerbread to attend to.

I know I've got a comedy amount

of gingerbread, but I've got a lot

of layering up to do.

Start with the foundation.

First floor here.

Amsterdam abounds in gingerbread

this time of year, as do we.

But the one I recommend going for

is the sticky kind, much in the

style of a Jamaica ginger cake.

And in this sort of gingerbread,

it's the top of it

that's particularly sticky.

So when I slice it up and put it

in the tin, I keep those bits

away from the edges

so they're facing inwards.

Just helps with

the un-moulding later.

I mean, I can't say it really

makes a crucial difference,

but it makes me feel like

I'm establishing some sort of order.

That's a ground floor done.

Creamy filling

is applied in two layers,

so layer one coming up.

Delicate, a delicate dollop.

And now I just want to smooth

this layer of nubbly cream.

I love the way you can feel

that smooth, voluptuous cream.

And there's nubbly bits of chewy

ginger fig and crunchy macadamia.

I just have a thing

about layering up.

I find it calming and celebratory

at the same time.

I suppose what it is

is that it's entirely stress-free,

but at the same time I feel

I'm building to a sense of occasion.

Right, the final layer

of nubbly cream.

♪ I'd like you for Christmas

♪ Please make my wish come true

♪ Because I'd trim trees... ♪

And then the final layer

of gingerbread,

and then it's into the frigo

till tomorrow.

♪ If I knew you'd be mine... ♪

And then when I un-mould it,

I'm going to swirl that smooth

reserve cream all over the top

and then shower it

with Dutch chocolate sprinkles.

♪ If old Saint Nick comes through

♪ And he remembers

♪ That I'd like you for Christmas

♪ New Year's, Easter too

♪ She'd like you for Christmas... ♪

I so love it when the air

is crisp and frosty.

It really feels like

proper Christmas.

♪ Cos she'd trim trees

♪ And deck the hallways... ♪

But I, however,

need to get my skates on

and do a little late-night prep

for the party tomorrow.

♪ For always...

♪ I won't be blue... ♪

Without getting into the vexed

complexities of colonial history,

Indonesian food plays a vital part

in the cultural life of Amsterdam,

and I'm celebrating that with

an Indonesian-inspired biryani.

And I started off by putting some

chicken thighs in a spicy marinade.

And the heart of that marinade

is this wonderful

Indonesian sambal oelek.

It's a punchy, vinegary

chilli sauce.

And you could use a similar one,

but I absolutely adore this.

And its significant other

in my marinade

is kecap manis,

which is an Indonesian sweet soy

sauce with a really treacly texture.

And it's an extraordinarily

easy marinade to make.

I add both sambal oelek

and kecap manis to plain yoghurt.

Next comes sharp tamarind paste.

Followed by pungent

garlic and ginger.

Then I add the Christmassy warmth

of cinnamon and piney cardamom...

..and finally turmeric, which

strikes a golden note of its own

and helps the other spices

chime better together.

I give it a good stir until I have

a uniformly vibrant gloop

and add chicken thighs, swiping them

in the spice yoghurt as I go.

Now, these chicken thighs have

the bone in but the skin removed,

and you do need to use

bone-in chicken thighs.

Waiting and ready to receive them

is a pan full of soft sweet onions.

And I often make a vegan version

using butternut squash

and coconut milk yoghurt.

Once all the chicken thighs

are in the pan, I turn up the heat

and clamp on the lid to give them

about 15 minutes at a fast simmer

before leaving them to cook

uncovered for half an hour or so.

This also helps the sauce

to reduce and intensify.

With the chicken cooked in a thick

and scant sauce, I leave it to cool,

and you could debone the chicken

at this stage, actually,

and then leave it overnight

in the fridge.

It will be so tender

and full of flavour

when it meets the rice tomorrow.

And it just happens to be

the perfect time

to make the rujak dressing

for my pineapple plus salad.

It's easy-peasy.

For this,

I stir brown sugar into some water,

bring it to the boil

and let it bubble.

To the now caramelly liquid

I add a hit of lime juice and

some fermented shrimp paste,

full of rich funkiness,

though you could use miso.

And finally I drop in

some bird's eye chillies.

So that's done.

And it can sit happily

until the party tomorrow.

In the brisk morning light,

I need to make one more stop

for an essential ingredient

for proper party pleasure.

And, besides, my liquorice

box needs a restock.

BELL TINKLES

Hello. Hello.

Oh, what treasure!

Hello, welcome.

I have over 100 different

kinds of liquorice.

Now, what should I try first?

They start very sweet with fruit.

Or we have very salty

with herb flavours.

Salty for me, please. Salty?

May I try one, please?

There you go.Thank you.

Mm! It's quite intense.

This is salmiak inside, which is

ammonium chloride.That's strong!

SHE LAUGHS

I love the look of those.

There you go.Perfect. Thank you.

You're welcome.

Here you go.Thank you.

And don't forget...

I would have done.

Thank you very much. You're welcome.

Enjoy.I will.

It would be an absolute

abomination to go to Amsterdam

and not load up on liquorice.

They take it very seriously there.

They call it drop.

And I take it very seriously, too.

I have this new addition to my

collection, and I just love them.

Let's see. I'm going to have

to use my arm, you know,

to do a little

architectural display.

Look, they are little liquorice

Amsterdam canal houses.

I can't get enough of them.

So there they are.

A little canal view that I'm

modelling myself at no extra cost.

Now, this is a new

essential in my life.

It's my flask of liquorice liqueur,

full of the divinely salty Dutch

dynamite I found in Amsterdam.

It could come in useful the

morning after the night before.

Now, these caramel liquorice logs,

I think of them rather like tonally

refined liquorice allsorts.

So, deep, dark liquorice

inside and, on the outside,

a rather butterscotchy coating.

Now, this is some liquorice

powder that I have acquired -

I'm very happy with it.

The Dutch liquorice powder seems

to be much more mellow and indeed

paler than most liquorice

powders I've ever encountered.

And I find that it has a sort of

gorgeous, almost toffee-ish-ness

about it that makes it sort of

understandable, even enjoyable,

by people who don't

think of themselves

as natural liquorice lovers.

Anyway, I'm counting on that

because it is the key ingredient

for the liquorice nuts I'm serving

at the beginning of the party.

To make them, I simply add

a teaspoon of liquorice powder to

30g of melted unsalted butter,

followed by two teaspoons

of brown sugar.

Then I tip in 400g of mixed nuts

that I've toasted briefly

and stir to coat and,

to finish them off,

I sprinkle them with sea

salt and chopped rosemary.

With the guests due to arrive soon,

I should get on and cook the rice

for my Indonesian-inspired biryani.

And to make the rice

gorgeously aromatic,

I scent the water

it's going to cook in with a few

bruised cardamom pods, a couple

of cinnamon sticks, some beautiful

star anise and cloves.

Next I drop in fried coconut

and some pink peppercorns that look

like berries in the snow.

Then I pour in two

litres of water...

..I add salt, followed

by a little lime juice

and some toasty sesame oil,

before letting it come to the boil,

infusing gloriously as it does so.

I've soaked 600g of basmati rice

for 30 minutes, then drained it,

and I add it gradually

to the boiling water,

cooking it just for two

minutes with the lid on.

When it's ready, you'll be able

to break up a grain of rice

rolled in your fingers.

I've reheated the chicken I

cooked yesterday and it is now

going to be so incredibly

tender and full of flavour.

The aromatic rice has been cooked

and drained and now all that remains

to be done is my

favourite activity -

layering up.

I'm adding a little bit

of sesame oil to the pan.

This will help stop the rice

from sticking, but it will also

give you some wonderful

crispy bits from the bottom.

So half the rice in now.

And I leave all those

bits and pieces in it.

Before I add the chicken

to the rice, I have some

important scattering to do.

First, some toasted cumin seeds.

"Desicrated" coconut.

That's what we call it at home.

And some dry cranberries.

Now, I can't pretend that

cranberries are remotely Indonesian,

but it is Christmas.

Now it's the turn of the chicken.

Just...

I'm going to sit the pieces

on top of the rice.

And what happens as the biryani

steams is that the juices

from the chicken and the sauce

drip into the rice below,

infusing it with flavour.

And this is what makes a biryani

so delicate, so perfumed -

such a special feast.

My final layer, bar the sprinklings.

Trying to spoon it in lightly...

..to cover the chicken.

And again the scattering.

Just like you have to

treat children the same,

the top layer of rice gets the

same treatment as the bottom.

So toasted cumin seeds,

the rest of the coconut.

Just a light snowfall.

And, finally, the remaining

dried cranberries.

I cover the pan with foil to get

a tight seal before clamping

the lid back on

and I leave it to steam

for about 40 minutes.

Then, off the heat, I simply replace

the foil with a tea towel, put

the lid back on again and leave

it till I'm ready to serve.

And while it's doing its thing,

I'd better get myself ready.

♪ Merry Christmas, baby! ♪

Right, I'm coming in.

I have a drink.

I'm not going to pour it.

My Christmas cup is perfect

for parties, not least

because it's made in jugfuls

rather than mixed by the glass.

So, for each bottle of fizzy wine,

you need 125ml of cherry brandy

and half a litre of ginger ale.

A winning combo of

sparkle and spice.

Darling?

Just a few last-minute

touches needed.

My rujak dressing is waiting for me

and I've also got a bowl of

pineapple and cucumber chunks,

ready to be anointed.

I've also steeped some thinly sliced

red onion in lime juice, and I add

these now pink pickled onions

to the salad, along with a tumble

of pomegranate seeds and some

finely sliced fresh mint. Heaven!

It's back to my biryani,

which has been steamed

to tender perfection.

I have a little something extra

for my biryani. When I cooked

the chicken thighs,

they were skinless, and that's

because I removed the skin

and whopped them at max

in the air fryer...

..to make chicken crackling

to sprinkle over the top.

MUSIC: It May Be Winter Outside

by Love Unlimited

Mm!

♪ When the temperature dips... ♪

Here, come on!

Chicken biryani.

♪ His tender fingertips

♪ Knows just how

to keep me warm... ♪

How was that?

♪ It may be zero degrees

♪ With the snow falling down... ♪

Yes, I must.

♪ But I've got warm and tender love

♪ Just as long as he's around

♪ It may be winter outside

♪ But in my heart it's spring

♪ How much joy

and pleasure, baby... ♪

Much as I love eating,

I think I might love

feeding people even more.

Talking of which, I have

pudding to attend to -

just a few final flourishes.

I've got the reserved

advocaat cream, ready...

..to be swirled on top...

..of my no-bake advocaat

and ginger cake.

♪ I try to have a white Christmas

♪ There's always something

that makes it blue

♪ Try to have a white Christmas... ♪

This is so gorgeous.

♪ There's always something

that turns it blue

♪ Maybe I'm asking for a fall

♪ Just what I wish for

don't come true... ♪

Tulip and cheese?

♪ Happy holidays, baby... ♪

Mm!

♪ I hope

♪ You have

♪ A merry Christmas

♪ And may all

♪ Your seasons

♪ Be bright

♪ Oh, yeah

♪ And I wish

♪ Santa brings you... ♪

Hi. Welcome.

Oh, am I glad to be here!

Right, my need is great.

All right.So I think this

means the Parmesan fries

with spicy mayonnaise.

Spicy-spicy. Yes.

♪ I want to spend a merry

♪ Merry Christmas with you... ♪

Oh!

That's a beautiful sight and noise!

♪ All the lovely things

you want him to

♪ But most of all

♪ Most of all I want

to spend Christmas... ♪

Ah! Much needed - the

post-carousing carb cure.

♪ All by your side

♪ Most of all

♪ I want to spend Christmas

♪ With you.