The oliebol is another Dutch holiday pastry served until New Year’s Eve. It’s soft, chewy, filled with raisins, and is about as big as a closed fist or the average muffin.
The server will ask if you’d like it with powdered sugar on top. That same powdered sugar will give you a miniature white beard after the first bite, or make it seem like all the dandruff from your head fell onto your chest at once. (Hint: say yes to the powdered sugar anyway)
Like pepernoten, the olliebol also comes in different varieties and flavors. There’s the appelbol, which comes stuffed with caramelized apples and applesauce, and the berlinerbol, which looks like a miniature hot dog, except instead of a sausage there’s a squiggly line made of custard.
During the early winter you can find olliebollen booths all over town, lit up with bright lights and a huge sign that looks like it came out of WordArt in Microsoft Word. It actually matters which olliebollen stand you go to, since they’re all different in consistency and texture. There’s one open late at night in the middle of Neude square in the city center, but I’m more partial to the olliebollen stand on the intersection of Maliebaan and Burgemeester Reigerstraat. It’s strategically placed in front of the Rabobank ATMs, and in plain sight of all the schoolchildren and workers returning home.
Dick and Alex run that stand.
(My name means something different for you Americans though, hé?)
The first time I saw them was about a month ago, on their third day of business. Dick says that it’s good that I came on the third day, and not the first or the second, because he says it takes three days before his baking skills come back into proper form. He’s been doing this for over thirty years, and each year he submits his oliebollen to the national fair.
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Oliebollen is only sold for two months out of the year — three months at most. I asked Dick what he does with his time after the oliebollen season is over.
Well, then I’m on holiday in Spain.