Yesterday I was in the southeast part of The Netherlands, where I spend my childhood. It is Carnaval there, or Vasteloavend, the crazy festive days before the Catholic time of fast begins. It had been years since I heard the music, saw the people dressed up in the streets, off to meet each other, the parade wagons on their way to the city where you get stuck behind. A warm feeling of nostalgia ran through my blood. This is also a part of who I am, a part I forgot.

I also ate three nonnevotte, see image, a pastry tied up in a bow, from 17th century on made by nuns traditionally eaten at Carnaval.

nonne=nuns, vot=butt, because the nuns apparently wore bows on the back of there skirts.

Culture in a cake.


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