When I was a child
we used to go to church
on Christmas-evening.

When I was little we went all together,
but when we got older
my mother used to stay at home.

My father was director of the children's choir
in which I sang.
I loved the songs he had choosen for us to perform.

When we left church
we would keep on singing
till we reached our front door.

In the meantime
my mother had decorated the table.
There would be coffee and hot chocolate for us to drink,
beside the Christmastree in the living room.
And when we were warm and had told about what happened that night
we would go to the other room.

On the bright white table linen
there were baskets
with different sorts of bread.
There were a coupe of kinds of yellies
and marmelade.
Cheese and bacon,
and a lot more.

But there was one item missing:
the "Balkenbrij" my gran made.
It needed some baking in the kitchen.
Dad knew how to the best.
And while he was baking
my mother would turn on the music.

The sounds of the christmassongs
mingled with the crispy sounds from the baking.
My dad would come in
and give us each a slice of ""balkenbrij.

I'll never forget the abundant taste,
and the thrill of having
breakfast in the middle of the night.