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Amsterdam Weekly_14-20 August 2008
DINING/DRINKING The Mouth
By Nanci Tangeman
A French fantasy Le Fournil de Sébastien Olympiaplein 119, 672 4211 Open Mon-Sat 07.00-19.00 Cash, Pin It’s an addiction. I like to think of it as culinary, but it probably isn’t completely innocent. It all starts when, after a long absence from Amsterdam, I walk by a window on my street and stop cold. There, in full view of passers-by, is a handful of handsome men doing what handsome men do best—kneading dough. I ask around and find that I’m not the first girl on the block to make this discovery. There are more ladies taking morning walks around Olympiaplein. And many more baked goods being eaten in my neighbourhood. Not just any baked goods: French baked goods. All thanks to Le Fournil de Sébastien. At first, I adjust my own route a bit—passing the window only on the days when I think about it. Soon I’m observing them every day, radiant in their pressed white uniforms. One morning their hands deep in dough; the next, nestling slices of chocolate into uncooked pain au chocolat and rolling them over and over and over... After a few months of gawking, I make a dicision: I need to get some of that! The first day I enter the bakery, I’m tongue-tied. Here stands one of the window men, asking for my order. I stammer and order a croissant (€1.00), the only thing I can pronounce. ‘Anything else?’ My burning cheeks remind me to bring something back to my partner-in-all-things-marital. I order a bite-size pear tart (€2.20) and
hurry out with my purchases. Back home, I tear off a piece of croissant, a golden fragment of delicate pastry. Inside, it’s buttery. Not a shout, like the Dutch imitators, but a gentle whisper, a reassurance that butter is here. No need for jam. That would only cheapen the experience. I give the pear tart to Partner. Guilt practically wafts out of the bag when I hand it to him. He pronounces it sweet and much too petit. The next morning I return. Partner gets another guilt offering—a pain au chocolat (€1.05). Sweet but not too flaky (the perfect addiction). I try the briochette a l’orange (€1.20). Topped with granules of pearl sugar and filled with a subtle orange cream, the small brioche is chewy and soft. A few hours later, I’m back for more. My takeaway sandwich (€4.20) has fresh tomatoes and basil, with mozzarella cheese that’s been marinated overnight in garlic, all caught inside a mini loaf of the bakery’s cigalou. Black and green olives dot the bread. Like any romance, the loaf doesn’t give itself over to me right away, but it resists just the right amount. The flavours are more Sud de France than Amsterdam Zuid. Partner has the l’Auvergnat with Parma ham and Salers cheese from the mountains of Auvergne (€4.20). The fresh baguette is spread with French salted butter and a confit of roasted tomatoes. The saltiness is pleasant and balanced. My curiosity is satisfied. My appetite is sated. But, not surprisingly, my addiction is stronger than before. I know that abstinence is unacceptable. The only possibility is to give in to the craving— and add another lap around the Olympiaplein every morning. The way I’m feeling about Le Fournil de Sebastien, I’m going to need the exercise. ___
‘No need for jam. That would only cheapen the experience.’
A night in the life...
By Sarah Gehrke
General dogsbodies Proef Overtoom 160-162 Open Sun, Tues-Thur 16.00-1.00, Mon 18.00-1.00, Fri, Sat 16.00-3.00 Cash, Pin ‘Please!’ says the guy who has just entered Proef on his way from terrace to toilet. ‘Help me hate him... I really wanted to hate him. But now I’ve seen him for the first time, and I can’t! He’s too cute!’ He’s talking to his friend, who’s making his journey in reverse. ‘You don’t need to hate him,’ replies the friend, ‘just because he cost twenty-five hundred euros.’ They’re talking, as it turns out, about their friend’s new dog, presented to the rest of the world on this very night. The dog in question is lying innocently underneath a table outside— motionless, on his side, as if he’d just been shot. Apart from the fact that he’s dead-looking, he is indeed very cute. From his proud owner, we learn that he’s an English bulldog. From the owner’s jealous friends, we learn that he’s lying in his own pee. But soon, the conversation will shift in all sorts of other directions—planned vacations, work. It is a lukewarm Wednesday night, and the mood on the Proef terrace is jolly and summery. Proef is one of the
Beer price: €2.20 for a vaasje (Brand). Emergency food: several sorts of sophisticated kroketversions and other snacks, served until as late as midnight. Special interior feature: pictures of Nina Hagen record covers and other arty stuff on the walls. Predominant shoe type: expensive trainers. And Birkenstocks (the fashion sort). Typically ordered drink: rosetje Smoking situation: the benches on the Overtoom pavement provide sufficient seating for all the smokers present. Tune of the night: The Girl from Ipanema, in a lyricless easy-jazz version (performed live). Mingling factor: low (unless you have a dog with you). State of toilets near closing time: broken. But this seemed more like an exception than like the rule.
many cafe/bar/restaurants that Overtoom is full of. In fact, the only thing that Overtoom is fuller of than cafe/bar/ restaurant things is people who frequent them, and so the benches are filled with happy, wine-drinking people. (This is a wine kind of night, as well as a winey-kind of place—although Proef seems to try to discourage this. Not only have they got over twenty beers on tap, their wine glasses are also exceptionally ugly.) In addition to the many fancy beers they serve here, special features of this bar include quiz nights every Monday, live jazz every Sunday—and, it turns out, the occasional Wednesday as well—and extraordinarily nice bar staff. They manage to stay friendly even when they have to clear the terrace of those who subtly refuse to leave. Because now it’s getting late. The dog has been walked home long ago. It’s time for the rest of us to leave as well. The barman, thankfully, isn’t too hectic in throwing everyone off his benches. While he cleans up the part of the terrace that’s already been vacated, he draws attention, in a friendly way, to a bar around the corner, which is open late. ‘Not tonight,’ however, is the general tenor. Tonight, after all, was a wine kind of night. Nameless late bars around the corner don’t fit in with that kind of night. But don’t worry, bar around the corner: your time will come. ___
20
Amsterdam Weekly_9-15 October 2008
AGENDA: FOOD/DRINK The Mouth
By Nanci Tangeman
Ostrich peepers Restaurant De Struisvogel Keizersgracht 312, 423 3817 Daily 18.00-00.00 Cash, PIN, major credit cards The boys in our group are distracted. It has somehow come to their attention that the steep stairs leading down into De Struisvogel could provide a bit of a show. All it would take is one female customer descending from the street level to the cellar restaurant in a short skirt. Hoping for a Sharon Stone moment, our boys can’t seem to make it past the appetiser selections on the menu without glancing towards the brightly lit stairs outside the glass doors. Tucked underneath a corner building in the Negen Straatjes, De Struisvogel would be much easier to find if the white marquee lighting over its door wasn’t at knee level. The restaurant was transformed when smokers were booted outdoors in July. The tiny cellar used to be hazy and claustrophobic. Even now diners sit shoulder to shoulder, but at least the air is clear, except for the aroma of food. ‘Struisvogel’ is the Dutch word for ostrich, the house specialty. De Struisvogel offers a reasonably-priced (€23) three-course menu, with several choices. Eventually, we manage to get our boys to focus on those choices and we are able to order. The meats at De Struisvogel are organic or free range, but there are also vegetarian options. For starters, the beef carpaccio with parmesan cheese and herb oil (€1.75 supplement) comes from the Blonde d’Aquitaine van Palmesteyn farms. The soup of
the day is our first pumpkin soup of the season, with goat cheese blended in. The vongole (clams) are stewed in wine and served on a bed of pasta. Our boys keep an eye on the stairs as the free range ostrich steaks (€3 supplement) arrive. The meat looks a lot like a rare beef steak. The taste, though, is lighter, and the texture a little tougher. The ostrich comes with a choice of sauces, extremely fresh steamed vegetables and potatoes. The blanquette de veau is a hearty French stew of organic veal, carrots, celery and mushrooms, cooked with herbs and, according to the English menu, ‘white whine’. The ovenroasted salmon steak is moist inside, with a light dusting of basil and pecorino crust, served over vegetables. As we try to find room for the mandatory third course, a pair of bare legs walks by the window. Our boys wait expectantly, but the legs stride right past the stairs. The boys act dejected. On a full stomach, the fresh mint tea and small white chocolate ice cream truffle is about right. The chocolate parfait is actually a big slab of rich chocolate, and the Dutch yoghurt with forest fruit is a combination of creamy and tart. The crème brûlée has a delicate crust on top. All the desserts are house-made. There is also a cheese platter (€1.50 supplement) available. In the end, we’ve overindulged. As we leave the cellar, I can only hope that the other parties in the restaurant aren’t as obsessed with the stairway traffic as our boys were. Our climb up the steep flight, backsides to the diners, is about as far away from a peep show as you can get. ___
The meat looks a lot like a rare beef steak. The taste, though, is lighter, and the texture a little tougher.
A night in the life...
By Sarah Gehrke
Mulligans Mulligans Amstel 100 Open Mon-Thur 16.00-01.00, Fri 16.0003.00, Sat 14.00-03.00, Sun 14.00-01.00 Cash, PIN Summer’s over. It’s getting cold and dark and rainy. Gone are the times of cheery glasses of wine on warm patios in light summer dresses. No, no, there’s no use for that anymore. Now is the time for either staying in, or for drinking so much that you forget the cold, the dark and the rain. And who else to align yourself with for that purpose than the Irish! They won’t have any of that fluitje nonsense. It’s all pints, and many of them. And then they sing. Did you really think that was a cliché? ‘How do we get to the red light district?’ the woman asks. She’s part of a large group of middle-aged tourists that have just passed by Mulligans on this cold and rainy Friday night. But they have chosen the wrong people to ask. It’s after midnight, and the large group of Irish people standing outside the bar are very, very drunk. They have no intention of letting the tourists go anywhere. Instead, they want to make friends. Soon, we all know that the tourists are from Norway and that a couple of the Irish
Beer price: €4.40 for a pint (Jupiler). Emergency food: Walkers Salt & Vinegar crisps. Of course. Special interior feature: It’s all very brown, narrow and Irish. Of course. Predominant shoe type: I don’t remember. Typically ordered drink: Everything—as long as it’s lager or ale or stout and comes in pints. Many pints. Smoking situation: Next to the door, there’s an umbrella stand labelled ‘Umbrellas for the smokers’. Man, this is really getting worse and worse. But at least you get live music outside as well as inside. Tune of the night: Several live performances of ‘Dirty Old Town’. Of course. Mingling factor: Very, very high. Of course. State of toilets near closing time: Well... they’re toilets.
people are in the band that was singing in the bar earlier on. And a very short while after that, they prove this by singing again. And they don’t stop. The Norwegians love it. No wonder: this is like an Irish Disneyland. Meanwhile, inside, there’s room for discussions. Mulligans is a long, narrow bar, quite dark, with lots of pictures and poems and Irish memorabilia on the walls. It looks just like what you’d imagine an Irish bar to look like. On early evenings, students of English literature probably come here for a quiet after-school beer, and to enjoy the authentic live music. But as it’s getting later, there’s nothing quiet or studenty about this place anymore. ‘That’s what it’s about!’ shouts a sturdy man with a strong accent. ‘You have to raise your child with dignity!’ He’s very passionate about it. But then the band comes in again. ‘So, are you coming up to sing a song?’ one of them asks my friend, not noticing the look of fear in her eyes. But we’ve finished our beers, and we decide to leave. Outside, the party has disassembled. Only two guys are left, and they are having a serious conversation. I only catch a snippet of it. ‘...And then,’ says one of them with a really upset voice, ‘I realised he was English!’ They shake their heads in sad silence. ‘And now,’ the man continues, ‘I need another fucking pint.’ ___
20
Amsterdam Weekly_6-12 November 2008
FOOD/DRINK
The Mouth
By Nanci Tangeman
Unhip and bad for the hips Van Velze’s Chocolaterie & Patisserie Eerste Oosterparkstraat 7, 337 4125 Open: Mon-Sat, 08.00-18.00 Cash only This place is not hip. I know because Deborah behind the counter just told me. Van Velze’s Chocolaterie and Patisserie has hardwood floors, trendy furniture and a big window with a stylish logo. You could even say it’s in an edgy neighbourhood. But I can see Deborah’s point. The edgiest aspect of the street is that it’s on the periphery of an area where families can still afford to live. That big window welcomes neighbours into the new shop to perch on the high modern chairs and peer into the glassed-in chocolate kitchen in back. The wooden floors are probably just easier to mop after the chocolatemaking workshops (€35/person) Van Velze’s is beginning to host. I concede. Deborah is right. And she certainly should know. She’s the woman behind everyman Robbert van Velze, whose family has been making chocolate longer than the Heinekens have been making beer. Robb (30) and Irishwoman Deborah Kilroy (20) were backpacking through Australia when they met. Van Velze’s is the culmination of a long-held dream. For months they’ve been fattening up co-workers at their day jobs, getting ready to go full-time at the shop. Now their dream is their day job (and their evening job, and their weekend job). To be honest, I’m usually incognito when I go some place to review it. But one of those fattened-up co-workers drags me in to
taste Robb’s creations. My cover’s blown. Immediately I worry about what I’m going to write if I don’t like the place. Especially when Robb gives me a chocolate with creamy elderberry filling to taste. I don’t like creams; they’re usually too sweet. But this one tastes like chocolate and elderberries. Robb and his mom hand-picked the elderberries! Not in the Vondelpark, he assures me, but in a monastery garden. The filling is mixed with the elderberry juice and covered with white chocolate. The raspberry cream with dark chocolate is just as distinctive. So are the port and cranberry combination, the fennel chocolates and the Guinness-filled creations—yes, you read correctly. (€1/piece; 5 for €3.15; €45/kilo.) Robb tells me that the Costa Rican cocoa they use is certified by the Rainforest Alliance. I feel good inside (and it’s not just the chocolate). Now we’re moving on to the patisserie half of the shop. I try the cappuccino mousse (€3.25). It’s Robb’s grandfather’s recipe made from brewed Illy espresso; no mocha flavouring here. I can taste the difference—a lot like a cup of coffee (a really, really creamy cup of coffee). The cake that takes the cake, however, is Robbert’s Heavenly Chocolate Tart (€3.50). It is. For chocolate haters there is baked cheesecake, carrot cake or a lemon-mango or fruits of the forest tart (all €3.25). They’re good enough to make you hate chocolate. (Somebody else’s chocolate). I’m relieved that I’m not going to have to pan the place—especially since Robb and Deborah are so darn adorable. I say my goodbyes with my professional integrity intact. Too bad I can’t say ___ the same for my waistline.
The filling is mixed with the elderberry juice and covered with white chocolate.
A night in the life...
By Sarah Gehrke
Getting over Paul De Koe Marnixstraat 381 Open Sun-Thur 16.00-01.00, Fri, Sat 16.00-03.00 Cash, PIN ‘People just don’t know anything about music anymore!’ exclaims the guy who’s standing outside Cafe de Koe with his friend. He’s complaining about the internet age. ‘Everybody just googles everything!’ We shrug, not really capable of sharing his worries, and walk inside. I didn’t really want to go in here, although there’s no objective reason for the disinclination. De Koe is a cool place, its location is handy, the people both behind and in front of the bar are usually friendly. A much-loved restaurant downstairs provides for the necessary soakage should one choose to need it. Upstairs, living-room cosiness combines with a bit of stylish interior, like 1970s wallpaper. And then there are the many decorative cows. But there are several structural issues. Firstly, the cigarette machine is situated directly underneath the dartboard. This is not only highly annoying for darters as well as smokers, but also quite dangerous, at least for members of the latter group. Furthermore, the toilet
Beer price: €2.10 for a vaasje (Bavaria) Emergency food: Wasabi nuts and Underberg. Special interior feature: Tough. Contenders are the cow horns above the bar and the cow mosaic opposite it. But, the Elvis pinball machine wins. Predominant shoe type: This is not the kind of place where shoe types matter much. Typically ordered drink: Beer. Smoking situation: Cooking pots as ashtrays. Outside. Tune of the night: Not The La’s. Mingling factor: Low. State of toilets near closing time: Dunno, never dared to go in cause I thought someone else might be in there.
door windows and handles are designed such that you can never tell if somebody’s inside or not, if the doors are locked or not, et cetera. A third motive for animosity is that whenever there’s talk about De Koe, someone will mention that it’s Paul Weller’s favourite place in Amsterdam and how he always comes here when he’s in town. Never been a big fan, so the notion isn’t too appealing. Whether it’s true or not doesn’t matter so much: for me, the Weller karma would always be hanging there like a dark, slightly dull cloud. But then, that night suddenly much fun is had in De Koe. Maybe it has to do with the fact that throughout our whole dart game, nobody tries to buy cigarettes. Maybe it’s the fact that we won said dart game. Or maybe it’s just the large number of beers we consumed. Either way, Weller is surprisingly absent both mentally and physically, and the night is a full success. As we leave, we pass by two guys that are standing outside, smoking. They too are talking about music. One of them sings a line from a song. ‘What was that again?’ says his friend. ‘Is it The Dicks?’ ‘Yeah maybe,’ says the singing guy. ‘Either The Dicks or The Big Boys.’ Then they realise how stupid that sounds, although they were being perfectly serious, and they have to laugh. The Weller cloud is still nowhere to be seen.
Amsterdam Weekly_16-22 October 2008
AGENDA: FOOD/DRINK
The Mouth
By Nanci Tangeman
Totally Bazaar Bazar Wereldeethuis Albert Cuypstraat 182, 675 0544 Open Mon-Thur 11.00-01.00, Fri-Sat 11.00-02.00, Sun 09.00-00.00. Cash If Barack Obama were a restaurant, he’d be Bazar. No, I haven’t been brainwashed by emails speculating on Obama’s religion. But if it’s a symbol of multiculturalism you’re looking for, it’s the US presidential candidate. Bazar, however, runs a close second. At least when it comes to my stomach. Tonight, Partner-in-all-things-global and I have invited friends representing Greece, Holland, Israel and the US (and there are only two of them). A Turkish waitress serves us. Two Thai goddess statues peer out from under the stairs. Above us, Hebrew writing proclaims something to the effect that ‘to eat together is a bond as strong as oil’s to the light.’ It all gives me such a warm feeling—a global warm feeling, in fact. The two-storey restaurant on the Albert Cuyp market is noisy, with chatter bouncing off its vibrantly tiled walls. The bar, made of brightly labelled food tins, sits altar-like in the middle of the former synagogue. The music reeks of Morocco or Turkey. Everything here is a global mix. Even the menu is available in Dutch, Turkish, German, English, Spanish, Chinese, Italian and Arabic. And all the meat on the menu is halal—prepared according to Islamic law. (Now don’t get sidetracked with Obama emails!) You might say that in Amsterdam, halal is not so unusual. But consider Bazar’s Easter menu with dish-
es from Morocco, Turkey, Iran and Greece. What’s next? A kosher Christmas dinner? We satisfy our own world hunger with meals served on colourful, giant platters. Our order of El Couscous is much more than couscous. Its extra long, grilled kebab has chicken, lamb, Turkish merguez sausage and turkey. It’s served on top of spiced couscous with roasted vegetables, grilled tomatoes and saffron sauce (€12.50). Abdhul’s Starter is really an entire meal with all sorts of delicious dishes I cannot pronounce: sigara böregi (deep fried yufka roll, or phillo, filled with feta, mint and parsley), sigara suçuk (fried dough filled with cheese and suçuk sausage), falafel, fried squid rings and a piece of Turkish pizza filled with tomato and veal mince called lahmacun (€10.50). The Bizar Bazar mixed grill comes with lamb, chicken and turkey, but can also be ordered with fish (€14.50). There’s a dish of the day (€8.50), which you can order as a set menu with soup (New Delhi or Mercimek Çorbasi lentil) and yoghurt with whipped cream and honey for dessert (€15.75). Tonight’s fresh fish from the market is grilled butterfish, served with field greens and saffron rice (€11.50). Bazar serves alcohol, but also fresh mint tea and Turkish coffees. The restaurant opens early on Sundays to serve breakfast (Algerian ‘thousand hole’ pancakes called bahgrir) and most of the components to my unpronounceable meal are available separately as lunch entrees, as well. I think about returning for an early morning bahgrir after the US election day. Maybe I’ll be celebrating the results. Or maybe I’ll just be celebrating the menu. ___
Bazar’s Easter menu has dishes from Morocco and Iran. What’s next? A kosher Christmas dinner?
A night in the life...
By Sarah Gehrke
Pork rock The Minds Spuistraat 245 Open Mon-Thur, Sun 21.00-03.00, Fri, Sat 21.00-04.00 Cash ‘Shut the fuck up,’ says the guy behind the bar. He does that a few times, just to himself. But he is friendly, and he seems to be in a good mood. Chances are that he was just singing along to the music. It’s a Thursday night, and we are in The Minds, because we felt like being in a punk rock place. We were a little tired and a little sad, and after all, there’s nothing quite like a punk rock place to lift your spirits. In the toilets there’s a skull sprayed on the ceiling, the barman has lots of tattoos, it’s quite dark, there’s a pinball machine called ‘No Fear’, and the music is loud and fast. Aaaah! What’s this song again? Queens of the Stone Age. Okay, let’s be a little flexible with the term punk rock then. But what’s the name of the song? ‘Ha!’ says the barman. ‘You can’t buy this. It’s an illegal recording of their 2002 concert in Melkweg. The Queens were amazed when they came here. They were like “no—
Beer price: €1.50 for a biertje (Budels). Emergency food: Don’t think so. Special interior feature: A long row of skate decks decorate the wall above the window. Unspecial interior feature: From the ceiling hang (roughly) 23 used army boots. Predominant shoe type: Chucks, boots and fat skate shoes. Typically ordered drink: Bottles of Budels. Tune of the night: See left. Mingling factor: Quite low. Smoking situation: Quite good. State of toilets near closing time: The neon light’s even more surprising than at the beginning of the night.
we didn’t record this... but it’s great! We want it!” So we burned a CD for them.’ And with that, our mood is rapidly improving. As it gets later, the beers start getting shifted in a higher frequency. Two girls marvel at a pretty boy playing pool. Two guys start a serious discussion about adverts on beer mats. And at the other end of the bar, there are two people playing a game we have not seen in about 10 years and have completely forgotten about in the meantime. It’s the one which involves two little pink plastic pigs, which you have to throw so they land in a certain way. As is the way with things you had forgotten about and then come across again unexpectedly, that little pig game delights us beyond measure, and we try to remember how it worked. There are many positions the pigs can end up in, and they all get you different points. All the positions furthermore have names. The best name is ‘Pig Out’, a very complicated position that sets back your total score to nil. There’s only one thing worse than ‘Pig Out’: ‘Piggyback’. Piggyback is if one pig lands on top of another. In that case, the player is out of the game. Not very punk rock, that. Unless, of course, you turn the whole thing into a drinking game. Which we sincerely hope they did. ___
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20
Amsterdam Weekly_2-8 October 2008
FOOD/DRINK The Mouth
By Nanci Tangeman
Eat to the beat De Engelbewaarder Kloverniersburgwal 59, 625 3772 Open daily noon - 01.00, 03.00 weekends Lunch daily, dinner from 17:30 Cash, PIN There are no hep cats in our house. The closest we have is an orange tabby, and even he cowered when I dusted off my clarinet after a couple of decades and blew into it, just to see what would come out. What came out was not pretty. In fact, my entire block slammed their windows shut. But I took a hep cat vow this summer. It was at the North Sea Jazz Festival. Dr Lonnie Smith in his turban was groovin’ (that’s hep cat lingo) with the Lou Donaldson Quartet. I said to Partner-in-all-things-syncopated, ‘We’ve got to do this jazz thing more often.’ So here we are on a Sunday afternoon, headed to where all the hep cats go on a Sunday afternoon, De Engelbewaarder on the Kloveniersburgwal, with its live jazz session from 14.00 to 19.00. We pick up two (former) euphonium players on the way. We’re ready to jam—or at least listen to other hep cats jam. Only one problem. All the hep cats are on holiday. No jammin’ today, but that doesn’t mean we can’t stay for dinner. There’s a wide array of cheap Palm beers on tap to help us work up an appetite. We order a round and study the menu on giant blackboards at the polished wooden bar. Tables are set up on what seems to be the stage. As my cat
(and neighbours) would attest, this will be my only chance to be on the platform at the De Engelbewaarder on a Sunday. We make a bee-line to the stage seating. The windows are large and there’s a great view of the canal. The lack of music disappoints us, but the food does not. I order the vegetarian curry (€12), a mix of fresh green beans, carrots, mushrooms and spring onions in a sweet red sauce. Two giant sesame rice balls ogle me from the bowl. They are soft inside and allow me to soak up every spoonful of the curry sauce. Partner orders duck (€13). He is expecting a breast, but receives moist legs with a mix of roasted red and green peppers. The accompanying square of polenta is custard-like inside with a bit of a crust on top. Delicious! The euphonium duet orders sea bass (€13) and entrecôte (€15). The meat of the fish is tender, as is the entrecôte, which is covered in a light Bearnaise sauce. Surprisingly, it’s not as rare as most eetcafe entrecôtes—comparable to a US-style ‘medium’. The extra bowl of frites (€2) is worth every cent. Though it’s known mostly for its jazz these days, De Engelbewaarder was once a literary cafe. But no need for black turtleneck sweaters and berets. The atmosphere is casual; the music, even when it’s canned, is good. But canned music isn’t a problem any more because Sundays are jammin’ again at De Engelbewaarder. I heard the other day that the musicians are back from holiday. Get there early for a good seat. And, of course, don’t forget to bring a fellow hep cat or two with you. ___
Two giant sesame rice balls ogle me from the bowl. They are soft inside...
A night in the life...
By Sarah Gehrke
It’s not what you think, really
a similar style of bar. The interior is all Seventies, in a tasteful way. Upstairs, there’s a little restaurant part, and the food is reportedly quite good. And yes, the predominant colours are indeed golden and brown. One of the walls downstairs is covered in tiles with different patterns (golden). There are comfortable leather sofas (brown) by the window. It’s very nice to hang here and watch everyone and have a few glasses of wine on a Sunday night. However, on a Saturday the atmosphere is probably a lot less laid-back —this is one of the bars where people go before they go to clubs, everyone having made themselves pretty and being slightly nervous and expecting big things to happen. After the impolite girls have left, I wonder aloud if they shouldn’t have warned me if they really thought what they thought. ‘They were probably just blown away by my brazenness,’ says my friend. We then start talking about more important things, like buying socks and underwear. ‘I always do my sock and underwear shopping at the same time, you see,’ says my friend. ‘That’s why I really don’t understand that I always have more socks.’ I can’t help but wishing the girls would have heard this. It would’ve most certainly cleared up the idea that he was a bold swinger making the moves. ___
Golden Brown Jan Pieter Heijestraat 146 Opening times: Sun-Thur 12.00-01.00; Fri, Sat 12.00-03.00 Cash, PIN The girl looks at me with a strange half-smile. As her friend comes back from the toilet, she leans over to her, whispers something in her ear and points at us. ‘What, really?’ her friend squeals. They continue talking, suppressed laughter, hands over mouths... Considering they’re only about half a metre away from us, all of this is quite obvious and, one might say, even impolite. But they have a good reason. Half an hour before, the friend I’m here with was here with another friend, who also happens to be a blonde girl. She left before I came, and he went to drop her off before he came back to meet me. Thus, apparently, our table neighbours think my friend is speed-dating in a dishonest manner. Although you apparently can’t expect much girl solidarity in this bar, it is still a lovely place. Golden Brown was set up by the same guy that used to have Bep and now has Waldorf, and it’s
Beer price: €2.20 for a vaasje (Heineken). Emergency food: Finger food. Special interior feature: The ceiling is laminated, i.e. looks like a floor. Thankfully, this is not the place where one would get very, very drunk, so it is quite unlikely that any confusion regarding location orientation should arise. Predominant shoe type: Elegant yet trendy. Typically ordered drink: White wine. Tune of the night: ‘Forget Me Nots’ by Patrice Rushen. This is very interesting, because the very same song was sampled by Will Smith for ‘Men in Black’. And now guess who did an album called Meninblack. Yes (ha!)—it was The Stranglers! Now this is what I call sticking to a concept. Mingling factor: Low. Very, very low. State of toilets near closing time: Slick, like the rest of the bar.
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Amsterdam Weekly_25 September-1 October 2008
FOOD/DRINK The Mouth
By Nanci Tangeman
I’ll never tell Eetcafe Loetje Johannes Vermeerstraat 52, 662 8173 Kitchen open 11.00-22.00, Sat from 17.30, closed Sun (Everybody on the waiting list gets served.) Cash, PIN
guru of india
A couple of times a year, it happens. Someone says, ‘I found this great steak place, but I promised the waitress I wouldn’t tell my friends about it.’ It’s always the same story. The tipster is scared to be blamed when all the tourists in tennis shoes show up wanting ice in their Pepsis. And it’s always the same restaurant they’re scared to disclose: Eetcafe Loetje. There’s reason for the hesitation. Loetje’s is just off the Museumplein, a haven for bumbling sightseers. The menu is on blackboards—in Dutch— and the staff are definitely too busy to act as translators. On most evenings, the crowd is thick and noisy, waiting for tables. Regulars know that the first thing you do when you get to Loetje’s is swim upstream to the end of the bar, put your name on the waiting list, then stand back. The servers are liable to mow you down if you dare get in their way. I love Loetje’s. I want it to stay a local hangout. But since they’ve opened a second eetcafé in Oudekerk (and soon a third in Laren), I figure it’s safe to bring in some tourists and set them loose. Partner-in-all-things-local and I decide to do just that. We choose the out-of-towners carefully. You know the type. ‘We like
to go where the locals go, to travel off the beaten track,’ they say. We pick them up at their hotel. (The Hilton.) We walk them the eight blocks to Loetje’s. (She’s in stilettos.) After an amazingly short wait for a table, we translate the menu for our tourist friends, including macaroni and cheese (€6.75), sate (€8.50), mini hamburgers (€6.50) and calf’s liver with bacon and onions (€13.50). The 200g beefsteak ossenhaas (€16) or tuna steak (€14) are our suggestions. Our friends go for the beef. She asks for a side of steamed vegetables. (We snicker at her attempts to go local.) Loetje’s offers only mixed salads with house dressing (€3.75), potato salad (€4.25) or fries (€2.25) for sides. She’s a trooper and follows our lead with fries and salads. Then she does something that amazes us. She asks for a really rare steak... AND GETS IT! Our MO at Loetje’s has been the same for years—don’t waste the servers’ time by asking for special orders or trying to make chitchat. Order and ignore the often brusque, often incomplete, service. The food is worth it. Tonight is no exception. The steaks (both tuna and beef) are thick and oozing butter. The fries and salads are fresh and the servings generous. But the service is like nothing we’ve ever experienced at Loetje’s. Tonight, it’s our waiter who’s making chitchat! For the first time, we stick around and order dessert: chocolate mousse (€4.50) and a giant bowl of ice cream (€4.50). After coffee we lead our tiny tour group back down the unbeaten track to the Hilton. I issue no warning to keep the eetcafé under wraps. The secret’s out. If you want to blame me, go ahead. My bad. ___
She asks for a really rare steak... AND GETS IT!
A night in the life...
By Sarah Gehrke
Art deco drinking Cafe Nagel Kromboomsloot 47 Open: Thur, Sun-Wed 16.00-01.00, Fri, Sat 16.00-03.00 Cash, PIN The colourful art deco pillars behind the bar in Cafe Nagel are lit from behind. Above them, on the ceiling, are some really trashy, colourful neon lights in several shapes and colours. For some special reason, this blends together beautifully. Look to the right of the bar, and you see a wall filled with pictures— drawings, photos, graphics. ‘We have the tradition that all of our regulars hand in one or two of their works,’ explains the barman. Aha— so this is an arty place. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘we have a lot of artists and art students come in here, especially on the weekends.’ On this Monday night, though, there aren’t too many art students to be seen. Instead, it’s all about the regulars. They sit at the bar and drink and talk, and they all know each other, and the barman knows them all, too. The only thing missing from this picture-perfect bruin cafe
Beer price: €2.10 for a vaasje (Brand) Emergency food: Plenty: olives, cheese (plus a special spiced cheese called ‘Nagelkaas’), tostis and more, all served until the bitter end. Special interior feature: There’s a really old till behind the bar. Its numbers are stuck at 6 6 6. Predominant shoe type: Polished leather shoes. Also spotted: outrageously shiny black lacquer shoes. Typically ordered drink: Tonight it’s beer only. But apparently the white wine here is really good. Smoking situation: Little benches outside. Tune of the night: Gomez: ‘Make No Sound.’ Mingling factor: High.
scenery is the cigarettes in their hands and the overflowing ashtrays. This is one of the bars where the smoking ban is particularly noticeable. But it’ll adjust... As one woman from the regular’s corner gets up to leave, she sighs, ‘It’s so late already! What are the neighbours gonna think?’ The man sitting across from her replies dryly: ‘Ah, don’t you worry. I think I’m a very good neighbour in that respect. I’m still sitting in the bar myself...’ Then, two girls sit down at the bar. They wear American Apparel shirts and those ’80s boots that’ve been worn by many people for a while now. Perhaps those art students have turned up after all? But the girls don’t speak about art. They speak about boyfriends, and boyfriends that weren’t meant to be, and boyfriends that shouldn’t have been. Outside, a man passes by, walking his dog. And he’s got traditional Dutch clogs on. It’s contemporary Amsterdam at its finest. Then, one of the girls breaks out into a lament about the smoking ban. ‘Our children,’ she cries out, ‘will grow up in a world without ashtrays!’ She makes it sound as if she was talking about the end of the civilised world. But I’m sure the regulars will agree with her. ___
Amsterdam Weekly_18-24 September 2008
FOOD/DRINK
The Mouth
By Nanci Tangeman
Panned cakes Meneer Pannekoek Raadhuisstraat 6, 627 8500 Kitchen open daily 12.00-20.00 Cash, PIN, credit cards Mr Pancake is having a bad day. Lost orders. Fake topiary flying across the restaurant. It’s not all his fault, of course. But, truth be told, today is not adding up to the best dining experience I’ve ever had in Amsterdam. It all begins two weeks ago, when I wake up with the urge for pancakes— big fluffy, buttermilk pancakes with handfuls of blueberries and rivers of maple syrup. In other words—NOT Dutch pannekoeken. Realising my geographic limitations, I amend my cravings and today, Partner-in-allthings-gratifying and I finally head out to Meneer Pannekoek to satisfy my hankering. It’s a long, miserable bike ride through rain and wind to the busy tourist corner on Raadhuisstraat. Partner and I arrive soaking wet. Meneer Pannekoek’s decor is an odd mix of memorabilia: pigs in chef hats hold chalkboards; stuffed Dalmatian toys line the walls; Bing Crosby flaps his ears from a large black-and-white movie poster in the corner. It’s not completely bad. The music is soothing—mostly jazz, with an appropriate rendition of ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ on the jukebox. The menu is another eclectic assortment. The monthly threecourse special (€18.50) offers chicken salad, fish stew and apples with cinnamon ice cream. There is a long list of Dutch favourites: pea soup with black bread and bacon (€3.75), uitsmijter (€6.75)
and stamppot (€10.25). I’ve heard from a friend of a friend that the Wienerschnitzel (€13.25) is the best in town. There’s even a children’s dish (€4.25) that comes with a surprise. But no buttermilk pancakes with blueberries. Still, I’m determined to order something that I can squirt syrup on... so I take a long look at the pancake and toast selections. I settle on Toast Meneer Pannekoek with ham, pear and cheese (€6.25). Partner passes on the Cajun pancakes and those covered with shawarma, mussels, smoked salmon or artichokes, and settles for a pannekoek with salami, onions, cheese and mushrooms (€9.25). We order and the long wait begins. All around us, diners are served. A giant serving of stamppot with smoked sausage, bacon and cracklings barely makes it past our table, as my stomach growls. Eventually, the waitress fesses up—she’s lost our order, but the drinks are on them. I contemplate the pancake house’s full bar, but settle for sparkling water. About now, the topiary begins to fly. A diner from the next table stands up and somehow trips on a fake tree. Its beautifully manicured top careers through the air, landing right next to hungry Partner. If it had been real, he would have eaten it. When our food finally arrives, my two pieces of toast, with crisp pears and grated cheese (straight from underneath the broiler) are just the slightest bit bland. I squirt a little syrup on top. That helps. Partner cuts into his pancake. The mushrooms are canned and the salami is soft, not hard. Still, we’re so hungry that we finish every bite. If there’s another visit to Meneer Pannekoek, we hope he’s having a better day.
Eventually, the waitress fesses up—she’s lost our order, but the drinks are on them.
A night in the life...
By Sarah Gehrke
Slow night, so long Cafe de Tuin Tweede Tuindwarsstraat 13 Open: Mon-Thur 10.00-01.00, Fri, Sat 10.00-03.00, Sun 11.00-01.00 Cash, PIN ‘So it was a lecture about “slowness”,’ says the girl. She’s sitting at a table outside Cafe de Tuin with her friends. It’s a mild Wednesday night. ‘The whole thing was quite awful. The woman that held the lecture stood there with her jumper half on...’ Her friend interrupts. ‘What do you mean, half on? Like it was sliding down her shoulder or something?’—‘No, seriously half on!’ says the girl. ‘She only wore the sleeves, and the rest of it was just hanging down her back! Maybe she was demonstrating her way of taking things slow? Put on your clothes really slowly... Start with the sleeves, leave the rest for later...’— ‘Yes, or maybe she was continuing to put it on during the lecture,’ says her friend, ‘and you couldn’t see the process because she was doing it in a sort of super-slow motion—too slow for the human eye to see...’ They ramble on like this for a while and laugh. ‘Anyway,’ the girl continues her story, ‘as the lecture went on, I was getting more and more
Beer price: €2 for a vaasje (Grolsch). Emergency food: Tostis and bread with tapenade, served well into the night. Special interior feature: Beautiful, old-fashioned wallpaper, and old lamps and old mirrors to go with it. Predominant shoe type: Arty trainers on the younger part of the customers. Old ‘Jordaanese’ shoes on the old ‘Jordaanese’ part. Typically ordered drink: Speciaalbier. And normal beer. Smoking situation: Sit outside, bathe in the soft red neon light that emanates from the bar’s sign, and watch the world go by—as long as it’s still warm enough. Tune of the night: MGMT: ‘Electric Feel’. Mingling factor: Medium. State of toilets near closing time: The toilets are actually the only part of the bar that’s really ugly. They’re clean, yes, but the doors are painted in an abominable way and in disgusting colours.
aggressive. Then she posed a question to the audience: “What would you do to change the space around you?” And I wanted to say I’d let out a fart and stay where I was while everyone else went away, and I was waiting for her to call on me so I could say it, but she didn’t. I think she had already sensed the bad karma exuding from me.’ In Cafe de Tuin, however, the karma is pretty good. It’s quite a large place, but without the hall-like feeling of the ‘grand cafes’ of this town. The people are a nice mixture of all types and amusing to watch. The beer is good and so is the music. It’s busy, but the atmosphere is relaxed. In short, this is the perfect place for a slow night of drinks and silliness. ‘Vacuum cleaners!’ says someone outside. ‘The shop sells nothing else. It’s called Stofzuigerkoning and it’s amazing. They have one by Alessi in the window, and the board next to it says: “An adornment for the living room”. Imagine—“I went to buy something nice for the house, a dinner table maybe, but well, it ended up a vacuum cleaner...”’ Let’s leave them here. I’m sure an elongated and very amusing conversation about vacuum cleaners is to follow, but on this slow and silly night it’s getting late, and we still have other places to go. But we’ll be back.
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Amsterdam Weekly_21-27 August 2008
DINING / DRINKING The Mouth
By Nanci Tangeman
Is it in the water? Restaurant Contrast Ferdinand Bolstraat 176-178, 471 5544 Open Mon-Thur 12.00-00.00, Fri-Sat 12.00-02.00, Sun 12.00-00.00 Cash, PIN, major credit cards I might as well give up now. Here I sit—actually, I’m lounging—in the sunshine. A few minutes ago I was en route to Albert Cuypmarkt, shopping list in hand, with the best intentions of GETTING THINGS DONE! Now I find myself flung against pillows, perusing a menu and enjoying the breeze. Idyllic, yes. But something’s not quite right. I can feel it. I slowly look up from my menu. An orange pumpkin a few chairs down rubs her belly and sips her coffee. A gleaming white weather balloon trundles between the tables. I feel like something out of The Sixth Sense, except: I SEE PREGNANT PEOPLE. Half the patrons of Restaurant Contrast, not to mention the passers-by, seem to be expectant—waiting for something other than their lunches. I wonder if there’s ‘something in the water’. Luckily, I’m not here for a drink. I’m here for the food. Restaurant Contrast was born a few months ago, complete with a menu of Dutch-French dishes and a strong list of wines. Contrast is a place where a couple of bottles could drink away your entire afternoon. Shade, cushions, sunshine... But I’m not here to succumb—I’ve still got that long list of errands. And, anyway, I don’t like to linger in places where the result seems to be swollen bellies... But the menu alone at Con-
trast could have that effect. I order the sandwich of almond brioche and duck pâté, with a compote of red onions and raisins (€7.50). My partner-in-all-things-reproductive orders the salad with smoked Charlois entrecôte and house-made Parmesan sticks (€12.50). In deference to the moms-to-be around us, we pass on wine, but if we’d partaken, Contrast would have helped us along by listing the wine pairings for each dish—for example, a Saint Véran, 2004 Château de Fuissé (€6.50) for my sandwich. With a menu like this, we could be in Paris, not De Pijp. Then I notice the wine pairing with bitterballen is a glass of Brand beer... A generous slab of rustic duck paté anchors my double-decker sandwich. The mound of red onion compote is sweet, with raisins as bloated as the women around me. Partner’s salad is lighter. The entrecôte is rare, seasoned and carpaccio-esque. Several crisp parmesan sticks round out the fresh lettuce mix. Not a hint of pickle or peanut butter. The maternity mystery continues. Contrast serves dinner nightly. In addition to their à la carte menu, they have daily two- and three-course specials (lunch: €24/€27.50; dinner: €37.50/€40.50) guaranteed to round out your belly faster than IVF treatment. After dinner, Contrast transforms into a wine bar, open until the wee hours. Looking at the list of close to 100 bottles—with more than 20 available by the glass—I suddenly have a little insight. Maybe Contrast is, indeed, doing its part to bring a lot of pregnancies to the neighbourhood. But it’s probably not the water. ___
The mound of red onion compote is sweet, with raisins as bloated as the women around me.
A night in the life...
By Sarah Gehrke
The bar around the corner Cafe Huygens Eerste Constantijn Huygensstraat 86 Open Sun-Thur 20.00-03.00, Fri, Sat 20.00-04.00 Cash only
‘Watch out...’ the man in the striped shirt shouts over to the bar lady. He’s standing by the door, having a smoke. Observing the street. ‘There’s a group of twenty people coming this way!’ The bar lady doesn’t seem to worry much about this. She looks capable of handling much larger groups of people. He looks again. ‘Actually, it’s about the whole of the PvdA that’s coming!’ She shrugs. Another man, who’s sitting at the bar, rolls his eyes. ‘If you ask me,’ he drawls, ‘I’m more for the VVD. But whatever.’ The time: Wednesday somewhere after 1am. The place: a bar whose name can only be found out after intensive research. Because they don’t have a sign outside, the bar is generally known as ‘The Bar around the Corner’. And that’s exactly what you get, too: classic bruin cafe interior, slightly trashy decorations, radio music, and a hard-boiled and dead cool bar lady. The main merit of The
Beer price: €2.20 for a vaasje (Heineken). Emergency food: The best burger in town is served in the snack bar next door. Ask for the Hawaii. Special interior feature: The bar is decorated with paper garlands. Predominant shoe type: All types. That said, red high heels were spotted on three ladies. Typically ordered drink: ‘One for the road.’ Smoking situation: Outside. A long row of punters try to look as cool as is still possible at that time of the night. Tune of the night: ‘Lost in Music’ by Sister Sledge. Mingling factor: High to very high. State of toilets near closing time: The Ladies’ was broken, so I was forced to check out the Men’s. It was alright.
Bar around the Corner is that they serve beer after all the other bars have closed. A factor that is, of course, not to be underestimated, as it brings with it not only relief for the still-thirsty, but also a large number of highly entertaining customers. After all, that is the good thing about most late bars: they provide an excellent overview of people, as all the leftovers from the other bars come to them. After 1am, there are no more scenes, no more special drinks (‘special’ meaning everything that is not the pils they have on tap) and no more taste in music. Just pure beer democracy. Hell yeah! Speaking of taste in music: as it happens so often after 1am, a rather pointless music discussion is now ensuing at the bar. Sparked by the current play list selection, it’s about what the worst existing music genres are. The details of the argument escape me. But eventually, the discussion is ended, and its participants consume their beer in relative silence—every once in a while breaking it by humming along with ‘Le Freak’. Someone outside says: ‘So, why do politicians go to bars like this? And is this the reason why things don’t really work out over here?’ The answer is simple, and delivered with a broad grin. ‘No. It’s the reason why things actually do work out over here.’ ___
Amsterdam Weekly_30 October-5 November 2008
AGENDA: FOOD/DRINK
The Mouth
By Nanci Tangeman
Cultural lessons for tourists Pannekoekenpaviljoen De Carrousel Tweede Weteringplantsoen 1, 625 8002 Open Mon-Fri 11.00-21.00, Sat-Sun 10.00-21.00 Cash, PIN, credit cards Tourists are like sponges. They’re eager to learn everything there is to know about Amsterdam. My philosophy? If there’s a chance to explain something from a local point of view—go right ahead. It doesn’t matter if it’s true. So it is with our latest visitor. Partner-in-nothing-devious thinks we need to introduce him to that wonderful Dutch tradition—pancakes and beer. I think it’s a perfect opportunity for a lesson in traditional pancake-eating. Practically overlooking the Heineken Headquarters, Pannekoekenpaviljoen De Carrousel is the perfect place for our cultural experience, but it is a little precarious. Everything about the place is designed to make your head spin. The restaurant is built in the shape of a carrousel. From inside, its glass walls give a perfect view of the trams and bikes careening around the Weteringcircuit. The hot pink and white striped walls, mirrors and bright lights don’t help. But we like to live on the edge. (Although we sit near the centre, not noticing the child-friendly carrousel horses next to our table. Luckily, there are few children dining—or riding—today.) Our first step in this cultural enlightenment? Beer. The Heineken Extra Cold comes in two sizes (€4.50/€2.50). Our Tourist
opts for the larger, as we walk him through the menu. All the usual pancake flavours are here, from apples and cinnamon to, um, chile con carne. Eventually Tourist decides on a pancake topped with egg and bacon (€6.50). Partner and I get our usual ham and cheese pannenkoeken (€6.50). Despite the name of the restaurant, you can also train your foreign visitors in the Dutch way of eating hamburgers (€6.50); or wiener, chicken or fish schnitzel (€10); poffertjes (from €5); appelgebak (€3.50) or sweet Brussels waffles (€4-€8). Or, if you’re really feeling industrious, teach them how to eat a proper English breakfast—Dutchstyle (€8.50, available until 13.00). Eventually, our attentive waitress delivers the goods. Tourist marvels at the circumference of his pancake, as well as its thinness. A perfect start to the lesson. ‘First,’ I tell him, ‘you roll up your pancake, burrito-style.’ I demonstrate, as Partner digs right in, ignoring our lesson. Tourist follows my lead. Next I show him the shaker of powdered sugar on the table. ‘Now you want to give your rolled-up pancake a light dusting.’ ‘But it’s bacon and egg flavoured,’ he reminds me. ‘Do it,’ I say. He does. ‘Now you need just a squirt of syrup across the length.’ No objections this time. ‘Go ahead and eat,’ I say. He digs in, smiles and orders another beer. Not a bad combination, even if lunchtime has begun to feel a little like a craft project. But I know that pannenkoeken always taste better this way. I’ve been rolling my own since I was a tourist a decade ago—and someone taught me how to eat a pancake ‘the traditional Dutch way.’ ___
‘First,’ I tell him, ‘you roll up your pancake, burrito-style.’
A night in the life...
By Sarah Gehrke
Cultural binge drinking De Balie Kleine-Gartmanplantsoen 10 Open Sun-Thur 10.00-01.00, Fri-Sat 10.00-02.00 Cash, PIN ‘Can we have two more beers,’ say the girls who stand at the bar. Their Dutch is a little uncertain, and so is their balance. ‘And an... errrrr...’ They take a while. Then they simultaneously remember the correct word. ‘DOEKJE!,’ they shout triumphantly. The barman shakes his head and tut-tuts. ‘Again?’ Apparently, it’s not the first time their group have knocked over a glass tonight. But he smiles. At first sight, De Balie doesn’t really seem like the obvious location if you plan to get into a state in which you knock over several glasses. For one, the room is very brightly-lit. It’s also very spacious. And there are many vases with lilies. Furthermore, the cafe is attached to a cultural centre, so the danger of running into intellectual people right before, during or after knocking over glasses is a real one. Though, in reality the only reason most intellectual people never knock over glasses is that they’ve practised drinking harder than anyone else. For example at all the borrels that take place after cultural events. So it’s quite probable that De Balie
Beer price: €2.20 for a vaasje (Brand). Emergency food: Classic: Olives and cheese, served until half an hour before closing time. (They also have a restaurant part, which serves very nice food. But I’m digressing— restaurant food is not what this column is about.) Special interior feature: Lilies. Their smell is so strong, it finally helps you understand the term olfactory interior. Or invent that term, perhaps? Predominant shoe type: Cultural trainers, cultural boots. Typically ordered drink: The accidental next drink. Smoking situation: Hang out on the metal staircase outside and feel industrial. Tune of the night: From soapy funk to Aimee Mann: The tunes here are cultural, but not in the pop culture sense. Mingling factor: Very low—except when there’s a borrel. State of toilets near closing time: As nice a place as this is, for some reason the toilets here are very unappealing and there’s a slight smell of pee at all times.
has seen many, many people having a few too many. And of course not all drinking binges are planned, so they might take place here accidentally. One of the doekje-girls explains how she and her friends originally met up for coffee. ‘And then,’ she says, ‘we decided we didn’t want to have dinner. So we went here and ordered beer. And we’ve been doing that for a long while now.’ Combine these accidental drink gatherings with the many cultural borrels, and suddenly De Balie becomes the place for binge drinking—which explains the barman’s equanimity at spilled beers. However, tonight, as there was no cultural drinking event scheduled, most other guests seem very sober. They sit in couples, opposite each other, and have quiet conversations about cultural things. Except, of course, the doekjegirls’ group, three of which have now moved outside to smoke. They’re speaking, very unculturally, about the people that are inside. ‘Check it out, that dude at the bar is wearing a skirt!’ says one of them. ‘Yeah,’ her friend replies, ‘he’s a Scot.’ Girl #1 disagrees. ‘No! Look closely—the skirt has a floral print! He’s not a Scot. He’s just a dude wearing a skirt!’ Girl #3 can no longer take it and points out that the person in question is actually not only not a Scot, but also not a dude. Which renders the whole discussion suddenly uninteresting. The girls move back inside, to order another beer. Let’s just hope they won’t knock it over again. ___
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Amsterdam Weekly_10-16 July 2008
F E AT U R E
What a concept! Three new dining ventures delve into darkness, the inner mind and... sugar. An adventure. By Nanci Tangeman Photos by Krista van der Niet
T
o my knowledge, I’ve never visited a restaurant that’s been reviewed in a psychology journal. And I’ve never considered how a flashlight might enhance my dining experience. And frankly, I’ve never stayed up late just to eat dessert. But three concept restaurants in Amsterdam recently provided me and my partner-in-all-things-adventurous with those opportunities and more. Two of the dining ventures, I must say, should never, ever be combined: eating in a completely dark room, defenceless and humbled; and dining at a restaurant staffed by people dealing with psychiatric issues. The third, a Mecca for dessert and cocktail lovers, should be combined with every night out.
Sensual explosion of flavour—or fad? Tonight, my partner-in-all-things and I explore Ctaste, a restaurant that’s completely dark, with waiters who are visually-impaired or even totally blind. Ctaste say that the flavour, aroma and texture of our meal will come alive in the dark. I say I’d like to smuggle in a flashlight. In Ctaste’s bright, modern lobby we begin our journey to the dark side by abandoning all our belongings to a locker. So much for my flashlight contraband. Then we meet our waiter. Jeroen is tall and personable with a Ray Charles tilt to his head. He can see about 15 per cent of what we can see outside of the dining room. Inside, he’ll have the advantage. We’re about to enter a different world—and we do it via conga line. Hands on each others’ shoulders, with Jeroen in the lead and partner-in-all bringing up the rear, we shuffle into the dining room. Three heavy curtains later, we’re in the pitch blackness of the restaurant. Jeroen stops us at a seemingly random spot and, sure enough, here’s our table. I feel my way into a chair, and partner sits down beside me (no gazing into each other’s eyes tonight). The darkness is strangely claustrophobic and disorienting. It’s not until I glimpse a tiny illicit slit of light at the doorway that I feel secure. Wine helps, too. But first Jeroen has to get the wine glasses into our hands. He explains that he’ll be wearing a bell so we’ll always know when he’s near. Each time he approaches our table he speaks to us by name. It will be the most personal service I’ve experienced in Amsterdam. When we’re comfortable, he brings us our first course. The menu is a surprise. Part of the shtick is that we’re supposed to be able to use our other senses to identify and experience the pleasures of our meal. It would be easier with my flashlight. I manoeuvre my fork around the giant plate. After a few quiet taps, I empathise with the white canes of the world. I spear a mound of something and guide it carefully to my lips, concentrating more on the route of the fork than the size of its load. It’s a big load. A big, cool, mushy load. And it completely fills up my mouth. Partner-in-adventure asks me what I think it is. I cast him an unseen look of distress. He asks me again. ‘Phlmerkn!’ I answer, in a panic. I’ve spent almost a decade in Amsterdam and have managed to avoid phlmerkn, I mean, filet American, that barbaric mixture of raw hamburger and spices. Until tonight. I chew. I concentrate very hard on swallowing. I find my glass of wine that I’ve strategically set at 12 o clock on my plate and drain it. Although I’m sworn to secrecy about the menu, I can tell you about my filet américain experience—because it wasn’t filet américain. And here is my first realisation of the evening: I cannot recognise
food without my flashlight. For a foodie, this is humbling. It’s even more humbling when partner-in-all-things correctly identifies what I’ve just stuffed into my mouth. (At least it’s not filet americain.) My next realisation is that nobody can see me. I’m free to cram my napkin into my collar and abandon my cutlery. I feel around my plate. Something moist here. A firm stack of something else there. Some wobbly bits in the corner. And so the meal goes. As much as the menu is touted at Ctaste, the evening is not about the food, it’s about the darkness. If my sense of sight is gone, my sense of hearing is enhanced. A woman at a distant table whoops and laughs louder than she might if dirty looks could be thrown her way. At one point, we hear another diner choking. We half expect a wad of meat to whiz by when someone at her table mentions the Heimlich manoeuvre. We listen with relief as she seems to recover. Or maybe she just passes out. In all, the evening is the adventure we’re after. We learn a little. We laugh a lot. And I am pleased to say that next time, I’ll leave my flashlight at home. Histrionic personality disorder—or just friendly? Our waiter is attentive. He puts coasters under our table’s legs to keep it from wobbling. He brings us a pitcher of ice water without our asking. He wants us to be comfortable. In any other Amsterdam cafe, this would make me suspicious. At Restaurant Freud, it makes me diagnose. We listen as our attentive waiter explains the establishment: Restaurant Freud was founded by cooking teacher Gerda Hahn and psychologist Renske Kastelein to help people with psychiatric backgrounds feel part of the community. As he speaks, I rearrange my cutlery. The crew is made up of about 45 people, he says, from those who can manage only a few hours a week cleaning windows, to others who can handle the stress of the kitchen or even the demanding public. I position my water glass exactly above my knives. He tells us how diners stare at him, trying to figure out his affliction. Histrionic personality disorder, I decide. A peculiar need to please people. I meticulously line up the two forks on the left. Then he mentions that he is a coach, one of the few paid positions, working with the volunteer staff. As he brings our wine—a cool Argentinean Sauvignon Blanc— and takes our orders, I watch him closely. I change my diagnosis. Couldn’t he just as well be a pathological liar than the staff coach? I line up my wine glass with my water glass. Is it my imagination, or is the staff watching me back? Someone new brings us our mezes. They have interesting spices and textures-gambas, carpaccio and incredible marinated eggplant. Where did our friendly waiter go? Did they send him to a little room in the back? I rotate my plate and think how my own list of symptoms is growing. I wonder if they’ll offer me a discount. Another staffer brings our main course. The poussin is tender and juicy. They have run out of the lamb rather early in the evening, but the bio-beefsteak is sliced, seasoned and tender as well. If not for the few short paragraphs at the front of the menu and the hint in the restaurant name, diners wouldn’t be able to tell Restaurant Freud was anything but good food. Set on the busy Spaarndammerstraat at the edge of Westerpark, sidewalk tables are tucked into the traffic of the neighbourhood, amid a diverse parade of residents. Inside, fresh green graphics on the wall set off the crisp white linens and contemporary decor. The website is much more blatant. It makes light of the staff’s afflictions in a very politically incorrect way: ‘Our bartender has ADHD!’ ‘Our waiter has a screw loose!’ ‘Reserve your table today! It’s going to be a madhouse!’ Indeed, Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights are usually fully booked. And as for the claims that ‘the cook has mood swings’? No one who’s ever worked in a kitchen (or watched a reality chef show, for that matter) would be surprised. But to me it’s more fun to make my own subtle diagnoses. After all, a friendly attentive waiter in Amsterdam just isn’t normal. Then again, I suspect someone in that back room is diagnosing me, too. And maybe they’re preparing to offer me a job. Sweet tooth fantasy—or far more? My very first pay check came from scooping ice cream. It was the best job I’ve ever had. I didn’t make much money, but I got to eat all my mistakes. As a 16-year-old slinging ice cream, I learned a thing or two about banana splits. How to slice a banana, touching only the skin. How to form perfect 70-gram scoops. How to get a maraschino
Amsterdam Weekly_10-16 July 2008
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cherry to keep from sliding down the hot fudge. It took a lot of practice, but I enjoyed a steady diet of ice cream blunders. So there’s a bit of nostalgia at play as I order the Pacific Style Marinated Banana Split at Sucre, a dessert restaurant and cocktail bar near the Vondelpark. The description sounds like one of my mistakes: banana marinated in rum with lime zest, coriander and vanilla/banana ice cream. This is not the banana split of my youth. Of course, that’s a good thing. The flavour combination of Sucre’s banana split is subtle and surprising, as are the textures. It’ll more than do, even without the maraschino cherry. And, unlike my teenage creations, Sucre’s banana split is not the least bit sweet. That’s not a minor point. This dessert restaurant is not just for people with a sweet tooth. Early in the evening, Sucre offers four- or five- course dinner menus with up to four dessert courses: sweet dessert courses, unsweet dessert courses and cheese courses. Around half past nine, the menu changes to desserts only--but even then they range from sweet, to cheese plates, to practically savoury. Sucre opened about three months ago in what’s been dubbed the Olympic Quarter. Other new restaurants such as Ron Blaauwe’s Sophia are also opening up next to pet stores and dry cleaners in the neighbourhood. The off-Centrum location doesn’t bother owner Martijn Machielse: ‘It’s like having a girlfriend in Australia—if you love her, you’ll still visit her.’ Sucre is a lot closer than Australia. And it seems to be the only establishment on Amstelveenseweg with a velvet rope. But ignore that velvet rope. And when you’re inside, ignore the sensuous black and white photos on the walls. Ignore the feel of the heavy crystal tumbler in your hand. At Sucre, it’s all about the food. Chef de Cuisine Peter Scholte, who came to Sucre after cooking his way around the world (including at two Michelin-starred restaurants), says what he always missed was a restaurant that gave the same attention to desserts as to the rest of the menu. As you’d expect, he’s lavished the Sucre carte with attention. Everyone in the place seems excited about those desserts. Asked about a favourite creation, our waiter says he leans towards the honey-baked apple with vanilla ice cream and cinnamon sabayon or the bread-apple-and-butter-pudding with cinnamon ice cream and Calvados. ‘I like a nice baked apple. I guess I really just miss my granny’s apple cake.’ Let me be clear about another thing: neither of these dishes is his granny’s apple cake. Machielse explains that although he and business partner Eline Kok (from restaurant Bloesem) want to offer dishes that people recognise (bread pudding, banana splits, baked apples), they want to do their own thing with them—give them an edge. ‘Dessert should make you go ‘WOW!’ After all, this is the way you’re closing your night.’ After being wowed into the early hours, our only regret of the evening is that the infamous Chocolate Box, with its gold leafed walls, is unavailable. Apparently, the delicate dessert won’t hold up to tonight’s humidity. Chef Peter won’t serve it if it’s not perfect. As we close down the restaurant and they lock the doors behind us, I can’t help wondering about that chocolate box—and if Chef Peter is downstairs in the kitchen, eating his mistake.
Ctaste Amsteldijk 55, 06 22 33 53 66 www.ctaste.nl Surprise 3-course menu with fish and vegetarian options. €39.50. Optional €12.50 wine pairing.
He tells us how diners stare at him, trying to figure out his affliction. Histrionic personality disorder, I decide. A peculiar need to please people. I meticulously line up the two forks on the left.
Restaurant Freud Spaarndammerstraat 424, 688 5548 www.restaurantfreud.nl Dinner for two, with wine, around €75. Cash only. Sucre Amstelveenseweg 152, 470 1910 www.sucrerestaurant.nl Dessert for two, with digestives, €70