20 AmsterdamWeekly_14-20 August 2008D I N I N G / D R I N K I N G

A French fantasy

Le Fournil de Sébastien Olympiaplein 119, 672 4211Open Mon-Sat 07.00-19.00Cash, Pin

It’s an addiction. I like to think of it asculinary, but it probably isn’t com-pletely innocent.

It all starts when, after a longabsence from Amsterdam, I walk by awindow on my street and stop cold.There, in full view of passers-by, is ahandful of handsome men doing whathandsome men do best—kneadingdough. I ask around and find that I’mnot the first girl on the block to makethis discovery. There are more ladiestaking morning walks aroundOlympiaplein. And many more bakedgoods being eaten in my neighbour-hood.

Not just any baked goods: Frenchbaked goods. All thanks to Le Fournilde Sébastien.

At first, I adjust my own route abit—passing the window only on the days when I think about it.Soon I’m observing them every day, radiant in their pressed whiteuniforms. One morning their hands deep in dough; the next,nestling slices of chocolate into uncooked pain au chocolat androlling them over and over and over...

After a few months of gawking, I make a dicision: I need to getsome of that!

The first day I enter the bakery, I’m tongue-tied. Here standsone of the window men, asking for my order. I stammer and order acroissant (€1.00), the only thing I can pronounce. ‘Anything else?’My burning cheeks remind me to bring something back to my part-ner-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 delicatepastry. Inside, it’s buttery. Not a shout,like the Dutch imitators, but a gentlewhisper, a reassurance that butter ishere. No need for jam. That would onlycheapen the experience.

I give the pear tart to Partner. Guiltpractically wafts out of the bag when Ihand it to him. He pronounces it sweetand much too petit.

The next morning I return. Partnergets another guilt offering—a pain auchocolat (€1.05). Sweet but not too flaky(the perfect addiction). I try the brio-chette a l’orange (€1.20). Topped withgranules of pearl sugar and filled with asubtle orange cream, the small briocheis chewy and soft.

A few hours later, I’m back formore. My takeaway sandwich (€4.20)has fresh tomatoes and basil, with moz-zarella cheese that’s been marinatedovernight in garlic, all caught inside amini loaf of the bakery’s cigalou. Blackand green olives dot the bread. Like anyromance, the loaf doesn’t give itself

over to me right away, but it resists just the right amount. Theflavours are more Sud de France than Amsterdam Zuid. Partner hasthe l’Auvergnat with Parma ham and Salers cheese from the moun-tains of Auvergne (€4.20). The fresh baguette is spread with Frenchsalted butter and a confit of roasted tomatoes. The saltiness ispleasant and balanced.

My curiosity is satisfied. My appetite is sated. But, not surpris-ingly, my addiction is stronger than before. I know that abstinenceis unacceptable. The only possibility is to give in to the craving—and add another lap around the Olympiaplein every morning. Theway I’m feeling about Le Fournil de Sebastien, I’m going to needthe exercise. ___

General dogsbodies

ProefOvertoom 160-162Open Sun, Tues-Thur 16.00-1.00, Mon18.00-1.00, Fri, Sat 16.00-3.00Cash, Pin

‘Please!’ says the guy who has justentered Proef on his way from terrace totoilet. ‘Help me hate him... I really want-ed to hate him. But now I’ve seen him forthe first time, and I can’t! He’s too cute!’He’s talking to his friend, who’s makinghis journey in reverse. ‘You don’t need tohate him,’ replies the friend, ‘just becausehe cost twenty-five hundred euros.’They’re talking, as it turns out, abouttheir friend’s new dog, presented to therest of the world on this very night.

The dog in question is lying inno-cently underneath a table outside—motionless, on his side, as if he’d justbeen shot. Apart from the fact that he’sdead-looking, he is indeed very cute.From his proud owner, we learn thathe’s an English bulldog. From the own-er’s jealous friends, we learn that he’slying in his own pee. But soon, the con-versation will shift in all sorts of otherdirections—planned vacations, work.

It is a lukewarm Wednesday night,and the mood on the Proef terrace is jol-ly and summery. Proef is one of the

many cafe/bar/restaurants that Over-toom is full of. In fact, the only thing thatOvertoom is fuller of than cafe/bar/restaurant things is people who fre-quent them, and so the benches arefilled with happy, wine-drinking people.(This is a wine kind of night, as well as awiney-kind of place—although Proefseems to try to discourage this. Not onlyhave they got over twenty beers on tap,their wine glasses are also exceptionallyugly.) In addition to the many fancybeers they serve here, special featuresof this bar include quiz nights everyMonday, live jazz every Sunday—and, itturns out, the occasional Wednesday aswell—and extraordinarily nice bar staff.They manage to stay friendly even whenthey have to clear the terrace of thosewho subtly refuse to leave.

Because now it’s getting late. Thedog has been walked home long ago. It’stime for the rest of us to leave as well.The barman, thankfully, isn’t too hecticin throwing everyone off his benches.While he cleans up the part of the ter-race that’s already been vacated, hedraws attention, in a friendly way, to abar around the corner, which is openlate. ‘Not tonight,’ however, is the gener-al tenor. Tonight, after all, was a winekind of night. Nameless late bars aroundthe corner don’t fit in with that kind ofnight. But don’t worry, bar around thecorner: your time will come. ___

‘No need for jam.That would only cheapen the

experience.’

Beer price: €2.20 for a vaasje (Brand).Emergency food: several sorts of sophisticated kroket-versions and other snacks, served until as late asmidnight.Special interior feature: pictures of Nina Hagen recordcovers and other arty stuff on the walls. Predominant shoe type: expensive trainers. AndBirkenstocks (the fashion sort).Typically ordered drink: rosetjeSmoking situation: the benches on the Overtoom pave-ment provide sufficient seating for all the smokers present. Tune of the night: The Girl from Ipanema, in a lyriclesseasy-jazz version (performed live). Mingling factor: low (unless you have a dog with you).State of toilets near closing time: broken. But thisseemed more like an exception than like the rule.

A night in the life... By Sarah Gehrke

The Mouth By Nanci Tangeman

20 AmsterdamWeekly_9-15 October 2008A G E N D A : F O O D / D R I N K

Ostrich peepersRestaurant De Struisvogel Keizersgracht 312, 423 3817Daily 18.00-00.00 Cash, PIN, major credit cards

The boys in our group are distracted. Ithas somehow come to their attentionthat the steep stairs leading down intoDe Struisvogel could provide a bit of ashow. All it would take is one femalecustomer descending from the streetlevel to the cellar restaurant in a shortskirt. Hoping for a Sharon Stonemoment, our boys can’t seem to make itpast the appetiser selections on themenu without glancing towards thebrightly lit stairs outside the glass doors.

Tucked underneath a corner build-ing in the Negen Straatjes, DeStruisvogel would be much easier tofind if the white marquee lighting overits door wasn’t at knee level. Therestaurant was transformed whensmokers were booted outdoors in July.The tiny cellar used to be hazy andclaustrophobic. Even now diners sit shoulder to shoulder, but atleast the air is clear, except for the aroma of food.

‘Struisvogel’ is the Dutch word for ostrich, the house special-ty. De Struisvogel offers a reasonably-priced (€23) three-coursemenu, with several choices. Eventually, we manage to get ourboys to focus on those choices and we are able to order.

The meats at De Struisvogel are organic or free range, butthere are also vegetarian options. For starters, the beef carpacciowith parmesan cheese and herb oil (€1.75 supplement) comesfrom the Blonde d’Aquitaine van Palmesteyn farms. The soup of

the day is our first pumpkin soup ofthe season, with goat cheese blendedin. The vongole (clams) are stewed inwine and served on a bed of pasta.

Our boys keep an eye on the stairsas the free range ostrich steaks (€3 sup-plement) arrive. The meat looks a lotlike a rare beef steak. The taste, though,is lighter, and the texture a little tougher.The ostrich comes with a choice ofsauces, extremely fresh steamed veg-etables and potatoes. The blanquette deveau is a hearty French stew of organicveal, carrots, celery and mushrooms,cooked with herbs and, according to theEnglish menu, ‘white whine’. The oven-roasted salmon steak is moist inside,with a light dusting of basil and pecori-no crust, served over vegetables.

As we try to find room for themandatory third course, a pair of barelegs walks by the window. Our boyswait expectantly, but the legs strideright past the stairs. The boys actdejected.

On a full stomach, the fresh minttea and small white chocolate icecream truffle is about right. The

chocolate parfait is actually a big slab of rich chocolate, and theDutch yoghurt with forest fruit is a combination of creamy andtart. The crème brûlée has a delicate crust on top. All the dessertsare house-made. There is also a cheese platter (€1.50 supplement)available.

In the end, we’ve overindulged. As we leave the cellar, I canonly hope that the other parties in the restaurant aren’t as obsessedwith the stairway traffic as our boys were. Our climb up the steepflight, backsides to the diners, is about as far away from a peepshow as you can get. ___

MulligansMulligansAmstel 100Open Mon-Thur 16.00-01.00, Fri 16.00-03.00, Sat 14.00-03.00, Sun 14.00-01.00Cash, PIN

Summer’s over. It’s getting cold anddark and rainy. Gone are the times ofcheery glasses of wine on warmpatios 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 for-get the cold, the dark and the rain.

And who else to align yourselfwith for that purpose than the Irish!They won’t have any of that fluitjenonsense. It’s all pints, and many ofthem. And then they sing. Did you real-ly think that was a cliché?

‘How do we get to the red light dis-trict?’ the woman asks. She’s part of alarge group of middle-aged touriststhat have just passed by Mulligans onthis cold and rainy Friday night. Butthey have chosen the wrong people toask. It’s after midnight, and the largegroup of Irish people standing outsidethe bar are very, very drunk. Theyhave no intention of letting thetourists go anywhere. Instead, theywant to make friends. Soon, we allknow that the tourists are from Nor-way and that a couple of the Irish

people are in the band that wassinging in the bar earlier on. And avery short while after that, they provethis by singing again. And they don’tstop. The Norwegians love it. No won-der: this is like an Irish Disneyland.

Meanwhile, inside, there’s room fordiscussions. Mulligans is a long, nar-row bar, quite dark, with lots ofpictures and poems and Irish memora-bilia on the walls. It looks just likewhat you’d imagine an Irish bar to looklike. On early evenings, students ofEnglish literature probably come herefor a quiet after-school beer, and toenjoy the authentic live music. But asit’s getting later, there’s nothing quiet orstudenty about this place anymore.

‘That’s what it’s about!’ shouts asturdy man with a strong accent.‘You have to raise your child withdignity!’ He’s very passionate aboutit. But then the band comes in again.‘So, are you coming up to sing asong?’ one of them asks my friend,not noticing the look of fear in hereyes. But we’ve finished our beers,and we decide to leave. Outside, theparty has disassembled. Only twoguys are left, and they are having aserious conversation. I only catch asnippet of it. ‘...And then,’ says one ofthem with a really upset voice, ‘Irealised he was English!’ They shaketheir heads in sad silence. ‘And now,’the man continues, ‘I need anotherfucking pint.’ ___

The meat looks a lot like a rarebeef steak. The taste, though,

is lighter, and the texture a little tougher.

Beer price: €4.40 for a pint (Jupiler).Emergency food: Walkers Salt & Vinegar crisps. Ofcourse. Special interior feature: It’s all very brown, narrow andIrish. Of course. Predominant shoe type: I don’t remember. Typically ordered drink: Everything—as long as it’slager or ale or stout and comes in pints. Many pints.Smoking situation: Next to the door, there’s an umbrel-la stand labelled ‘Umbrellas for the smokers’. Man, thisis really getting worse and worse. But at least you getlive music outside as well as inside.Tune of the night: Several live performances of ‘DirtyOld Town’. Of course. Mingling factor: Very, very high. Of course. State of toilets near closing time: Well... they’re toilets.

A night in the life... By Sarah Gehrke

The Mouth By Nanci Tangeman

20 AmsterdamWeekly_6-12 November 2008F O O D / D R I N K

Unhip and bad for the hipsVan Velze’s Chocolaterie & Patisserie Eerste Oosterparkstraat 7, 337 4125Open: Mon-Sat, 08.00-18.00 Cash only

This place is not hip. I know becauseDeborah behind the counter just toldme. Van Velze’s Chocolaterie and Patis-serie has hardwood floors, trendyfurniture and a big window with astylish logo. You could even say it’s inan edgy neighbourhood. But I can seeDeborah’s point. The edgiest aspect ofthe street is that it’s on the periphery ofan area where families can still affordto live. That big window welcomesneighbours into the new shop to perchon the high modern chairs and peerinto the glassed-in chocolate kitchen inback. The wooden floors are probablyjust easier to mop after the chocolate-making workshops (€35/person) VanVelze’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 fami-ly has been making chocolate longer than the Heinekens have beenmaking beer. Robb (30) and Irishwoman Deborah Kilroy (20) werebackpacking through Australia when they met. Van Velze’s is theculmination of a long-held dream. For months they’ve been fatten-ing up co-workers at their day jobs, getting ready to go full-time atthe 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 toreview it. But one of those fattened-up co-workers drags me in to

taste Robb’s creations. My cover’sblown. Immediately I worry about whatI’m going to write if I don’t like the place.

Especially when Robb gives me achocolate with creamy elderberry fill-ing to taste. I don’t like creams; they’reusually too sweet. But this one tasteslike chocolate and elderberries. Robband his mom hand-picked the elderber-ries! Not in the Vondelpark, he assuresme, but in a monastery garden. The fill-ing is mixed with the elderberry juiceand covered with white chocolate. Theraspberry cream with dark chocolate isjust as distinctive. So are the port andcranberry combination, the fennelchocolates and the Guinness-filled cre-ations—yes, you read correctly.(€1/piece; 5 for €3.15; €45/kilo.)

Robb tells me that the Costa Ricancocoa they use is certified by the Rain-forest Alliance. I feel good inside (andit’s not just the chocolate).

Now we’re moving on to the patis-serie half of the shop. I try thecappuccino mousse (€3.25). It’s Robb’sgrandfather’s recipe made from brewedIlly espresso; no mocha flavouring here.

I can taste the difference—a lot like a cup of coffee (a really, reallycreamy cup of coffee). The cake that takes the cake, however, is Rob-bert’s Heavenly Chocolate Tart (€3.50). It is.

For chocolate haters there is baked cheesecake, carrot cake ora lemon-mango or fruits of the forest tart (all €3.25). They’re goodenough to make you hate chocolate. (Somebody else’s chocolate).

I’m relieved that I’m not going to have to pan the place—espe-cially since Robb and Deborah are so darn adorable. I say mygoodbyes with my professional integrity intact. Too bad I can’t saythe same for my waistline. ___

Getting over PaulDe KoeMarnixstraat 381Open Sun-Thur 16.00-01.00, Fri, Sat16.00-03.00Cash, PIN

‘People just don’t know anythingabout music anymore!’ exclaims the guywho’s standing outside Cafe de Koe withhis friend. He’s complaining about theinternet age. ‘Everybody just googleseverything!’ We shrug, not really capableof sharing his worries, and walk inside.

I didn’t really want to go in here,although there’s no objective reason forthe disinclination. De Koe is a coolplace, its location is handy, the peopleboth behind and in front of the bar areusually friendly. A much-loved restau-rant downstairs provides for thenecessary soakage should one choose toneed it. Upstairs, living-room cosinesscombines with a bit of stylish interior,like 1970s wallpaper. And then there arethe many decorative cows.

But there are several structuralissues. Firstly, the cigarette machine issituated directly underneath the dart-board. This is not only highly annoyingfor darters as well as smokers, but alsoquite dangerous, at least for members ofthe latter group. Furthermore, the toilet

door windows and handles are designedsuch that you can never tell if some-body’s inside or not, if the doors arelocked or not, et cetera. A third motivefor animosity is that whenever there’stalk about De Koe, someone will men-tion that it’s Paul Weller’s favourite placein Amsterdam and how he alwayscomes here when he’s in town. Neverbeen a big fan, so the notion isn’t tooappealing. Whether it’s true or not does-n’t matter so much: for me, the Wellerkarma would always be hanging therelike a dark, slightly dull cloud.

But then, that night suddenly muchfun is had in De Koe. Maybe it has to dowith the fact that throughout our wholedart game, nobody tries to buycigarettes. Maybe it’s the fact that wewon said dart game. Or maybe it’s justthe large number of beers we consumed.Either way, Weller is surprisingly absentboth mentally and physically, and thenight is a full success.

As we leave, we pass by two guysthat are standing outside, smoking. Theytoo are talking about music. One of themsings a line from a song. ‘What was thatagain?’ says his friend. ‘Is it The Dicks?’‘Yeah maybe,’ says the singing guy.‘Either The Dicks or The Big Boys.’ Thenthey realise how stupid that sounds,although they were being perfectly seri-ous, and they have to laugh. The Wellercloud is still nowhere to be seen.

The filling is mixed with theelderberry juice and covered

with white chocolate.

Beer price: €2.10 for a vaasje (Bavaria)Emergency food: Wasabi nuts and Underberg. Special interior feature: Tough. Contenders are thecow horns above the bar and the cow mosaicopposite it. But, the Elvis pinball machine wins.Predominant shoe type: This is not the kind of placewhere 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, neverdared to go in cause I thought someone elsemight be in there.

A night in the life... By Sarah Gehrke

The Mouth By Nanci Tangeman

Amsterdam Weekly_16-22 October 2008 21A G E N D A : F O O D / D R I N K

Totally BazaarBazar Wereldeethuis Albert Cuypstraat 182, 675 0544 Open Mon-Thur 11.00-01.00, Fri-Sat11.00-02.00, Sun 09.00-00.00.Cash

If Barack Obama were a restaurant,he’d be Bazar. No, I haven’t been brain-washed by emails speculating onObama’s religion. But if it’s a symbol ofmulticulturalism you’re looking for, it’sthe US presidential candidate. Bazar,however, runs a close second. At leastwhen it comes to my stomach.

Tonight, Partner-in-all-things-globaland I have invited friends representingGreece, Holland, Israel and the US (andthere are only two of them). A Turkishwaitress serves us. Two Thai goddessstatues peer out from under the stairs.Above us, Hebrew writing proclaimssomething to the effect that ‘to eattogether is a bond as strong as oil’s tothe light.’ It all gives me such a warmfeeling—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, madeof brightly labelled food tins, sits altar-like in the middle of theformer synagogue. The music reeks of Morocco or Turkey. Every-thing 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 menuis halal—prepared according to Islamic law. (Now don’t get side-tracked 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 andGreece. What’s next? A kosher Christ-mas dinner?

We satisfy our own world hungerwith meals served on colourful, giantplatters. Our order of El Couscous ismuch more than couscous. Its extralong, grilled kebab has chicken, lamb,Turkish merguez sausage and turkey.It’s served on top of spiced couscouswith roasted vegetables, grilled toma-toes and saffron sauce (€12.50).Abdhul’s Starter is really an entire mealwith all sorts of delicious dishes I can-not pronounce: sigara böregi (deepfried yufka roll, or phillo, filled withfeta, mint and parsley), sigara suçuk(fried dough filled with cheese andsuçuk sausage), falafel, fried squidrings and a piece of Turkish pizza filledwith tomato and veal mince called lah-macun (€10.50). The Bizar Bazar mixedgrill comes with lamb, chicken andturkey, but can also be ordered withfish (€14.50).

There’s a dish of the day (€8.50),which you can order as a set menu withsoup (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 alco-hol, but also fresh mint tea and Turkish coffees. The restaurantopens early on Sundays to serve breakfast (Algerian ‘thousand hole’pancakes called bahgrir) and most of the components to my unpro-nounceable meal are available separately as lunch entrees, as well. Ithink about returning for an early morning bahgrir after the USelection day. Maybe I’ll be celebrating the results. Or maybe I’ll justbe celebrating the menu. ___

Pork rockThe MindsSpuistraat 245Open Mon-Thur, Sun 21.00-03.00, Fri,Sat 21.00-04.00Cash

‘Shut the fuck up,’ says the guy behindthe bar. He does that a few times, just tohimself. But he is friendly, and heseems to be in a good mood. Chancesare that he was just singing along to themusic.

It’s a Thursday night, and we are inThe Minds, because we felt like being ina punk rock place. We were a little tiredand a little sad, and after all, there’snothing quite like a punk rock place tolift your spirits. In the toilets there’s askull sprayed on the ceiling, the barmanhas lots of tattoos, it’s quite dark,there’s a pinball machine called ‘NoFear’, and the music is loud and fast.Aaaah!

What’s this song again? Queens ofthe Stone Age. Okay, let’s be a little flex-ible with the term punk rock then. Butwhat’s the name of the song? ‘Ha!’ saysthe barman. ‘You can’t buy this. It’s anillegal recording of their 2002 concert inMelkweg.

The Queens were amazed whenthey came here. They were like “no—

we didn’t record this... but it’s great! Wewant it!” So we burned a CD for them.’

And with that, our mood is rapidlyimproving.

As it gets later, the beers start get-ting shifted in a higher frequency. Twogirls marvel at a pretty boy playing pool.Two guys start a serious discussionabout adverts on beer mats. And at theother end of the bar, there are two peo-ple playing a game we have not seen inabout 10 years and have completely for-gotten about in the meantime. It’s theone which involves two little pink plas-tic pigs, which you have to throw sothey land in a certain way. As is the waywith things you had forgotten about andthen come across again unexpectedly,that little pig game delights us beyondmeasure, and we try to remember howit worked.

There are many positions the pigscan end up in, and they all get you differ-ent points. All the positions furthermorehave names. The best name is ‘Pig Out’,a very complicated position that setsback your total score to nil. There’s onlyone thing worse than ‘Pig Out’: ‘Piggy-back’. Piggyback is if one pig lands ontop of another. In that case, the player isout of the game.

Not very punk rock, that. Unless, ofcourse, you turn the whole thing into adrinking game. Which we sincerelyhope they did. ___

Bazar’s Easter menu hasdishes from Morocco and

Iran. What’s next? A kosherChristmas dinner?

Beer price: €1.50 for a biertje (Budels).Emergency food: Don’t think so.Special interior feature: A long row of skatedecks decorate the wall above the window. Unspecial interior feature: From the ceilinghang (roughly) 23 used army boots. Predominant shoe type: Chucks, boots and fatskate 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 neonlight’s even more surprising than at the begin-ning of the night.

A night in the life... By Sarah Gehrke

The Mouth By Nanci Tangeman

20 AmsterdamWeekly_2-8 October 2008F O O D / D R I N K

Eat to the beatDe EngelbewaarderKloverniersburgwal 59, 625 3772Open daily noon - 01.00, 03.00 weekendsLunch daily, dinner from 17:30Cash, PIN

There are no hep cats in our house.The closest we have is an orange tab-by, and even he cowered when Idusted off my clarinet after a coupleof decades and blew into it, just to seewhat would come out. What came outwas not pretty. In fact, my entire blockslammed their windows shut.

But I took a hep cat vow this sum-mer. It was at the North Sea JazzFestival. Dr Lonnie Smith in his tur-ban was groovin’ (that’s hep cat lingo)with the Lou Donaldson Quartet. Isaid to Partner-in-all-things-syncopat-ed, ‘We’ve got to do this jazz thingmore often.’

So here we are on a Sunday after-noon, headed to where all the hep catsgo on a Sunday afternoon, De Engel-bewaarder on the Kloveniersburgwal, with its live jazz sessionfrom 14.00 to 19.00. We pick up two (former) euphonium playerson the way. We’re ready to jam—or at least listen to other hepcats 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 awide array of cheap Palm beers on tap to help us work up anappetite. We order a round and study the menu on giant black-boards at the polished wooden bar.

Tables are set up on what seems to be the stage. As my cat

(and neighbours) would attest, thiswill be my only chance to be on theplatform at the De Engelbewaarder ona Sunday. We make a bee-line to thestage seating. The windows are largeand there’s a great view of the canal.

The lack of music disappoints us,but the food does not. I order the veg-etarian curry (€12), a mix of freshgreen beans, carrots, mushrooms andspring onions in a sweet red sauce.Two giant sesame rice balls ogle mefrom the bowl. They are soft insideand allow me to soak up every spoon-ful of the curry sauce.

Partner orders duck (€13). He isexpecting a breast, but receives moistlegs with a mix of roasted red andgreen peppers. The accompanyingsquare of polenta is custard-like insidewith a bit of a crust on top. Delicious!The euphonium duet orders sea bass(€13) and entrecôte (€15). The meat ofthe fish is tender, as is the entrecôte,which is covered in a light Bearnaisesauce. Surprisingly, it’s not as rare asmost eetcafe entrecôtes—comparableto 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 Engelbe-

waarder was once a literary cafe. But no need for blackturtleneck sweaters and berets. The atmosphere is casual; themusic, even when it’s canned, is good.

But canned music isn’t a problem any more because Sundaysare jammin’ again at De Engelbewaarder. I heard the other daythat the musicians are back from holiday. Get there early for agood seat. And, of course, don’t forget to bring a fellow hep cator two with you. ___

It’s not what youthink, reallyGolden BrownJan Pieter Heijestraat 146Opening times: Sun-Thur 12.00-01.00;Fri, Sat 12.00-03.00Cash, PIN

The girl looks at me with a strangehalf-smile. As her friend comes backfrom the toilet, she leans over to her,whispers something in her ear andpoints at us. ‘What, really?’ her friendsqueals. They continue talking, sup-pressed laughter, hands over mouths...Considering they’re only about half ametre away from us, all of this is quiteobvious and, one might say, evenimpolite.

But they have a good reason.Half an hour before, the friend I’mhere with was here with anotherfriend, who also happens to be ablonde girl. She left before I came,and he went to drop her off beforehe came back to meet me. Thus,apparently, our table neighboursthink my friend is speed-dating in adishonest manner.

Although you apparently can’texpect much girl solidarity in this bar,it is still a lovely place. Golden Brownwas set up by the same guy that used tohave Bep and now has Waldorf, and it’s

a similar style of bar. The interior is allSeventies, in a tasteful way. Upstairs,there’s a little restaurant part, and thefood is reportedly quite good.

And yes, the predominant coloursare indeed golden and brown. One ofthe walls downstairs is covered intiles with different patterns (golden).There are comfortable leather sofas(brown) by the window. It’s very niceto hang here and watch everyone andhave a few glasses of wine on a Sun-day night.

However, on a Saturday the atmo-sphere is probably a lot less laid-back—this is one of the bars where peoplego before they go to clubs, everyonehaving made themselves pretty andbeing slightly nervous and expectingbig things to happen.

After the impolite girls have left, Iwonder aloud if they shouldn’t havewarned me if they really thought whatthey thought. ‘They were probablyjust blown away by my brazenness,’says my friend. We then start talkingabout more important things, likebuying socks and underwear. ‘Ialways do my sock and underwearshopping at the same time, you see,’says my friend. ‘That’s why I reallydon’t understand that I always havemore socks.’ I can’t help but wishingthe girls would have heard this. Itwould’ve most certainly cleared upthe idea that he was a bold swingermaking the moves. ___

Two giant sesame rice ballsogle me from the bowl.They are soft inside...

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 whereone would get very, very drunk, so it is quite unlikely thatany confusion regarding location orientation shouldarise.Predominant shoe type: Elegant yet trendy.Typically ordered drink: White wine.Tune of the night: ‘Forget Me Nots’ by Patrice Rushen. Thisis very interesting, because the very same song was sampledby Will Smith for ‘Men in Black’. And now guess who did analbum called Meninblack. Yes (ha!)—it was The Stran-glers! 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 ofthe bar.

A night in the life... By Sarah Gehrke

The Mouth By Nanci Tangeman

24 AmsterdamWeekly_25 September-1 October 2008F O O D / D R I N K

guru ofindia

I’ll never tellEetcafe LoetjeJohannes Vermeerstraat 52, 662 8173Kitchen open 11.00-22.00, Sat from17.30, closed Sun (Everybody on thewaiting list gets served.)Cash, PIN

A couple of times a year, it happens.Someone says, ‘I found this greatsteak place, but I promised the wait-ress I wouldn’t tell my friends aboutit.’ It’s always the same story. The tip-ster is scared to be blamed when allthe tourists in tennis shoes show upwanting ice in their Pepsis. And it’salways the same restaurant they’rescared to disclose: Eetcafe Loetje.

There’s reason for the hesitation.Loetje’s is just off the Museumplein, ahaven for bumbling sightseers. Themenu is on blackboards—in Dutch—and the staff are definitely too busy toact as translators. On most evenings,the crowd is thick and noisy, waitingfor tables. Regulars know that the firstthing you do when you get to Loetje’s is swim upstream to theend 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 theirway.

I love Loetje’s. I want it to stay a local hangout. But sincethey’ve opened a second eetcafé in Oudekerk (and soon a third inLaren), I figure it’s safe to bring in some tourists and set themloose.

Partner-in-all-things-local and I decide to do just that. Wechoose the out-of-towners carefully. You know the type. ‘We like

to go where the locals go, to travel offthe beaten track,’ they say. We pickthem up at their hotel. (The Hilton.)We walk them the eight blocks toLoetje’s. (She’s in stilettos.)

After an amazingly short wait for atable, we translate the menu for ourtourist friends, including macaroniand cheese (€6.75), sate (€8.50), minihamburgers (€6.50) and calf’s liverwith bacon and onions (€13.50). The200g beefsteak ossenhaas (€16) ortuna steak (€14) are our suggestions.Our friends go for the beef. She asksfor a side of steamed vegetables. (Wesnicker at her attempts to go local.)Loetje’s offers only mixed salads withhouse dressing (€3.75), potato salad(€4.25) or fries (€2.25) for sides. She’sa trooper and follows our lead withfries and salads. Then she does some-thing that amazes us. She asks for areally rare steak... AND GETS IT!

Our MO at Loetje’s has been thesame for years—don’t waste theservers’ time by asking for specialorders 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 theservings generous. But the service is like nothing we’ve ever expe-rienced at Loetje’s. Tonight, it’s our waiter who’s making chitchat!For the first time, we stick around and order dessert: chocolatemousse (€4.50) and a giant bowl of ice cream (€4.50). After coffeewe lead our tiny tour group back down the unbeaten track to theHilton. I issue no warning to keep the eetcafé under wraps. Thesecret’s out. If you want to blame me, go ahead. My bad. ___

Art deco drinkingCafe NagelKromboomsloot 47Open: Thur, Sun-Wed 16.00-01.00, Fri, Sat 16.00-03.00Cash, PIN

The colourful art deco pillarsbehind the bar in Cafe Nagel are litfrom behind. Above them, on theceiling, are some really trashy,colourful neon lights in severalshapes and colours. For some spe-cial reason, this blends togetherbeautifully.

Look to the right of the bar, andyou see a wall filled with pictures—drawings, photos, graphics. ‘Wehave the tradition that all of our reg-ulars hand in one or two of theirworks,’ explains the barman. Aha—so this is an arty place. ‘Yes,’ hesays, ‘we have a lot of artists and artstudents come in here, especially onthe weekends.’

On this Monday night, though,there aren’t too many art students tobe seen. Instead, it’s all about theregulars. They sit at the bar anddrink and talk, and they all knoweach other, and the barman knowsthem all, too. The only thing missingfrom this picture-perfect bruin cafe

scenery is the cigarettes in theirhands and the overflowing ashtrays.This is one of the bars where thesmoking ban is particularly notice-able. But it’ll adjust...

As one woman from the regu-lar’s corner gets up to leave, shesighs, ‘It’s so late already! What arethe neighbours gonna think?’ Theman sitting across from her repliesdryly: ‘Ah, don’t you worry. I thinkI’m a very good neighbour in thatrespect. I’m still sitting in the barmyself...’

Then, two girls sit down at thebar. They wear American Apparelshirts and those ’80s boots that’vebeen worn by many people for awhile now. Perhaps those art stu-dents have turned up after all? Butthe girls don’t speak about art. Theyspeak about boyfriends, andboyfriends that weren’t meant to be,and boyfriends that shouldn’t havebeen.

Outside, a man passes by, walk-ing his dog. And he’s got traditionalDutch clogs on. It’s contemporaryAmsterdam at its finest. Then, oneof the girls breaks out into a lamentabout the smoking ban. ‘Our chil-dren,’ she cries out, ‘will grow up ina world without ashtrays!’ Shemakes it sound as if she was talkingabout the end of the civilised world.But I’m sure the regulars will agreewith her. ___

She asks for a reallyrare steak... AND

GETS IT!

Beer price: €2.10 for a vaasje (Brand)Emergency food: Plenty: olives, cheese (plus a specialspiced cheese called ‘Nagelkaas’), tostis and more, allserved until the bitter end. Special interior feature: There’s a really old till behindthe bar. Its numbers are stuck at 6 6 6.Predominant shoe type: Polished leather shoes. Alsospotted: outrageously shiny black lacquer shoes.Typically ordered drink: Tonight it’s beer only. Butapparently the white wine here is really good. Smoking situation: Little benches outside.Tune of the night: Gomez: ‘Make No Sound.’ Mingling factor: High.

A night in the life... By Sarah Gehrke

The Mouth By Nanci Tangeman

Amsterdam Weekly_18-24 September 2008 21F O O D / D R I N K

Panned cakesMeneer PannekoekRaadhuisstraat 6, 627 8500Kitchen open daily 12.00-20.00Cash, PIN, credit cards

Mr Pancake is having a bad day. Lostorders. Fake topiary flying across therestaurant. It’s not all his fault, ofcourse. But, truth be told, today is notadding up to the best dining experi-ence I’ve ever had in Amsterdam.

It all begins two weeks ago, when Iwake up with the urge for pancakes—big fluffy, buttermilk pancakes withhandfuls of blueberries and rivers ofmaple syrup. In other words—NOTDutch pannekoeken. Realising my geo-graphic limitations, I amend mycravings and today, Partner-in-all-things-gratifying and I finally head outto Meneer Pannekoek to satisfy myhankering.

It’s a long, miserable bike ridethrough rain and wind to the busytourist corner on Raadhuisstraat. Part-ner and I arrive soaking wet.

Meneer Pannekoek’s decor is an odd mix of memorabilia: pigsin chef hats hold chalkboards; stuffed Dalmatian toys line thewalls; Bing Crosby flaps his ears from a large black-and-whitemovie poster in the corner. It’s not completely bad. The music issoothing—mostly jazz, with an appropriate rendition of ‘Singin’ inthe Rain’ on the jukebox.

The menu is another eclectic assortment. The monthly three-course special (€18.50) offers chicken salad, fish stew and appleswith 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 froma friend of a friend that the Wiener-schnitzel (€13.25) is the best in town.There’s even a children’s dish (€4.25)that comes with a surprise. But no but-termilk pancakes with blueberries.

Still, I’m determined to ordersomething that I can squirt syrup on...so I take a long look at the pancake andtoast selections. I settle on ToastMeneer Pannekoek with ham, pear andcheese (€6.25). Partner passes on theCajun pancakes and those coveredwith shawarma, mussels, smokedsalmon or artichokes, and settles for apannekoek with salami, onions, cheeseand mushrooms (€9.25).

We order and the long wait begins.All around us, diners are served. Agiant serving of stamppot with smokedsausage, bacon and cracklings barelymakes it past our table, as my stomachgrowls. Eventually, the waitress fessesup—she’s lost our order, but the drinksare on them. I contemplate the pan-cake house’s full bar, but settle forsparkling water.

About now, the topiary begins tofly. A diner from the next table stands up and somehow trips on afake tree. Its beautifully manicured top careers through the air,landing right next to hungry Partner. If it had been real, he wouldhave eaten it.

When our food finally arrives, my two pieces of toast, withcrisp pears and grated cheese (straight from underneath the broil-er) are just the slightest bit bland. I squirt a little syrup on top. Thathelps. Partner cuts into his pancake. The mushrooms are cannedand the salami is soft, not hard. Still, we’re so hungry that we finishevery bite. If there’s another visit to Meneer Pannekoek, we hopehe’s having a better day.

Slow night, so longCafe de Tuin Tweede Tuindwarsstraat 13Open: Mon-Thur 10.00-01.00, Fri, Sat10.00-03.00, Sun 11.00-01.00Cash, PIN

‘So it was a lecture about “slowness”,’says the girl. She’s sitting at a tableoutside Cafe de Tuin with her friends.It’s a mild Wednesday night. ‘Thewhole thing was quite awful. Thewoman that held the lecture stoodthere with her jumper half on...’ Herfriend interrupts. ‘What do you mean,half on? Like it was sliding down hershoulder or something?’—‘No, seri-ously half on!’ says the girl. ‘She onlywore the sleeves, and the rest of it wasjust hanging down her back! Maybeshe was demonstrating her way oftaking things slow? Put on yourclothes really slowly... Start with thesleeves, leave the rest for later...’—‘Yes, or maybe she was continuing toput it on during the lecture,’ says herfriend, ‘and you couldn’t see the pro-cess because she was doing it in a sortof super-slow motion—too slow forthe human eye to see...’

They ramble on like this for awhile and laugh. ‘Anyway,’ the girlcontinues her story, ‘as the lecturewent on, I was getting more and more

aggressive. Then she posed a ques-tion to the audience: “What wouldyou do to change the space aroundyou?” And I wanted to say I’d let out afart and stay where I was whileeveryone else went away, and I waswaiting for her to call on me so Icould say it, but she didn’t. I thinkshe had already sensed the bad kar-ma exuding from me.’

In Cafe de Tuin, however, the kar-ma is pretty good. It’s quite a largeplace, but without the hall-like feelingof the ‘grand cafes’ of this town. Thepeople are a nice mixture of all typesand amusing to watch. The beer isgood and so is the music. It’s busy, butthe atmosphere is relaxed. In short,this is the perfect place for a slownight of drinks and silliness.

‘Vacuum cleaners!’ says someoneoutside. ‘The shop sells nothing else.It’s called Stofzuigerkoning and it’samazing. They have one by Alessi inthe window, and the board next to itsays: “An adornment for the livingroom”. Imagine—“I went to buy some-thing nice for the house, a dinner tablemaybe, but well, it ended up a vacuumcleaner...”’

Let’s leave them here. I’m sure anelongated and very amusing conversa-tion about vacuum cleaners is tofollow, but on this slow and silly nightit’s getting late, and we still have otherplaces to go. But we’ll be back.

Eventually, the waitress fessesup—she’s lost our order, but

the drinks are on them.

Beer price: €2 for a vaasje (Grolsch). Emergency food: Tostis and bread with tapenade, servedwell into the night.Special interior feature: Beautiful, old-fashioned wall-paper, and old lamps and old mirrors to go with it.Predominant shoe type: Arty trainers on the youngerpart 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 redneon light that emanates from the bar’s sign, and watchthe 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 actual-ly the only part of the bar that’s really ugly. They’re clean,yes, but the doors are painted in an abominable way andin disgusting colours.

A night in the life... By Sarah Gehrke

The Mouth By Nanci Tangeman

20 AmsterdamWeekly_21-27 August 2008D I N I N G / D R I N K I N G

Is it in the water?Restaurant Contrast Ferdinand Bolstraat 176-178, 471 5544Open Mon-Thur 12.00-00.00, Fri-Sat12.00-02.00, Sun 12.00-00.00Cash, PIN, major credit cards

I might as well give up now. Here Isit—actually, I’m lounging—in thesunshine. A few minutes ago I was enroute to Albert Cuypmarkt, shoppinglist in hand, with the best intentionsof GETTING THINGS DONE! Now Ifind myself flung against pillows,perusing a menu and enjoying thebreeze.

Idyllic, yes. But something’s notquite right. I can feel it. I slowly lookup from my menu.

An orange pumpkin a few chairsdown rubs her belly and sips her cof-fee. A gleaming white weatherballoon trundles between the tables.

I feel like something out of TheSixth Sense, except: I SEE PREG-NANT PEOPLE.

Half the patrons of Restaurant Contrast, not to mention thepassers-by, seem to be expectant—waiting for something otherthan 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 awayyour entire afternoon. Shade, cushions, sunshine...

But I’m not here to succumb—I’ve still got that long list oferrands. And, anyway, I don’t like to linger in places where theresult 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 com-pote of red onions and raisins (€7.50).My partner-in-all-things-reproductiveorders the salad with smoked Char-lois entrecôte and house-madeParmesan sticks (€12.50). In defer-ence to the moms-to-be around us, wepass on wine, but if we’d partaken,Contrast would have helped us alongby listing the wine pairings for eachdish—for example, a Saint Véran,2004 Château de Fuissé (€6.50) for mysandwich.

With a menu like this, we could bein Paris, not De Pijp. Then I notice thewine pairing with bitterballen is aglass of Brand beer...

A generous slab of rustic duckpaté anchors my double-decker sand-wich. The mound of red onioncompote is sweet, with raisins asbloated as the women around me.

Partner’s salad is lighter. Theentrecôte is rare, seasoned andcarpaccio-esque. Several crisp parme-san sticks round out the fresh lettuce

mix. Not a hint of pickle or peanut butter. The maternity mysterycontinues.

Contrast serves dinner nightly. In addition to their à la cartemenu, they have daily two- and three-course specials (lunch:€24/€27.50; dinner: €37.50/€40.50) guaranteed to round out yourbelly faster than IVF treatment.

After dinner, Contrast transforms into a wine bar, open until thewee hours. Looking at the list of close to 100 bottles—with morethan 20 available by the glass—I suddenly have a little insight.Maybe Contrast is, indeed, doing its part to bring a lot of pregnan-cies to the neighbourhood. But it’s probably not the water. ___

The bar aroundthe cornerCafe HuygensEerste Constantijn Huygensstraat 86Open Sun-Thur 20.00-03.00, Fri, Sat 20.00-04.00Cash only

‘Watch out...’ the man in the stripedshirt shouts over to the bar lady. He’sstanding by the door, having a smoke.Observing the street. ‘There’s a groupof twenty people coming this way!’The bar lady doesn’t seem to worrymuch about this. She looks capable ofhandling much larger groups of peo-ple. He looks again. ‘Actually, it’sabout the whole of the PvdA that’scoming!’ She shrugs. Another man,who’s sitting at the bar, rolls his eyes.‘If you ask me,’ he drawls, ‘I’m morefor the VVD. But whatever.’

The time: Wednesday somewhereafter 1am. The place: a bar whosename can only be found out afterintensive research. Because theydon’t have a sign outside, the bar isgenerally known as ‘The Bar aroundthe Corner’. And that’s exactly whatyou get, too: classic bruin cafe interi-or, slightly trashy decorations, radiomusic, and a hard-boiled and deadcool bar lady. The main merit of The

Bar around the Corner is that theyserve beer after all the other barshave closed. A factor that is, ofcourse, not to be underestimated, asit brings with it not only relief for thestill-thirsty, but also a large number ofhighly entertaining customers. Afterall, that is the good thing about mostlate bars: they provide an excellentoverview of people, as all the left-overs from the other bars come tothem. After 1am, there are no morescenes, no more special drinks (‘spe-cial’ meaning everything that is notthe pils they have on tap) and nomore taste in music. Just pure beerdemocracy. Hell yeah!

Speaking of taste in music: as ithappens so often after 1am, a ratherpointless music discussion is nowensuing at the bar. Sparked by the cur-rent play list selection, it’s about whatthe worst existing music genres are.The details of the argument escapeme. But eventually, the discussion isended, and its participants consumetheir beer in relative silence—everyonce in a while breaking it by hum-ming along with ‘Le Freak’. Someoneoutside says: ‘So, why do politiciansgo to bars like this? And is this the rea-son why things don’t really work outover here?’ The answer is simple, anddelivered with a broad grin. ‘No. It’sthe reason why things actually dowork out over here.’ ___

The mound of red onion compote is sweet, with raisins

as bloated as the womenaround me.

Beer price: €2.20 for a vaasje (Heineken).Emergency food: The best burger in town is served in thesnack bar next door. Ask for the Hawaii.Special interior feature: The bar is decorated withpaper garlands. Predominant shoe type: All types. That said, red highheels were spotted on three ladies. Typically ordered drink: ‘One for the road.’ Smoking situation: Outside. A long row of punters try tolook 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 bro-ken, so I was forced to check out the Men’s. It was alright.

A night in the life... By Sarah Gehrke

The Mouth By Nanci Tangeman

Amsterdam Weekly_30 October-5 November 2008 21A G E N D A : F O O D / D R I N K

Cultural lessonsfor touristsPannekoekenpaviljoen De CarrouselTweede Weteringplantsoen 1, 625 8002Open Mon-Fri 11.00-21.00, Sat-Sun 10.00-21.00Cash, PIN, credit cards

Tourists are like sponges. They’re eagerto learn everything there is to knowabout Amsterdam. My philosophy? Ifthere’s a chance to explain somethingfrom a local point of view—go rightahead. It doesn’t matter if it’s true.

So it is with our latest visitor. Part-ner-in-nothing-devious thinks we needto introduce him to that wonderfulDutch tradition—pancakes and beer. Ithink it’s a perfect opportunity for a les-son in traditional pancake-eating.

Practically overlooking theHeineken Headquarters, Pannekoeken-paviljoen De Carrousel is the perfectplace for our cultural experience, but itis a little precarious. Everything aboutthe place is designed to make your head spin. The restaurant is builtin the shape of a carrousel. From inside, its glass walls give a per-fect view of the trams and bikes careening around theWeteringcircuit. The hot pink and white striped walls, mirrors andbright lights don’t help. But we like to live on the edge. (Althoughwe sit near the centre, not noticing the child-friendly carrouselhorses next to our table. Luckily, there are few children dining—orriding—today.)

Our first step in this cultural enlightenment? Beer. TheHeineken Extra Cold comes in two sizes (€4.50/€2.50). Our Tourist

opts for the larger, as we walk himthrough the menu. All the usual pan-cake flavours are here, from apples andcinnamon to, um, chile con carne.Eventually Tourist decides on a pan-cake topped with egg and bacon(€6.50). Partner and I get our usual hamand cheese pannenkoeken (€6.50).

Despite the name of the restaurant,you can also train your foreign visitorsin the Dutch way of eating hamburgers(€6.50); or wiener, chicken or fishschnitzel (€10); poffertjes (from €5);appelgebak (€3.50) or sweet Brusselswaffles (€4-€8). Or, if you’re really feel-ing industrious, teach them how to eata proper English breakfast—Dutch-style (€8.50, available until 13.00).

Eventually, our attentive waitressdelivers the goods. Tourist marvels atthe circumference of his pancake, aswell as its thinness. A perfect start tothe lesson. ‘First,’ I tell him, ‘you roll upyour pancake, burrito-style.’ I demon-strate, as Partner digs right in, ignoringour lesson. Tourist follows my lead.

Next I show him the shaker of pow-dered sugar on the table. ‘Now you

want to give your rolled-up pancake a light dusting.’ ‘But it’s baconand egg flavoured,’ he reminds me. ‘Do it,’ I say. He does. ‘Now youneed just a squirt of syrup across the length.’ No objections thistime.

‘Go ahead and eat,’ I say. He digs in, smiles and orders anotherbeer. Not a bad combination, even if lunchtime has begun to feel alittle like a craft project. But I know that pannenkoeken alwaystaste better this way. I’ve been rolling my own since I was a tourist adecade ago—and someone taught me how to eat a pancake ‘the tra-ditional Dutch way.’ ___

Cultural bingedrinkingDe BalieKleine-Gartmanplantsoen 10Open Sun-Thur 10.00-01.00, Fri-Sat10.00-02.00Cash, PIN

‘Can we have two more beers,’ say thegirls who stand at the bar. Their Dutch isa little uncertain, and so is their balance.‘And an... errrrr...’ They take a while.Then they simultaneously remember thecorrect word. ‘DOEKJE!,’ they shout tri-umphantly. The barman shakes his headand tut-tuts. ‘Again?’ Apparently, it’s notthe first time their group have knockedover a glass tonight. But he smiles.

At first sight, De Balie doesn’t reallyseem like the obvious location if youplan to get into a state in which youknock over several glasses. For one, theroom is very brightly-lit. It’s also veryspacious. And there are many vases withlilies. Furthermore, the cafe is attachedto a cultural centre, so the danger of run-ning into intellectual people right before,during or after knocking over glasses isa real one. Though, in reality the onlyreason most intellectual people neverknock over glasses is that they’ve prac-tised drinking harder than anyone else.For example at all the borrels that takeplace after cultural events.

So it’s quite probable that De Balie

has seen many, many people having afew too many. And of course not alldrinking binges are planned, so theymight take place here accidentally. Oneof the doekje-girls explains how she andher friends originally met up for coffee.‘And then,’ she says, ‘we decided wedidn’t want to have dinner. So we wenthere and ordered beer. And we’ve beendoing that for a long while now.’ Com-bine these accidental drink gatheringswith the many cultural borrels, and sud-denly De Balie becomes the place forbinge drinking—which explains thebarman’s equanimity at spilled beers.

However, tonight, as there was nocultural drinking event scheduled, mostother guests seem very sober. They sitin couples, opposite each other, andhave quiet conversations about culturalthings. Except, of course, the doekje-girls’ group, three of which have nowmoved outside to smoke. They’respeaking, very unculturally, about thepeople that are inside. ‘Check it out,that dude at the bar is wearing a skirt!’says one of them. ‘Yeah,’ her friendreplies, ‘he’s a Scot.’ Girl #1 disagrees.‘No! Look closely—the skirt has a floralprint! He’s not a Scot. He’s just a dudewearing a skirt!’ Girl #3 can no longertake it and points out that the person inquestion is actually not only not a Scot,but also not a dude. Which renders thewhole discussion suddenly uninterest-ing. The girls move back inside, toorder another beer. Let’s just hope theywon’t knock it over again. ___

‘First,’ I tell him, ‘you roll upyour pancake, burrito-style.’

Beer price: €2.20 for a vaasje (Brand).Emergency food: Classic: Olives and cheese, served until halfan hour before closing time. (They also have a restaurantpart, 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 interi-or. 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 out-side and feel industrial. Tune of the night: From soapy funk to Aimee Mann: Thetunes 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 asthis is, for some reason the toilets here are very unap-pealing and there’s a slight smell of pee at all times.

A night in the life... By Sarah Gehrke

The Mouth By Nanci Tangeman

8 AmsterdamWeekly_10-16 July 2008F E A T U R E

o my knowledge, I’ve never visited a restaurantthat’s been reviewed in a psychology journal. AndI’ve never considered how a flashlight mightenhance my dining experience. And frankly, I’venever stayed up late just to eat dessert. But threeconcept restaurants in Amsterdam recently provid-

ed me and my partner-in-all-things-adventurous with thoseopportunities 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 peo-ple dealing with psychiatric issues. The third, a Mecca for dessertand 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 restaurantthat’s completely dark, with waiters who are visually-impaired oreven totally blind. Ctaste say that the flavour, aroma and texture ofour meal will come alive in the dark. I say I’d like to smuggle in aflashlight.

In Ctaste’s bright, modern lobby we begin our journey to thedark side by abandoning all our belongings to a locker. So much formy 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 din-ing room. Inside, he’ll have the advantage. We’re about to enter adifferent world—and we do it via conga line.

Hands on each others’ shoulders, with Jeroen in the lead andpartner-in-all bringing up the rear, we shuffle into the dining room.Three heavy curtains later, we’re in the pitch blackness of therestaurant. Jeroen stops us at a seemingly random spot and, sureenough, here’s our table. I feel my way into a chair, and partner sitsdown beside me (no gazing into each other’s eyes tonight).

The darkness is strangely claustrophobic and disorienting. It’snot until I glimpse a tiny illicit slit of light at the doorway that I feelsecure. Wine helps, too.

But first Jeroen has to get the wine glasses into our hands. Heexplains that he’ll be wearing a bell so we’ll always know when he’snear. Each time he approaches our table he speaks to us by name. Itwill be the most personal service I’ve experienced in Amsterdam.

When we’re comfortable, he brings us our first course. Themenu is a surprise. Part of the shtick is that we’re supposed to beable to use our other senses to identify and experience the plea-sures of our meal. It would be easier with my flashlight.

I manoeuvre my fork around the giant plate. After a few quiettaps, I empathise with the white canes of the world. I spear amound of something and guide it carefully to my lips, concentratingmore 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 anunseen look of distress. He asks me again. ‘Phlmerkn!’ I answer, in apanic.

I’ve spent almost a decade in Amsterdam and have managed toavoid phlmerkn, I mean, filet American, that barbaric mixture ofraw hamburger and spices. Until tonight. I chew. I concentrate veryhard on swallowing. I find my glass of wine that I’ve strategically setat 12 o clock on my plate and drain it. Although I’m sworn to secrecy about the menu, I can tell you aboutmy 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 filetamericain.) My next realisation is that nobody can see me. I’m freeto cram my napkin into my collar and abandon my cutlery. I feelaround my plate. Something moist here. A firm stack of somethingelse there. Some wobbly bits in the corner. And so the meal goes.

As much as the menu is touted at Ctaste, the evening is notabout 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 tablewhoops and laughs louder than she might if dirty looks could bethrown her way. At one point, we hear another diner choking. Wehalf expect a wad of meat to whiz by when someone at her tablementions the Heimlich manoeuvre. We listen with relief as sheseems 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 myflashlight at home.

Histrionic personality disorder—or just friendly?Our waiter is attentive. He puts coasters under our table’s legs tokeep it from wobbling. He brings us a pitcher of ice water withoutour asking. He wants us to be comfortable. In any other Amsterdamcafe, this would make me suspicious. At Restaurant Freud, it makesme diagnose.

We listen as our attentive waiter explains the establishment:Restaurant Freud was founded by cooking teacher Gerda Hahn andpsychologist Renske Kastelein to help people with psychiatric back-grounds feel part of the community. As he speaks, I rearrange mycutlery. The crew is made up of about 45 people, he says, from thosewho can manage only a few hours a week cleaning windows, to oth-ers who can handle the stress of the kitchen or even the demandingpublic. I position my water glass exactly above my knives.

He tells us how diners stare at him, trying to figure out his afflic-tion. Histrionic personality disorder, I decide. A peculiar need toplease people. I meticulously line up the two forks on the left.

Then he mentions that he is a coach, one of the few paid posi-tions, 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? Iline up my wine glass with my water glass.

Is it my imagination, or is the staff watching me back? Someonenew brings us our mezes. They have interesting spices and textures--gambas, carpaccio and incredible marinated eggplant. Where didour friendly waiter go? Did they send him to a little room in theback? I rotate my plate and think how my own list of symptoms isgrowing. I wonder if they’ll offer me a discount.

Another staffer brings our main course. The poussin is tenderand 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 andthe hint in the restaurant name, diners wouldn’t be able to tellRestaurant Freud was anything but good food. Set on the busySpaarndammerstraat at the edge of Westerpark, sidewalk tables aretucked into the traffic of the neighbourhood, amid a diverse paradeof residents. Inside, fresh green graphics on the wall set off thecrisp white linens and contemporary decor.

The website is much more blatant. It makes light of the staff’safflictions in a very politically incorrect way: ‘Our bartender hasADHD!’ ‘Our waiter has a screw loose!’ ‘Reserve your table today!It’s going to be a madhouse!’ Indeed, Thursday, Friday and Saturdaynights are usually fully booked.

And as for the claims that ‘the cook has mood swings’? No onewho’s ever worked in a kitchen (or watched a reality chef show, forthat matter) would be surprised.

But to me it’s more fun to make my own subtle diagnoses. Afterall, a friendly attentive waiter in Amsterdam just isn’t normal. Thenagain, 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 thebest job I’ve ever had. I didn’t make much money, but I got to eat allmy mistakes.

As a 16-year-old slinging ice cream, I learned a thing or twoabout banana splits. How to slice a banana, touching only the skin.How to form perfect 70-gram scoops. How to get a maraschino

T

What aconcept!Three new dining ventures delve into darkness,the inner mind and... sugar. An adventure.By Nanci Tangeman Photos by Krista van der Niet

Amsterdam Weekly_10-16 July 2008 9F E A T U R E

He tells us how diners stare at him, trying to figure outhis affliction. Histrionic personality disorder, I decide.A peculiar need to please people. I meticulously lineup the two forks on the left.

cherry to keep from sliding down the hot fudge. It took a lot of prac-tice, but I enjoyed a steady diet of ice cream blunders.

So there’s a bit of nostalgia at play as I order the Pacific StyleMarinated Banana Split at Sucre, a dessert restaurant and cocktailbar near the Vondelpark. The description sounds like one of mymistakes: banana marinated in rum with lime zest, coriander andvanilla/banana ice cream. This is not the banana split of my youth.

Of course, that’s a good thing. The flavour combination ofSucre’s banana split is subtle and surprising, as are the textures. It’llmore than do, even without the maraschino cherry. And, unlike myteenage creations, Sucre’s banana split is not the least bit sweet.That’s not a minor point. This dessert restaurant is not just for peo-ple with a sweet tooth.

Early in the evening, Sucre offers four- or five- course dinnermenus with up to four dessert courses: sweet dessert courses,unsweet dessert courses and cheese courses. Around half pastnine, the menu changes to desserts only--but even then they rangefrom sweet, to cheese plates, to practically savoury.

Sucre opened about three months ago in what’s been dubbedthe Olympic Quarter. Other new restaurants such as Ron Blaauwe’sSophia are also opening up next to pet stores and dry cleaners inthe neighbourhood. The off-Centrum location doesn’t bother ownerMartijn Machielse: ‘It’s like having a girlfriend in Australia—if youlove her, you’ll still visit her.’ Sucre is a lot closer than Australia. And it seems to be the only establishment on Amstelveensewegwith a velvet rope. But ignore that velvet rope. And when you’reinside, 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 cook-ing his way around the world (including at two Michelin-starredrestaurants), says what he always missed was a restaurant thatgave the same attention to desserts as to the rest of the menu. Asyou’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 towardsthe honey-baked apple with vanilla ice cream and cinnamon sabay-on or the bread-apple-and-butter-pudding with cinnamon ice creamand Calvados. ‘I like a nice baked apple. I guess I really just miss mygranny’s apple cake.’

Let me be clear about another thing: neither of these dishes ishis granny’s apple cake. Machielse explains that although he andbusiness partner Eline Kok (from restaurant Bloesem) want tooffer dishes that people recognise (bread pudding, banana splits,baked apples), they want to do their own thing with them—givethem an edge. ‘Dessert should make you go ‘WOW!’ After all, this isthe way you’re closing your night.’ After being wowed into the early hours, our only regret of theevening is that the infamous Chocolate Box, with its gold leafedwalls, is unavailable. Apparently, the delicate dessert won’t hold upto tonight’s humidity. Chef Peter won’t serve it if it’s not perfect. Aswe close down the restaurant and they lock the doors behind us, Ican’t help wondering about that chocolate box—and if Chef Peteris downstairs in the kitchen, eating his mistake.

CtasteAmsteldijk 55, 06 22 33 53 66www.ctaste.nl Surprise 3-course menu with fish and vegetarian options.€39.50. Optional €12.50 wine pairing.

Restaurant FreudSpaarndammerstraat 424, 688 5548www.restaurantfreud.nlDinner for two, with wine, around €75. Cash only.

SucreAmstelveenseweg 152, 470 1910www.sucrerestaurant.nlDessert for two, with digestives, €70