DE KEUKEN VAN 1870, part 1
I'd guess that the Dutch sense of understatement leads this incredible eatery to have such a miniscule sign. I walked in and asked where they would like me, and they seated me at a long table next to a young Dutch couple. I already knew pretty much what I wanted, and attempted to order from the Nederlands side of the menu rather than the English. The pronunciation of ertwensoep, though, seemed beyond me. Fortunately, online acquantances had given me the common name.
"Ik wil graag de snert and de stamppot van de dag, alstublieft, and een glas water, still."
"Huh?"
I point, and the cute pregnant waitress says, "Oh, the snert." She grins, and walks away with a toss of her luxuriant hair.
The lovely young woman diagonally across from me is suddenly choking on her wine, and her date has his head bowed and is shaking a little. When the soup comes, I understand why. It tastes fantastic, a rich broth with (I think) veal sausage cut in thin slices. A "Wow" escapes my lips as I finish.
"You liked it?" asks the guy next to me.
"Way more than liked it," I reply, pouring my second glass of water. "I think I want to marry it."
Just then my entree comes, and I note that they haven't gotten theirs yet. We exchange puzzled looks. The young lady can't resist asking me about the soup, and I explain that I figured it out after she laughed. I ask if they know the name of this stamppot, and the fellow informs me that it's boerenkohl.
"Sweet! That's exactly the one I wanted to try first."
"It's more of a winter dish, really."
"Well, I'm from Texas, and a boerenjongen at that." This seems to explain a lot to him. They live in de buurt.
They get their entrees, and we all dig in. I want to find out what brand of spek the kitchen uses and buy a crate of it. I could happily drown in their gravy. Next time, though, I'll cut the meatball in two and save half. We all finish, and I ask them what they had and if they liked it. I remember that they liked their beef and fish dishes. I tell them that I want to have the complete Dutch dinner and that I'll probably finish with the poffertjes. He seems skeptical, so I ask what he would have.
"Vlaa. The poffertjes are more of an afternoon snack." She agrees, so I order the vlaa and pour my last glass of water.
"I guess you noticed that I put away this entire bottle, too."
"I did notice that," he replies, and I tell them that I just came from Sauna Deco down the street.
When I get my dessert, he points out that the next table over arrived before they did and hasn't gotten any food yet. "Maybe you're a victim of ethnic profiling."
"Huh?"
"Clearly they have given you such quick service in order to get rid of you, because you're from Texas."
I grin, and tuck away the delicious vlaa, topped with the superior slagroom I've come to expect in the Netherlands.
I'd guess that the Dutch sense of understatement leads this incredible eatery to have such a miniscule sign. I walked in and asked where they would like me, and they seated me at a long table next to a young Dutch couple. I already knew pretty much what I wanted, and attempted to order from the Nederlands side of the menu rather than the English. The pronunciation of ertwensoep, though, seemed beyond me. Fortunately, online acquantances had given me the common name.
"Ik wil graag de snert and de stamppot van de dag, alstublieft, and een glas water, still."
"Huh?"
I point, and the cute pregnant waitress says, "Oh, the snert." She grins, and walks away with a toss of her luxuriant hair.
The lovely young woman diagonally across from me is suddenly choking on her wine, and her date has his head bowed and is shaking a little. When the soup comes, I understand why. It tastes fantastic, a rich broth with (I think) veal sausage cut in thin slices. A "Wow" escapes my lips as I finish.
"You liked it?" asks the guy next to me.
"Way more than liked it," I reply, pouring my second glass of water. "I think I want to marry it."
Just then my entree comes, and I note that they haven't gotten theirs yet. We exchange puzzled looks. The young lady can't resist asking me about the soup, and I explain that I figured it out after she laughed. I ask if they know the name of this stamppot, and the fellow informs me that it's boerenkohl.
"Sweet! That's exactly the one I wanted to try first."
"It's more of a winter dish, really."
"Well, I'm from Texas, and a boerenjongen at that." This seems to explain a lot to him. They live in de buurt.
They get their entrees, and we all dig in. I want to find out what brand of spek the kitchen uses and buy a crate of it. I could happily drown in their gravy. Next time, though, I'll cut the meatball in two and save half. We all finish, and I ask them what they had and if they liked it. I remember that they liked their beef and fish dishes. I tell them that I want to have the complete Dutch dinner and that I'll probably finish with the poffertjes. He seems skeptical, so I ask what he would have.
"Vlaa. The poffertjes are more of an afternoon snack." She agrees, so I order the vlaa and pour my last glass of water.
"I guess you noticed that I put away this entire bottle, too."
"I did notice that," he replies, and I tell them that I just came from Sauna Deco down the street.
When I get my dessert, he points out that the next table over arrived before they did and hasn't gotten any food yet. "Maybe you're a victim of ethnic profiling."
"Huh?"
"Clearly they have given you such quick service in order to get rid of you, because you're from Texas."
I grin, and tuck away the delicious vlaa, topped with the superior slagroom I've come to expect in the Netherlands.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
btw... interesting drum kit.
I see you eschewed high hats. Going for the Moe Tucker vibe?