Dutch Food

When I used to tell people where I was planning on studying abroad, the response would be about one of four things:

1. Sex (i.e. legalized prostitution)
2. Drugs (i.e. legalized marijuana)
3. “Amsterdam is such a beautiful city.”
4. Pickled herring

I was quick to learn that in addition to its vices (are they really vices if they’re a central theme in the country’s tourism industry?), the Netherlands is notorious for its bad food. I was told – not by any experienced authority, of course – that my diet would consist of bread, cheese, and above all, pickled herring – not to mention ample supplies of Heineken (pronounced “Heinek-uh”). Indeed, there are some truly gross culinary offerings that the Dutch are known for. With french fries (“frites”), they offer dollops of mayonnaise and in the meat section of grocery stores, one still has to keep a vigilante eye out for horse meat – a delicacy according to my Dutch professor Bonny. They also somehow manage to butcher established foods like pizza. On the second day of orientation, our program gave us, for dinner, pizza adorned with gouda cheese* (pronounced “howda”), unnervingly penis-like legumes, and a seafood medley that included shrimp, herring, and baby squid. Needless to say, the culinary traditions of its Western European peers didn’t really influence the development of the Dutch art of cooking.** I suppose food, much like language (more on this in a later post, if I remember), is reflective of culture.*** The Dutch, being an unassuming sort (where standing out and “getting A’s” is not a good thing) impart on the epicurian world bland dishes with very little spice.

However, this leads to – what I suspect is – one of the great ironies of Dutch culture: The Dutch don’t like Dutch food. I know this for a few reasons. First, you’ll be hard pressed to find any Dutch restaurants. Second, I’ve eaten Italian food almost exclusively since I’ve gotten here. It’s not that I don’t want to eat Dutch food (well, maybe it is, a little). It’s just that when I go out looking for something to eat, I can only find ethnic (read: foreign) eating establishments. There are a ton of Italian restaurants, surprisingly common clusters of Argentinian steakhouses, some Spanish restaurants, and Indonesian restaurants a-plenty.**** Italian meat, in particular, is popular in Amsterdam. I’ve had my fair share of serrano- and parma-ham sandwiches since arriving.

My favorite spot to eat so far is this little Italian market down the block from Sara, called Sapori Del Mundo, that makes the best tuna sandwiches I’ve had since Dave’s (Chillin’ and Grillin’) in Eagle Rock. And because you want to know (I’m assuming): No, it does not have mayonaisse in it. Yes, it does have capers, lettuce, cracked jalepeños, honey dijon, and a slice or two of cheddar (gasp!*). I think I like it so much because it’s one of the few spicy selections I can get in my diet. The Dutch don’t make it easy for a spice-a-holic like myself. There are two options on the lid of Dutch chili-powder containers for dispensing the spice: one hole or three (careful!).

However, this is not to say that there aren’t those gems in the world of Dutch cuisine. For example, mayonnaise aside, Dutch french fries are amazing. I’m tempted to revoke the “Masters of the Steak-Fry” award that I gave the Brits in my last post in favor of the Dutch. Here, each batch of thick-cut fries are double-fried for that perfect crunch. The second frying occurs before your very eyes after you order them, so they are still warm when the ubiquitous fry-stand vendor lovingly delivers them to you, their golden aura bursting forth from their newspaper cone. Anyone who isn’t Dutch will opt for either the curry ketchup or the peanut sauce (borrowed from the aforementioned Indonesian tradition) – both are delicious options.

But, without a doubt, the greatest thing the Dutch – nay, God – invented is the stroopwaffel (pronounced “strope-waffel”), hereby referred to as “crack.” Crack consists of two graham-cracker-like cookies (adorned with a waffel pattern) with a layer of caramel syrup between them. I’ll admit, when I first heard about crack, I was curious. While it sounded harmless enough (as crack usually does), the experience – sweet, soft, and chewy – was positively addictive (also, as crack usually is). Usually about the size of a sand dollar, crack can be purchased in packs of twenty for as little as 60 Euro-cents (depending on which hood you’re in). Sometimes though, if lady fortune smiles on you, you’ll run into a crack-dealer peddling his supply on the corner of the street – usually near a market. The crack dealers (whom “normal” people call “street vendors”) sit in their little crack dens (again, “stands”), and will make a giant peice of crack right in front of you for a Euro. I had one of these yesterday, at a market in Den Haage (AKA “The Hague”) and it was like tasting an angel. It’s a sin crack like this isn’t available in the U.S.

The combination of stroopwaffels and Dutch cereal (which all seem to have whole chunks of chocolate in them; so American parents can stop complaining about the sugar in Fruity Pebbles) is going to make me a diabetic by the time I get home.

Seriously. Look at this:

I’m sure I’ll find more diamonds in the rough. And as soon as my computer-situation is figured out, I’ll upload my own photos or the homemade crack and the crack-den.

*The Dutch only seem to like gouda. Other than parmesan (Italian food), there is little offered in the foreign cheese arena. It’s nearly impossible to find cheddar at grocery stores. In fact, when my friend Ian asked a woman standing next to him at the cheese section where he could find cheddar, she gave him this partly-puzzled, partly-disgusted look and said, “Why would you ever want that?”
**Except for Dutch ovens, which are the shit.
***Probably the most obvious thing I’ve ever said.
**** Think Indian food in Britain, or Mexican food in the U.S.