1995 - The UnDutchables (15 page)

The international respect bestowed upon the Dutch cuisine is reflected in the abundance of Dutch restaurants found in London, Paris, Berlin, New York or Baghdad.

Culinary orgasmic delights such as
stamppot
(mashed potato with cooked vegetables/meat/fruit stirred in—as the concoction is pounded almost into a pulp, nobody is quite sure what the featured ingredient is) somehow do not entice the gentry as do
coq au vin a la bourguignonne
or
scaloppeine di vitello al Marsala
. And Edam
kaas
(cheese) is no match for
Capricedes Dieux
or Swiss
Gruyere
.

Appelgebak (Dutch apple pie) differentiates itself from other countries’ traditional versions by the ritual around which it is consumed. Preferably accompanied by close friends in a
gezellig cafe
, the
appelgebak
(with or without
slagroom
—whipped cream) and cups of fresh, hot coffee, are slowly consumed, each mouthful garnished by deep and meaningful social intercourse.

Erwtensoep is Holland’s ceremonial centre-piece, succulent starter, majestic main course…whatever. It consists of a delicious, thick pea soup infested with lumps of ham and vegetable(s). It is served with spoon and bib and is available in kit-form at specialist shops and in canned- and powdered-form at supermarkets. It’s as close as you can get to a national dish—or national bowl.

Hutspot (mashed potato with onions, carrots and a suggestion of meat, swimming in a rich gravy) is a hearty dish, about as exciting as such a stew can be. It is most popular in the winter months.

Uitsmijter (ham/cheese and two or three semi-fried eggs on untoasted toast) is mainly adopted as a lunch time treat when even the Dutch cannot face the standard fare (see below).

There are, in general, little or no regional differences in the way traditional dishes are prepared, although some areas sport local traditional delicacies such as
Balkenbrei
(North Brabant): flour, pigs’ blood and lard, cooked and served with fried bacon.

The standard lunch time
piece de resistance
is a tantalizing choice between open- or closed-sandwiches.
Cloggy
bread, which is rather dry and bland to the point of seeming stale, is lightly smeared with unsalted butter or unsalted margarine and topped with translucent slithers of processed ham or processed cheese. The unsalted lubricant is probably an attempt to counteract the effect of the highly salted topping. (Edam cheese is salted during manufacture in order to give it a bit of taste.)

Their salt sandwiches are invariably eaten with a knife and fork, and are washed down with coffee or fruit juice to avoid dehydration.

The final course is typically one apple, pear or orange, peeled with the same knife that was used to dissect the main course. For an experience of poetry in motion, observe the way the Dutch peel their fruit:

• With apples and pears, a helical peel length is attempted: whether it is achieved or not is largely irrelevant, unless you are superstitious. It is the style of execution that matters. The (blunt) knife blade careens around the fruit from stalk to stub in a continuous, poetic, lethal motion—a combination of Marcel Marceau and Jack the Ripper. For the superstitious, tradition dictates that if you hold the peel above your head, then drop it, the shape of the peel that falls to the deck spells the initial(s) of the peeler’s next lover. Apparently ours are GIG and SCCJG.
  
• With oranges, the top (and possibly the bottom) is first circumcised. A surgical incision is then made at what is left of the stalk-end, and the knife is drawn down to the ex-stub. Successive movements are made at roughly 30-degree intervals to divide the peel into regular segments. This done, the consumer manages, somehow, to split all segments in turn, and the inner sanctum of the deflowered fruit is laid naked for ingestion.
  

Consumption is secondary to the display of conquest, as the frockless fruit lies helpless in the hands of the rapist, like a British politician at a European monetary convention.

So from where does this exclusively Dutch characteristic stem? The most rational and likely explanation is the Dutch potato passion, the favourite recipe being whole, boiled potatoes, known as
boiled potatoes
. There is only one way to peel a cooked potato while keeping it intact and that is to use the spiraling-down technique, in one continuous stroke from the north- to the south-pole of the potato. This style of skinning spuds subsequently spread to the peeling of round fruits.

Foreign restaurants are popular social gathering points in towns and cities. Italian, Greek, Chinese and Indonesian eating establishments are commonplace. Turkish, Indian and Mexican are breeding fast. Unfortunately, the dishes served are often corrupted by substitutes for certain unobtainable original ingredients, as is the case in all European countries.

Dutch traditional restaurants also exist. They serve some or all of the dishes previously mentioned, and soup-up the attraction by including other European classics, such as
Wienerschnitzel, Jagerschnitzel
, steak (
biefstuk
)—child’s portion—and
Tartar
(minced, raw steak,
tartaartje
).

More important than the food is the
ambiance
that permeates the place. Basically, the cosier the climate, the more popular the establishment. If the
milieu
is to their liking, the Dutch do not mind forking out a little more than usual. The incredible atmosphere of many of the restaurants is reflected in the overall
decor
, due to a
melange
of all those wonderful and typical features touched upon in this work, such as flowers, plants, coffee, apple pie, cleanliness, music, friendliness of staff and price range. Lighting, furniture, architecture and style of dishware (porcelain, etc.) are also important. Political, religious, or ‘good cause’ affiliations are often used to lure customers; in these eating houses, posters and propaganda flavour the scene.

Whatever the locale, there is a definite etiquette that is followed when the meal arrives. Before commencing your meal, wish your companion(s)
bon appetit
by uttering one of the following:
eet smakelijk, smakelijk eten
or
eet ze
. And observe the ‘paying protocol.’

The ‘paying protocol’ prescribes that if you are invited out for a meal, you pay for yourself (‘go Dutch’). If someone else pays for your meal, reciprocate as soon as possible.

Snack bars introduced themselves in Holland long before the concept of ‘fast food’ infested western culture.

Banks of coin-operated hatches (
automaten
) set in walls announce the presence of gastronomic goodies such as over- or under-cooked chicken (
kip
) wings, hamburgers, potato croquettes (
kroketten
) and fascinating noodle slabs (
bami-bal
). Together with the compulsory salted French Fries (swimming in mayonnaise), this type of convenient meal provides just the thing for a healthy jogger to feast on after a strenuous workout.

Perhaps more popular are the relatively new
shoarma
snack bars which identify themselves by the presence of a vertical grilling device (containing a rotary spit, heavily loaded with thin, wide slices of lamb) strategically located at the front of the ex-shop. These establishments assemble the Middle East version of hamburgers, consisting of dissected pita bread loaded with hackings from the spit, weeping green-salad components and a hot sauce, guaranteed to mask any natural flavour.

Most restaurants throughout Europe automatically include a 15 percent tip in the bill. Standard Dutch practice is to leave an additional coin or two on the table to express gratitude to the staff and thereby avoid appearing Dutch. That extra 10-cent tip is considered a tremendous token of appreciation by Dutch restaurant clientele. We doubt this sentiment is shared by the restaurant staff.

For those who prefer their sustenance in liquid form and a little stronger than milk, Dutch bars are also places of intense social discourse and atmosphere. Some are open 24 hours a day, some daytime only, some evenings ⁄ nights.

If you drink alone, there is no chance of boredom as most bars provide a monumental display of curiosities and collections on their walls. If the bar has a history, you’ll find it on the walls; if the owner has a history, you’ll find it on the walls; if its name suggests a theme, you’ll find it on the walls; and so on. If you find a bell hanging from a rope, or a rope hanging from a bell, don’t ring it, despite possible encouragement from the locals. By doing so, you’re agreeing to buy all present a drink of their choice. Be cautious when using the phrase, ‘
Let’s have a drink’ (borrel
or
borreltje
), as it can easily be interpreted as, ‘
The drinks are on me
.’

Dutch gin (
genever
) can blow your head off. Dutch beer (
bier; pils
) is sweet, tasty and strong. Ordering a beer can be confusing for foreigners who attempt to do so for the first time in Dutch. No matter how you refer to a ‘beer’ in Dutch, the bartender will respond by using a different term. Here, the obsession with diminutives (see Chapter 16) comes into play:

Mag ik een bier?
(May I have a beer?)

Een biertje?
(A beer?—lit., A little beer? doesn’t refer to size)

Mag ik een pils?
(May I have a beer?)

Een pilsje?
(A beer?—lit., A little beer? doesn’t refer to size)

For a small glass of beer, use the double diminutive:

Mag ik een kleintje pils?
(a small beer—lit., May I have a small little beer?)

Een kleintje?
(A small one? does refer to size)

Beer is generally served in small, flower-pot shaped glasses. When poured or pumped into these containers, a considerable amount of froth or ‘head’ develops, which is sliced flush with the rim. The resultant offering often shocks European visitors. Germans laugh at the sawn-off ‘head’ and protest the lack of quantity (as usual) while Brits laugh at the lack of quantity and protest the overabundance of ‘head.’ French and Italians just drink it and think romantic thoughts of home, while Americans eye it with pity, demanding;

I’ll have a low-cal, low-cholesterol, extra oat-bran, sugar -and salt-free beer with a twist of lemon—and gimmie some diet floss and decafeinated ketchup with that!

Long before the western world discovered the intimate luxury of sitting at a low, black, lacquered table to feast on Japanese raw fish, the Dutch were doing it in quite another manner—and continue to do so in no lesser style. Standing in front of an open-air fish stall, ranks of cloggies hold raw, brine-slimed herring (
haring
) sprinkled with raw, diced onions in the air, and lower the ex-creatures into their gaping gates. Two swallows and a series of lip-smacks later, the onion debris is wiped from their mouths and clothing, and the feast is over.

A similarly repulsive practice exists with eel (
paling
), the thin variety being smoked and the thick variety being fried or served in butter sauce. Here the vomit-buds are teased by the fact that the eel heads are left on for consumption at the more ethnic establishments.

It’s called
beschuit met muisjes
. Don’t even try to pronounce it. It means something like
DUTCH ENGLISH MUFFIN WITH BABY MICE
, the
muisjes
being pink-and-white aniseed sprinkles. It is highly inadvisable to attempt to prepare and/or consume this traditional snack without proper and thorough demonstration and instruction from a native.

Beschuit
are round, extremely dry, light and very fragile biscuits. You cannot cut a
beschuit
in half; it will merely disintegrate. The
mode d’emploi
of this delightful snack begins with butter which must be at or above room temperature for any kind of result. Spread the butter on the
beschuit
, trying not to break the brittle thing. The butter acts as glue for the
muisjes
which are sprinkled on top.

The next step, and biggest challenge, is to eat this delicacy without making too much mess. This takes quite some skill for the inexperienced. Depending on the angle of entry into your mouth, the mice can roll into your lap and onto the floor if the ratio of mice to glue is not correct. Wherever they land, the piles resemble clumps of mouse
shit
. With or without mice, avoid eating a
beschuit
in bed: the crumbs you drop are worse than gritty sand between the sheets.

Beschuit met muisjes
is traditionally served on the day the baby is born/comes home from the hospital, so do not be surprised if your grocer wishes you congratulations when you purchase the biscuits and anise sprinkles. Through a stroke of marketing genius, Dutch manufacturers have made
muisjes
available in pink and blue for obvious reasons. No further comment necessary, except perhaps to advise…

…don’t ever confuse
muisjes
with
meisjes!

The name of the Dutch national nibble is licorice, better known as
drop
or
dropjes
. It comes in all sizes, shapes and flavours, and since they are predominantly black, this helps in differentiating the various cultures. They are sold pre-packaged or ‘fresh,’ the latter being a popular purchase at the local street market. Overdosing on
dropjes
is known to cause high blood pressure.

In 1990,
cloggies
spent more than
HFL
248 million on
dropjes
. They are consumed at the rate of 75,000 kg (165,000 Ib) per day. Needless to say, the Dutch
drop
market is stable and healthy. (One producer uses 25 different recipes.) Among the selection to choose from are:

• soft, chewy fish • coin-shaped standard
  
• harder-to-chew half moon • English mix
  
• filled baguette • sugar-coated varieties
  
• double-salt parallelogram • traffic signs
  
• single-salt button • witch’s hat design
  
• sweet’n salty farmhouse • cats (in different poses)
  
• bite-sized Twizzler • Flintstones characters
  
• Belgian boy pissing • coloured cubes
  
• heart-shaped honey drop • spaghetti shoe laces