Soup Kitchen

Is one of those quirky hipster Amsterdam restaurants, barely half a stop out of Centraal Station, just follow the five or one, specialising in, well, soup. Nice soup, judging from the way S, is slurping it down at the moment. But really, why should I bring soup halfway through town to her when the hospital is supposed to provide food for her, tailored to her exact requirements?

Because it’s crap. Bad enough the visitors restaurant believes reheating microwave precooked meals is the only way to cook and can be sold at prices more expensive than if you had the same meal properly cooked in a proper restaurant. But infinitely worse the food for the patients, as I’ve now experienced both first and secondhand. Three meals a day: breakfast at eight, supper at twelve and dinner at five, with the one hot meal of the day for some stupid reason in the middle of the day, perpetuating an obsolete Dutch custom long since abandoned by anybody sensible.

Supposedly you’re able to chose what you want for any of the meals, but a) the choices are limited and b) you’re lucky to get what you ordered one time out of five. With breakfast and dinner, the choice is between various kinds of dry sliced breads, your choice of cheese (sweaty anyway you slice it) and/or cold mystery meats (dry again) and/or those little cups of hotel jam/hagelslag/butter, perhaps with some form of soup (if you like the one on offer) or snack (usually deepfried, often egg based). With supper, it’s a choice of boiled or mashed potato or variants on it, with some kind of meat (veal is a favourite, or the Dutch equivalent of chicken kiev), gravy and one of three or four kinds of vegetables. Some form of dessert is also on offer. Theoretically there are also vegetarian and restricted diet versions of the menu on offer as well, but we haven’t seen those yet.

And if there’s anything S. needs it’s a restricted diet. She can’t eat eggs, artificial butter, cheese, deep fried stuff, too much fat or protein, certain vegetables and certainly no grapefruit (apparantly a deadly fruit for kidney transplant patients) and yet she keeps getting offered these fat laden, protein rich deep fried foods she can’t eat. it’s as if there’s a fundamental disconnect between the medical care and the food services, with no thought given to integrate the patient’s dietary restrictions into their meal plans.

Which I suspect is a consequence of the hospital having outsourced the food supply. I’m not even sure it’s made on the premises, but whereever it’s made, by the time it gets to you all the hot food is stone cold and the cold food is all lukewarm or melted, if you’re lucky enough to get ice cream (too fat). It all resembles the worst kind of school dinner service, before Jamie Oliver gets to it, lowest common denominator food purely chosen for cost rather than health reasons.

Worse, the portions are too small.

Ramses Shaffy 1933-2009

His music and art was more of my parents’ generation than my own, but nobody inb the Netherlands could really escape his influence. Born in France in 1933, son of an Egyptian diplomat and a Polish-Russian countess, he moved to the Netherlands when young to live with a Dutch foster family. Studying drama and acting in the fifties, his work from the sixties onwards built a bridge between the older Dutch “kleinkunst” (small arts) and cabaret traditions and pop music. Though he also worked as a movie and theatre actor he was most famous for his singing. It’s astounding how many of his songs I’ve picked up by osmosis, from Sunday afternoon music played by my parents, my dad especially.

How to choose the song to best represent him? My favourite was and still is “Zing Vecht Huil Bid Lach Werk en Bewonder” (Sing, Fight, Cry, Pray, Laugh, Work and Admire), a very Dutch sort of mantra.



His work with Liesbeth List, another of the giants of Dutch music, should not go unmentioned either. This is “Pastorale” which shows them both at their best. It’s theatrical bombast sung with gusto and without embarassement.



“We Zullen Doorgaan”.



And this was always my father’s favourite:



Laura should fuck of to school like the rest of us had to

Let’s forget whether or not it’s a good idea for a thirteen year old girl to go for a solo sailing tour around the world, no matter how capable she thinks she is or how much support she’ll get, what annoys me about this is the sheer hypocrisy and entitlement of it. In the Netherlands all parents have the legal obligation to keep their children in school until they’re eighteen, yet Laura and her parents think that this obligation does not apply to them just because she has a chance a breaking a world record and a not unsubstantial number of media commentators seem to go along with them where normally they would be the first to cry shame about truancy. The reason being that Laura is a nice, articulate, cute middle class white girl of nice, articulate middle class parents rather than some difficult allochtoon street kid. It’s annoying as fuck that this is taken serious as an issue and that social services had to intervene to make sure her parents obeyed their duty.

Happy birthday, frikandel!

A plate of frikandel with fries

According to a press release put out by a well known Dutch fast food maufacturer, today is the fiftieth anniversary of the invention of the frikandel. The story is that on this day in 1959 Jan Bekkers invented this popular sausage like snack when he started up his fast food factory; he was also supposed to have changed his name at the same time to Beckers in order to be first in the phone book before his competition, his cousin. A nice story and I’ve chosen to believe it for the sake of this post, but it’s quite clear it’s only a story and the frikandel has a much longer history dating back to the eighteenth century at least.

If you’re never been to the Netherlands you’ll likely have never encountered this particular meaty treat. The picture above shows one to perfection: a long, skinless dark brown sausage made of mixed meats, deep fried and usually eaten with fries, often covered in a sauce mixture of mayonaisse, curry or tomato ketchup and diced raw onion. There’s no truth to the rumour it’s made of all the disgusting left over bits of animals (lips, buttholes and eyeballs being particular popular grossout ingredients), at least not since the Dutch food standards agency made this illegal. These days there are even proper halal frikandellen.

a FEBO snack bar

Honestly it tastes better than it looks and you don’t need to be drunk to enjoy; millions of Dutch kiddies grew up with a regular saturday evening meal of fries and frikandellen. Unlike its stable mate, the kroket, it has not yet been improved in order to chase the luxury market; it’s as decent and honest a fast food treat you can get. If you ever visit the Netherlands, do try one but take care not to take one from the vending machines at the FEBO, as you never know how long these have been stewing behind the glass…

Brewery ‘t IJ is saved …for now

Sometimes putting the spotlight of publicity on bureaucracies doing deeply stupid things works, as the Amsterdam city council has decided to review its policy against people drinking alcohol on pub terraces whilst standing. For some reason this idea that people were drinking beer without sitting down for it was deeply offensive to the numbnuts of stadsdeel centrum especially, which led to a fine for Brewery ‘t IJ, one of the places where you least expect alcohol related trouble. Now the city has, while not abandoning this policy, chosen to be much more casual about enforcing it. Which is just as well what with the ban on smoking in pubs that came into force last July. Hopefully this relaxation of the law will mean no more warnings for the pub, which otherwise might have to close.