City of Perpetual Indulgence
Amsterdam, Saturday
Food.
I've eaten way too much of it since my departure, and not in healthy ways. I have to be careful or I'll gain back what I've recently lost. But healthy food isn't exactly the fortè of the Dutch. And I am determined to eat well this trip; last night a quintessential Dutch Agrentinian steakhouse for vegetable soup, salad & grilled steak. And way too much wine. Somewhere in the metric to english conversion I decided 1/2 L was the same as 1/2 a bottle of wine, which I can handle. But 3 coffeshops, 3 kinds of pot and 3/4 of a bottle of wine (because a bottle is only 750 ml) later, after little sleep in 36 hours - I was falling asleep at the table.
Tonight, I'm hand-writing this into a journal from a spanish tapas place in the Red Light District, called Manolo. I'm drinking a rosado and eating the delicious garlic bread my waiter just brought me: it's covered with a light, garlicky tomato sauce and a sprinkling of mozzarella cheese. I have calamari a la romana (breaded & fried) coming, a spanish version of caprese (mozzarella, tomato & herb - with onion slices), and paella a la valencia (with chicken & fish).
Ah, my starters are here.
* * *
I had never had paella before. It was really fucking good! Much like risotto, although some of the ingredients are cooked separately and added last; before it is finished in the oven. I ordered way more than I could eat, but Amsterdam is the city of perpetual indulgence, and at least for this first weekend of my trip, I am going to indulge. Pot. Food. Booze. Sex, if I can manage.
I suppose the fact that I've been stoned and acting allergic to maps will help with the caloric indulgence - I keep getting lost and spending an hour backtracking to the point I went astray. Since the train from Schipol to Central station, with the exception of the canal cruise I took Niblet on insteqd of waiting 3 hour in line for the Van Gogh museum, my only transportation has been my two feet. And seals get heavy.
* * *
My waiter, Rafa (Rafaél) just brought me an apertif from his home town of Barcelona. I have NO idea what it is, but it tastes like a combination of hazelnut and vanilla; I'm guessing some kind of brandy derivative.
He also gave me his email address and telephone number.
Pity for that wedding ring on his finger.
* * *
My name is Serre, and I like frites with frites sauce (french fries with mayo)
* * *
Sunday
Took Niblet for his first dutch pancake: with ham, cheese & pineapple. Dutch pancakes are more like crepes than what we have in the US; thin and very light, lending themselves to sweet or savory toppings. Set to the soundtrqcks of Grease & Dirty Dancing.
Then to Abraxas for a hash choco milkshake. MMMMMM.
Just before dinner, I headed to the Torture Museum. It was very disappointing, only a cursory look at its subject; with only some information pertaining to the witch hunt and the Inquisition. The first thing you see are pillories and stalks. Reminded me a bit of Power Exchange. Then you wander up and down 3 levels made to look like a dungeon.
Torture devices I haven't heard of that I must research:
The Pear
The Scavenger's Daughter
Should I have been as turned on as I was by the picture of a woman with a collar around her neck, attached by a chain to a post, with her ankles shackled to said post and hands tied behind her back?
Right ... indulgence.
* * *
Finished the night with a tour through the seedier parts of the Red Light District (I needed to make a purchase, and since the RLD was so close to my hotel ... not human flesh, because RLD whores aren't exactly my aesthetic)
I was offered money by a group of men. One of the door men of one of the whore houses tried to get me to come work for him. The one S&M club I saw, the "mistress" in the window wasn't at all attractive. She couldn't hold a candle to BossLadyMan.
Food.
I've eaten way too much of it since my departure, and not in healthy ways. I have to be careful or I'll gain back what I've recently lost. But healthy food isn't exactly the fortè of the Dutch. And I am determined to eat well this trip; last night a quintessential Dutch Agrentinian steakhouse for vegetable soup, salad & grilled steak. And way too much wine. Somewhere in the metric to english conversion I decided 1/2 L was the same as 1/2 a bottle of wine, which I can handle. But 3 coffeshops, 3 kinds of pot and 3/4 of a bottle of wine (because a bottle is only 750 ml) later, after little sleep in 36 hours - I was falling asleep at the table.
Tonight, I'm hand-writing this into a journal from a spanish tapas place in the Red Light District, called Manolo. I'm drinking a rosado and eating the delicious garlic bread my waiter just brought me: it's covered with a light, garlicky tomato sauce and a sprinkling of mozzarella cheese. I have calamari a la romana (breaded & fried) coming, a spanish version of caprese (mozzarella, tomato & herb - with onion slices), and paella a la valencia (with chicken & fish).
Ah, my starters are here.
* * *
I had never had paella before. It was really fucking good! Much like risotto, although some of the ingredients are cooked separately and added last; before it is finished in the oven. I ordered way more than I could eat, but Amsterdam is the city of perpetual indulgence, and at least for this first weekend of my trip, I am going to indulge. Pot. Food. Booze. Sex, if I can manage.
I suppose the fact that I've been stoned and acting allergic to maps will help with the caloric indulgence - I keep getting lost and spending an hour backtracking to the point I went astray. Since the train from Schipol to Central station, with the exception of the canal cruise I took Niblet on insteqd of waiting 3 hour in line for the Van Gogh museum, my only transportation has been my two feet. And seals get heavy.
* * *
My waiter, Rafa (Rafaél) just brought me an apertif from his home town of Barcelona. I have NO idea what it is, but it tastes like a combination of hazelnut and vanilla; I'm guessing some kind of brandy derivative.
He also gave me his email address and telephone number.
Pity for that wedding ring on his finger.
* * *
My name is Serre, and I like frites with frites sauce (french fries with mayo)
* * *
Sunday
Took Niblet for his first dutch pancake: with ham, cheese & pineapple. Dutch pancakes are more like crepes than what we have in the US; thin and very light, lending themselves to sweet or savory toppings. Set to the soundtrqcks of Grease & Dirty Dancing.
Then to Abraxas for a hash choco milkshake. MMMMMM.
Just before dinner, I headed to the Torture Museum. It was very disappointing, only a cursory look at its subject; with only some information pertaining to the witch hunt and the Inquisition. The first thing you see are pillories and stalks. Reminded me a bit of Power Exchange. Then you wander up and down 3 levels made to look like a dungeon.
Torture devices I haven't heard of that I must research:
The Pear
The Scavenger's Daughter
Should I have been as turned on as I was by the picture of a woman with a collar around her neck, attached by a chain to a post, with her ankles shackled to said post and hands tied behind her back?
Right ... indulgence.
* * *
Finished the night with a tour through the seedier parts of the Red Light District (I needed to make a purchase, and since the RLD was so close to my hotel ... not human flesh, because RLD whores aren't exactly my aesthetic)
I was offered money by a group of men. One of the door men of one of the whore houses tried to get me to come work for him. The one S&M club I saw, the "mistress" in the window wasn't at all attractive. She couldn't hold a candle to BossLadyMan.
posted by Serrephim | Monday, May 29, 2006
2 Comments:
Awwwww!
Eating the local food is part of the trip. When you're home you can say "I'll have that another day", but when you're traveling, you only get one chance! So eat up, little nugget!
Disclaimers:
1) this point of view caused me to gain 20 pounds when I was in Europe
2) I am a feeder
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