I don't know, you write a couple of blog-posts about eating out Netherlands style and the next thing you know you're invited to a Dutch dinner in Dakar. Based on a sample size of two, I can now infer that Dutch men know how to cook. My friend's potato and garlic soup was that perfect combination of velvet-smooth soup with al dente nuggets of garlic. Lekker.
New Peking / Niuw Peking, Ede.
I thought I'd managed to block out the memory of eating at the New Peking restaurant in Ede, but I'm going to have to get it out of my system here on jifflings instead. Being a somewhat conservative town, Ede shuts down at about 8pm and everyone goes home for a spot of self flagellation, or to watch the telly. whatever. Anyhow, the New Peking looked inviting; we could order a set-banquet from the Dutch-language-only menu and be assured of eating something recognisable, and it was a 25 minute walk through the snow to the next restaurant. We had cold feet. It was a no brainer.
It started reasonably well. The chicken soup came with crystal clear broth and shredded pieces of proper poultry. Spring rolls and other deep-fried things were springy, and you know, deep fried. Nothing worth getting the trumpets out for, but solid, neighbourhood chinese restaurant cooking all the same. Our feet had started to thaw by this point as well. Things were looking good.
Rather too soon after clearing away the detritus of our starters, the owner arrived pushing a trolley and proudly presented us with a platter of main course dishes. when I say proudly, I mean she made a noise as if to say 'Ta-daaaah' in a sort of Sino-Dutch way. Raising an eyebrow each, we peered at our wagonwheel sized tray of mixed dishes and made that peculiar gurning noise that British people do in restaurants when they are trying to convey enthusiasm and satisfaction, when really they are thinking "What the fooking hell is that supposed to be?".
Some chicken, in sweet and sour sauce. Some vegetables, also in sweet and sour sauce. Onions and some shredded bits of cow ringpiece (in blackbean sauce, phew). Deep fried balls of... stuff, bobbing miserably in a polluted lake of sweet and sour sauce with half a tin of watery cocktail fruits emptied nonchalantly over the top, and finally a herb omelette in, er, sweet and sour sauce.
We actually ate some of it. To be honest, I couldn't wait to try the omelette. I knew already that it would be a total disgrace, but I thought it would make Mrs Jiffler laugh. The sweet and sour sauce wasn't even a passable attempt (and since it seemed to be the house speciality, one might expect something half decent), but appeared to be made from equal portions of tinned tomato soup and white vinegar. Seriously.
At least we could laugh about it, and pick at a few bits of meat and rice. We didn't bother with dessert though. The cold weather outside seemed more appealing.
New Peking / Niuw Peking, Ede.
I thought I'd managed to block out the memory of eating at the New Peking restaurant in Ede, but I'm going to have to get it out of my system here on jifflings instead. Being a somewhat conservative town, Ede shuts down at about 8pm and everyone goes home for a spot of self flagellation, or to watch the telly. whatever. Anyhow, the New Peking looked inviting; we could order a set-banquet from the Dutch-language-only menu and be assured of eating something recognisable, and it was a 25 minute walk through the snow to the next restaurant. We had cold feet. It was a no brainer.
It started reasonably well. The chicken soup came with crystal clear broth and shredded pieces of proper poultry. Spring rolls and other deep-fried things were springy, and you know, deep fried. Nothing worth getting the trumpets out for, but solid, neighbourhood chinese restaurant cooking all the same. Our feet had started to thaw by this point as well. Things were looking good.
Rather too soon after clearing away the detritus of our starters, the owner arrived pushing a trolley and proudly presented us with a platter of main course dishes. when I say proudly, I mean she made a noise as if to say 'Ta-daaaah' in a sort of Sino-Dutch way. Raising an eyebrow each, we peered at our wagonwheel sized tray of mixed dishes and made that peculiar gurning noise that British people do in restaurants when they are trying to convey enthusiasm and satisfaction, when really they are thinking "What the fooking hell is that supposed to be?".
Some chicken, in sweet and sour sauce. Some vegetables, also in sweet and sour sauce. Onions and some shredded bits of cow ringpiece (in blackbean sauce, phew). Deep fried balls of... stuff, bobbing miserably in a polluted lake of sweet and sour sauce with half a tin of watery cocktail fruits emptied nonchalantly over the top, and finally a herb omelette in, er, sweet and sour sauce.
We actually ate some of it. To be honest, I couldn't wait to try the omelette. I knew already that it would be a total disgrace, but I thought it would make Mrs Jiffler laugh. The sweet and sour sauce wasn't even a passable attempt (and since it seemed to be the house speciality, one might expect something half decent), but appeared to be made from equal portions of tinned tomato soup and white vinegar. Seriously.
At least we could laugh about it, and pick at a few bits of meat and rice. We didn't bother with dessert though. The cold weather outside seemed more appealing.
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