Restaurant in de Waag

The folks at the recommended Restaurant Beddington are not answering the phone, and we decide that Restaurant de Kas is too far from the hotel, so settle for the Restaurant in de Waag (weighhouse). The interior is pleasingly rustic-Dutch (no, I've no idea what I'm on about either ,it is lit entirely by candles though, which I suppose is quite good), and service is efficient from a cheerful fellow who looks like a miniature viking. The menu is interesting, but the current 1:1 Euro-pound exchange rate is frankly frightening. We go for today's special menu, and try not to think about the fact that it still costs more than the set lunch at Gordon Ramsay's place in Claridges, which has a Michelin star, and posh curtains and things.

Scallops arrive which, while tasty themselves, are totally over-powered by a pile of mixed leaves dressed in a pungent mix of garlic and dill. Somebody is a bit heavy handed in the kitchen. We munch the scallops and push the salad around the plate a little, saving our hopes for the main course.

Tenderloin Steak arrives medium, although we didn't have the option of ordering it any rarer, on a little ginger swamp of 'oven dried tomato risotto' with courgettes. Courgettes are 'A French vegetable' according to the little viking waiter. Cheers Erik, there I was thinking courgettes were a natural mutation of marrows introduced from the Americas or something.

But lets forgive clever Erik for now though, as we might need someone to clear up after we've thrown our plates at the chef for thinking that 'oven-dried tomato risotto' is a good thing to serve with steak. Especially a risotto that is cooked as haphazardly as this. Thankfully the steak itself is tender with a encouragingly livery taste.

Creme brulee gives way with an appropriate crunch, but these short-term thrills are let down by an overly eggy flavour, which fails the world famous Mrs Jiffler creme brulee test ("There's nothing worse than eggy creme brulee").

Then the bill. Christ on a bike! Brits: cancel your holidays to Europe.

Ban this sick filth

This place, with dozens of branches throughout Holland, is a fecking disgrace. Named FEBO after Ferdinand Bol apparently. Can you hear that? It's the sound of Bol spinning in his grave.

You put your money in the slot, you take the disgusting thing out of the window, then you're supposed to eat it.

De Lekkerste? Smerig more like.

2009: A Dutch Odyssey

The British Airways business class lounge at Terminal 5 is ace (although no complementary copies of the Guardian, only the right-wing rags). You can eat as many bacon sandwiches as you like, before leaving your beloved flat-cap on one of the comfy sofas and not realising until arriving in Amsterdam.

Having never been to Amsterdam before, I've high hopes that the city adds up to more than it's reputation as a continental Blackpool. we arrive in cold, drizzly weather, but that doesn't dampen my spirits. This kind of weather is ideal for exploring a city, as you don't feel too bad about lingering over coffee, or ducking into a cheesemongers to warm up a little.

The tacky touristic part of town is as expected: hazy stag-parties giggling outside coffee shops, and rough looking sex workers jiggling inside windows. In the drizzle it feels like a cross between a crap Norfolk seaside town in the winter and a kinkier version of Camden. The eating options are grim, with gaudy chinese restaurants, fast food joints, depressing Italian restaurants and, for some reason, dozens of Argentinian steakhouses.

On the plus side, the rest of Amsterdam is marvellous. The network of concentretic canals makes for picturesque rambling around the city, pausing occasionally to admire the architecture, peer into an antique shop, or make way for a cyclist. The Rijksmuseum is just small enough to prevent the onset of museum fatigue, although I reckon that Rembrandt fellow was overrated. I can appreciate the whole light and shade thing, but next to Vermeer, or de Hooch it all looks a bit souless. A bit like he was painting for the money. Anyhow, the best thing to follow a traipse around the Rijksmuseum is coffee and a waffle, eaten in a freezing shed by the nearby ice skating rink:


Our Dutch cousins do a great cup of coffee, and that waffle provided 120% of the recommended calorific intake. Check out the plate though - I haven't seen one like that since staying in my Auntie Edna's static caravan in the early 80's.

I miss my flat cap.