snert, inburgering, vertrutting, enz.

For a table that consisted of four Americans and one Nederlander, we sure did spend a lot of time talking about all things Dutch last night. And yes, the tone may have been bordering on critical (bordering? critical? one of these words is not quite right), but maybe it's like that situation where, for example, a high school English teacher singles out one student in her classroom to always be Hamlet, or Macbeth, or whatever character has the most lines in whatever play the class is reading aloud, so that he'll (the student) have to stay awake and possibly even learn something about the play. Because she (the teacher) sees amazing potential in him that he is squandering away by enacting all kinds of petty, control-freak laws about where people can drink and smoke, what time of day they can do it, and whether or not they an sit or stand during the act. Etc.

+++

Pre-coffee mixed-metaphor experiments aside, last night's meal was pretty much the best Dutch meal ever, seriously. Plus we got to complain about all kinds of things you're not supposed to be able to complain about, like children and immigrants. Good times.

Above: Hollandse garnalen (tiny Dutch shrimp) with cream and chives in Belgian endive. Below: Goudse kaasbolletjes (Gouda cheese puffs), ambachtelijk osseworst (artisanally smoked beef sausage?), cornichons, and mustard; smoked eel on grilled toast (possibly my favorite bite of the evening); superlatively pork-y split pea soup; a delicious dessert pile-up of stoofperen, boterkoek with ginger, homemade advocaat, and whipped cream. Plus lots of beer and jenever. And wine? Jesus. But I really do feel totally fine today.

P.S: If you've ever wondered what the opposite of sympathy is, it's "fuck you".

+++