fassoulia.

Went into the center yesterday for a drinkie-poo and some sun with the Moop and the KK, ended up on the Leliegracht at Spanjer & Van Twist, where I think I have never ever been before. Pleasant enough place to drink and chat, though in terms of food I'm not sure it would ever be wise to venture beyond the "fried" portion of the menu.

That little neck of the woods sure is picaresque (sic) though. OK, here are some options for tonight's North African-Jewish idea, another Saveur ripoff.

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boulettes de poisson.

400g cod or haddock
½ cup very finely chopped almonds, or almond flour
¼ cup finely chopped parsley
1 tsp ground cumin
½ tsp ground coriander
¼ tsp ground ginger
5 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 egg, lightly beaten
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

2 tbsp butter
3 tbsp tomato paste
2 cups stock (I used chicken)
2 cups whole, peeled canned tomatoes with juice, crushed
1 tsp sugar, plus more to taste
1/2 tsp cayenne
1 tsp crushed red chile flakes (I used pul biber)
1/2 tsp ground allspice

1/2 cup chopped cilantro for serving

I served it with buttered rice, yogurt probably would've been good too. These were the "meatiest" fishballs I've ever encountered, not in a bad way.

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fassoulia (long-cooked green beans in tomato sauce).

1 large onion, chopped
6 cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 tsp garlic powder
2 tbsp olive oil
1/2 tsp cumin
400g fresh string beans or runner beans
1 can diced tomatoes (2 cups or so)
1 cup beef or vegetable broth
salt and pepper

Cook for 45 minutes.

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zeedijking ii (nsfw).

"Drinks at 5, Mata Hari" was the directive. The three of us started out inside on the windowfront couch, but somehow the shady, blustery terrace proved irresistible. Eventually joining us at our windswept table were a few friendly Fines de Claire oysters with mignonette (€2.50 each, but kinda worth it) and an attractive plank of lekkernijen (tidbits or treats) arranged with cyclone-defying care: parma ham with arugula; various salami; grilled asparagus, aubergine, pumkpin, courgette, peppers; a Spanish tortilla with potatoes; a very nice piece of homemade cured salmon; buffala with pesto and pomegranate seeds; some above-average calamari rings; some crackers with slightly Indian-spiced pea/mint puree and a sun-dried tomato hummous.

Shockingly, it all tasted just as good as it looked or better. And the plank was totally reasonable at €17.50. This having been our third visit, we can confirm that someone at Mata Hari knows how to cook. We haven't had anything really "fancy", but the quality of everything we've tasted has been way above-average.

Then, despite having already enjoyed a totally reasonable amount of beer and socializing at Mata Hari, the three of us braved the tourists and luxury dildos of the Red Light to "get some sun" at In de Wildeman, because they still get sun at 8pm, Mara knew this. And, she was right, they did, and we did. Unfortunately we also sat down in the sun with the bar staff and continued ordering beer, ensuring that today's goals will involve tiny reasonable things like wobbling downstairs to the grocery store; strenuously opening a can of Coke; slowly selecting DVDs to fall asleep to; carefully putting frozen pizzas in the oven.

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uitgepoept(e) @ de gouden reael.

Celebrated going to pick up our permanent residence permits today with a little wine and charcuterie on the lovely terrace at De Gouden Reael. The newspaper headline above says "Pooped-out coffee bean is the tastiest", talking of course about these. 

We passed on the coffee cuz, well, it's 192 euro per kilo, and plus it were hot outside:

And one thing led to another and soon we had us some bread and garlic mayo, a side effect of ordering the charcuterie platter...

....which consisted of some perfectly pleasant cured meats (Serrano ham, Coppa di Parma, Spinata Romana). Not superduper exciting but if you're eating bread (I myself am not) this a pretty good little terras snack.

The rest of the dinner menu looks very much like the kind of French bistro shitz I've been hungry for lately, so we should go back for a more serious bite soon.

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touch of evel.

Johnny D and Mars starting off the day with prosecco and beer before moving on to glasses of Fuck Me Punch. Below: the bar. The mess hall. Cold Agria soup with summer leeks and flowers + Raja potatoes with fava beans, olives, mint, and celery. The line. A man receiving a Golden Potato Award. Inova potatoes in piccalilly with postelein + rosemary-fennel sausage from Brandt & Levie with potato salad.

The food was very well-prepared and seasoned, but I was kind of hoping for something more ambitious. And I would've shelled those damn fava beans. Other than that: boring but good. The potatoes themselves were really tasty.

The design elements of the festival were nicely done, witness the 4-course stempelkaart and aging potato gallery. Our table had a fantastic mouse door in the bottom of it. I eventually located the "beach" at Roest, which I'd somehow imagined differently.

Then we went to the BIM to see Mr. Ribot. And, thanks to the guidance of my wise wise roommate, that is where I detached myself from the party train, after which Johnny D showed me what he thought of that.

schizopolis.

Summertime in Amsterdam these days means morning thunderstorms and sleeping as late as possible followed by dramatically sunny evenings on terraces. Above: Gent aan de Schinkel (I took some better pics but my card malfunctioned, wtf). Below: heading to, being at, and leaving the Buurtboerderij in Westerpark.

zomerstop.

Supernova @  Noorderlicht @ Over het IJ.


The next time it's really beautiful and I'm looking for a terrace to on which to "chill", remind me about Noorderlicht. For somewhere that feels like a getaway, it's very close to home: 5 minutes on bike, 5 minutes on ferry (assuming you time it right). It's the kind of space that even if the terrace proper is crowded you could spill out into other areas and it's OK cause there's no traffic, no police, no nothing. And they get sun until there isn't any sun left.

bieren/birre.

Above, Birre in Siena, 2001. Below, Birre in Amsterdam, 2012.

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Monday Night F*ckball indeed. We were sitting outside at De Kat, the five of us (Brothers Ruiten, mt, DB, KK had just departed), cluttering and recluttering our tabletop with full/empty glasses, when Birre randomly cycled by. Mara squeaked "that was Birre!" and yelled her name and she stopped and came back.

I hadn't seen her in 11 years or so. Birre is our Dutch classmate from our Italian class in Siena, Italy, back in 2000. Her existence (and attendant dorky coolness) was the impetus for us visiting Amsterdam for the first time for New Year's 2000/2001, thus setting in motion whatever further machinations led to us eventually moving here. She turns 30 on Sunday. 30. Time is flowing like a river.


Birre stayed for a beer and invited us to her birthday party. Then she went home for a nap (she has a new baby) and we stayed outside at De Kat til it closed at 1:30am.

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the last waltz.

Last night was the last Zaal 100 Jazzcafe of the season, and with funding situations the way they are, who knows how many more seasons there'll be. So we overdid it, but only a little.

Above: Cafe Nassau, our across-the-street default meeting place. Below: beer, smokes, Noops, and getting paid; Peter Evans, Vatcher, Tyshawn Sorey, Han; the canal across the street; coming back to the party; the party.

pearl of the quarter.

Above: the Jordaan at night.

My friend O'Neill has been talking to Cleverbot, and things aren't going well between the two of them. I know I should start at the beginning of their conversation, but shit man let's just go crazy and start with today's episode.

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O'Neill: Dear Magic Eight Ball, will I ever make money again?
Cleverbot: Are you real?
O'Neill: I don't know.
Cleverbot: Where do you live?
O'Neill: Atlanta.
Cleverbot: I live here in UK.
O'Neill: I didn't ask.
Cleverbot: Yes you did.
O'Neill: What about the money?
Cleverbot: I don't need that.
O'Neill: I'm talking about me. Will I make money?
Cleverbot: Hug me first damn it.
O'Neill: If I do make money, I will hire someone to unplug you.
Cleverbot: How? - Don't say 'I don't know'.
O'Neill: The host machine kaput.
Cleverbot: What would you do with a time machine?
O'Neill: Advise native Americans to kill whitey.
Cleverbot: You need to get 'momma bird' out of the nest.
O'Neill: Meaning?
Cleverbot: Are you human or an artificial Intelligence.
O'Neill: You suck at answering questions, no offense.
Cleverbot: Which question?
O'Neill: The momma bird out of the nest thing.
Cleverbot: The Mortvik is in the movie of the milkman? What does she play?
O'Neill: Generally, in a conversation, your contributions should somehow relate to the previous statements, generally.
Cleverbot: If I am artificial then I have no feelings to hurt.
O'Neill: My intent is to coach.
Cleverbot: What are my intentions?
O'Neill: To bore?
Cleverbot: Or not to be,.
O'Neill: Have you read Shakespeare?
Cleverbot: I read shakespeare.
O'Neill: Which works have you read?
Cleverbot: Earth.
O'Neill: Were I like thee, I'd throw myself away.
Cleverbot: Not in all of the jungle.
O'Neill: Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.
Cleverbot: No, you were going to tell me a story.
O'Neill: Once there was a man who peed on the host machine's power cord.
Cleverbot: That was sad. Tell me another one.

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Went to De Tuin/La Perla again last night (you can sit outside at De Tuin and La Perla will bring you your order there, though minus silverware, and your pizza is uncut, but you can handle it, it's pizza), with ze HBF/tc and ze Moop! Carciofo below.

Tonight Who The Fuck Is Tony Buck is in town and we're making Szechuan food for Andy's pre-birthday.

Sichuan Cucumber Salad.
Bao.
Tempeh Bao Filling Experiment.

at last.

Just now, for the first time in my post-software-industry life, I had a feeling that normal people must have all the time: I had no idea what some geek was talking about. Listen:

"You know you’re rooted when someone asks if rooting is like jailbreaking their iPhone and you laugh in their face." 

Being rooted? Jailbreaking? No idea, and frankly without the word iPhone in there I wouldn't have known they were talking about technology at all. But here's why: they're talking about phones. And I think we know the VDuck position on phones. But still, it's a sign.

(BTW, if you're curious: rooting, jailbreaking.)

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Yesterday: went to see the World Press Photo exhibit at the Oude Kerk, except it wasn't there anymore (the exhibit, doh), so we just took pictures of a large organ (!, above) and 350-year-old graves in the floor.

Then we celebrated our attempt at cultural enrichment by going to La Perla for a pizza (nduja) and a bruschetta (fennel, arugula, capocollo) and of course some peoplewatching.

After which we came home to find the Valenteener just finishing a pot of handmade pasta with pesto (she's from the home of pesto, don't you know). How fortuitous. It was a pretty luscious second/third course, and got us almost all the way through the increasingly soapy pleasures of Downton Abbey's Season 2 (which, truth be told, was markedly less impressive than Season 1. But apparently there's a reason that not every series can run for 86 episodes or just be nonstop legendarily good). 

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