non ce la faccio più.

Basta, guardones...wat een toestand. My brain is a funny one when it comes to language. We just returned from four days in Italy last night, and I realized when I went out grocery shopping today that I still had Italian pre-loaded in the one "foreign language" slot my brain can hold. I'd gradually been filling this slot with Italian over the past four days, but then sometimes, or often even, Dutch words would force their way into my Italian sentences, or would completely resist being displaced at all. It took me about two days to replace "bijna" (almost) with "quasi" (almost). I think someone should look into what this phenomenon is called and then write about it intelligently here (in a single language they can speak OK).

We.....had a pretty fun time, despite a first gig that would've sent us into a death spiral implosion two years ago, and despite a nationwide rail strike that probably prevented most people in Italy from accomplishing their goals for the week. And despite a pretty relentless beer regimen, which probably would also have kept most Italians from accomplishing their etc. I'll be blogging about it somewhere, maybe a cross-posting thing with the SG blog, starting tomorrow.

Above: perfectly-timed BSOD during hour eight of transit yesterday on the way to Malpensa. Below: beer #1, outside the airport doors, a beer which would never fly in America.

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dopey's bnb.

Dopey's is the name of the bar on the corner, not a reference to our wonderful employer. Above: the best vacuum cleaner in the world. Below: one of the better moopers in Amsterdam; one of the better beers in Amsterdam; and then, sadly, not one of the better burgers in Amsterdam. It was basically a comforting meatball sandwich, but to call this a hamburger is to almost come out and admit you've never actually had the real thing. Still, points for a thoughtful and creative effort.

jamaican curried chicken.

Above: homemade bread and small-batch hot sauces from Alexander Krone at Butcher's Tears.

Not much to say at the moment other than that the below curry is sounding better than anything else right now. Stolen from Saveur, adaptation forthcoming.



















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jamaican chicken coconut curry. 

1 kg chicken of some sort
1/4 cup fresh lime juice
2 tbsp good fresh curry powder
1/4 cup coconut oil
salt and pepper

1 tsp ground allspice
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
3 scallions, finely chopped
3 sprigs thyme
2 carrots, thinly sliced
1 sweet potato, coarsely diced
1 2-inch piece ginger, minced
1 cup coconut milk
1 Scotch bonnet or habanero chile, slit in half lengthwise

2 tbsp soy sauce
1 or 2 tbsp creme fraiche

Combine chicken, lime juice, and 1 tbsp curry powder in a large bowl, and toss to combine; refrigerate for at least 4 hours or up to overnight.

Melt oil or butter in a good stew pot or wok. Add remaining curry powder, the allspice, garlic, scallions, thyme, carrots, sweet potato, and ginger, and cook, stirring occasionally, until lightly caramelized, about 6 minutes. Add chicken and any remaining marinade to pot along with coconut milk and chile, and stir to combine. Cook, stirring occasionally, until chicken is cooked through and sauce is thickened, about 40 minutes; add soy sauce and creme fraiche to taste. Serve over rice.

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perry's surinamese and indian food.

I've been spending an inordinate amount of time in De Pijp lately, in a slightly more southern sector that I'd never really explored before. And suddenly this old list of targets is totally relevant: out the front door, the pub on the corner is Dopey's Elixer, a cracker of a brown bar with an a unusually good beer selection and pretty good-loooking food. Out the door to the right is Perry's, a solidly above-average Indian/Surinamese takeout place. Below is their broodje pom, very good, probably in our Amsterdam top 3. Hopefully we'll get around to hitting the Boca's around the corner once summer weather feels like showing back up.

wild turkey.

OK I'm back. Catching you up, above: the first King's Day ever and a bit of Klary's hair I think. Below: the reality of the BIMhuis dressing room (that is not my Wild Turkey, it's Jasper's, who possibly relatedly fell off his bike and broke his wrist the next night just before he was supposed to go on tour the next day, he went anyway, good man); the reality of the BIMhuis DJ set up (those are not my CD turntable thingies).

Then the next night's Ellington band (not pictured, my five-or-six-hour DJ set afterwards, no lie); the ugly reality of this past Wednesday's Sleep Gunner gig at OCCII (that's not my amp, the best compliment of the night came from the sound guy "that's the first time I've ever heard that amp sound good"); pizza party in the Kolenkit Friday night. Now please...get it off me. 

pushing bits.

She's-a happening again, the DJing.

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