smartgrrrl's guide to stuff

(This blogging once a month thing is really working out for me.)

(Previously: “I had Internet access and phone service while I was there, and there were a number of times I thought about posting something to Twitter or Tumblr, like I would Stateside, but the roaming charges would’ve killed me. So instead I wrote things down.”)

The time difference keeps throwing me off. It’s 11:30 AM here, 5:30 AM in NY. And I can feel BOTH times. I’m awake, but I don’t feel like I should be.

Mike just asked me how I feel about bacon. [Apparently he has been chastized in the past for offering bacon to Jews.]

Breakfast: Dutch-style pancakes with goat cheese. (And bacon.)

On our way to an “underground boat tour.”

My jeans are too tight. Mustn’t overdo the cheese this week. Or beer. Or other foods.

Damn — boat tour is canceled due to mechanical difficulties.

This part of Amsterdam is mighty touristy. Wherever “this part” is. I have no idea where I am.

Back in Dam Square (that Dam Square!) — also majorly touristy — to pick up rental bike.

I am a little nervous about this bike thing. Have not been on one since HS. But…it should be just like riding a bike, right?

What luck — one of the jenever bars we wanted to check out is on the way home from the bike rental place. Let’s just stop in, just for a sec…

~~~~~~~~~~

Wow, I really wish I remembered the name of this place. We walked in and sat at the bar and the bartender, who must’ve been in his mid to late 50s, perfectly bald, bespectacled, a physique that suggested he once wrestled or boxed in his youth but now indulges in beer and cheese, wearing a crisp white shirt and black suspenders — basically looking like Ernest Blofeld’s kind and jolly younger brother — this bartender looks at me and says “We only speak Dutch here.” I replied, “Then I am in trouble.” This made him laugh.

We were under the impression that this was a place from which I could purchase bottles of jenever to take out, that it was a tasting bar, which it didn’t look like once we were actually there. It looked like a bar bar, with locals and liverwurst and a guy playing guitar. But we stayed, and told the bartender that we were interested in sampling a number of different kinds of jenever. He was, naturally, happy to oblige.

First he brought out a glass of Jonge jenever and a glass of Korenwijn (“corn wine”). (I have since learned that the designations “Jonge” and “Oude” do not refer to maturation, but to distilling practices.) They were both OK — I wasn’t as much a fan of the Korenwijn but I don’t remember why now.

Then S. wanted to try something different and asked the bartender if he had a ginger-infused liqueur in stock, which he did. I asked to try the 10-year (which is oude style, and also aged) and as he poured it he instructed me to note the goldish tinge to the liquid. I admired it, and then he said, “I call this…my morning water.” And this, friends, was my favorite part of my entire trip.

We drank a lot at this place. Or rather, I drank a lot.  We shared our drinks and since S. had work to do later that afternoon, I wound up drinking more of her drinks than she did. (Remember this when you get to the bike riding part.) (This is also how I got sick later on, since she had a cold that day. Alcohol not so much with the germ-killing. Disappointing.) I sort of wanted a picture of the bartender because he was so fantastic, but I was shy about asking him — I was a tourist in a non-tourist bar, you know. So instead, fueled by jenever, we decided I would just start taking pictures of stuff in the bar so that it wouldn’t seem obvious that I was trying to take a picture of just the bartender. The picture below happened when S. said “Pretend you’re taking a picture of those eggs.”

The one shot I did get of the bartender didn’t come out well enough to post.

And the ginger liqueur was delicious straight, would be even better in cocktails, but the 10-year oude jenever…wow. I wouldn’t want to mix it in anything. I did wind up buying a bottle from a liquor store nearby. It was expensive, but I figured it was my one souvenir, so I could splurge.

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10-year Jenever: Bartender says, “This is my morning water.” I say, “We understand each other.”

And the 10-year is HEAVENLY.

I would move to Amsterdam on the strength of this genever alone.

I am durnk. Durnk in Amsterdam.

My god, EVERYTHING is bigger in Amsterdam. The geese are HUGE.

I just rode a bike!

I, um, fell off first. Spectacularly. But then I got back on because that is how I roll.

Rode all the way to the restaurant and then back again after dinner — AT NIGHT. AFTER BEER. I AM A BADASS.

Speaking of dinner, the mussels are in season, they are huge, and they are delicious. Not at all blurry like this picture would have you believe.

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