Homo Sapiens Non Urinat in Ventum
August 11
I got up at the crack of noon in desperate need of caffeine. Cafe Medina, thank goodness, is half a block from my door. So I sat there with some caffe Americanos and wrote some of yesterday’s message.
One of the highlights of Saturday was a stop at Brouwerij ’t Ij. Larry had a Plzen and an India pale ale. I had something called Zatte and another called Columbus, both of which tasted like old-style ales.
People sit outside at picnic tables. There was a very thirsty looking black dog, maybe a Newfie, panting. Kids play among out there. Sometimes toys are provided, it seems, judging by today’s photograph. Look closely, and you can see the little trucks by the tree trunk.
Larry was sitting at the picnic table next to a British kid who was comparing cannabis selections with his friend. The subject of Barney’s came up. They wanted to find it to buy some kind of cannabis that had won the latest grower’s award.
Larry says, “I work for him sometimes.” And gave them directions to the nearest location.
Among the bars yesterday was one at Leidseplein, near the Apple Store where Larry dropped off his Mac. There was another with girls tending bar and lots of disco, Like the soundtrack from “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.” Yet another was a very old looking place with dark wood and stained glass panels.
I was at places called Hunter’s, Arends (i.e. Eagle’s) Nest, Cafe Oosterling, Cafe Debalic, but can’t remember which is which. I had a dark and fruity brew called Brand Imperator, and a remarkably flavorful Pilsener called Brand UP. I think “UP” stands for “Urtyp Pilsener."
According to the label, the Brand Brewery is in Limburg and was founded in 1340. That may be older than I am, but I’ve lost the ability to calculate and can’t be sure.
A popular Belgian here is La Chouffe, the Dwarf. I was introduced to that one at Eulogy in Philadelphia. I had it at two or three different places in Amsterdam.
We stopped at the Chinese Eethuis Wing Kee, where we had roast pork (char siu) and roast duck (maybe char opp, but I don’t know).
The Leidseplein has a curious landmark with sage advice.
There is a classical looking portico with a motto in Latin across the top: “Homo sapiens non urinat in ventum.” That translates, “A wise man does not piss into the wind.”
We also stopped at Wynand Fockink, which is a very old distillery. The tasting room looks ancient. According to the company’s website, the distillery started in 1679. For all I can tell, this could be the original tasting room, the original shelves, and original jugs, too.
The lower sagging shelf with the bottles is the active one. The specialty of the house is jenever, the forerunner of English gin. I am fond of an aged jenever that they make.
This is where they pour into tulip glasses and fill them over the rim. You take the first sip like the dunking bird, hands behind your back and dip down to put your lip to the rim of the glass.
Coffee shops yesterday were Gray Area and Bush Docter. We were sitting outside Bush Docter around ten or eleven, some time after my second space cake of the day. The sky was dark. We could hear a public concert wrapping up somewhere nearby. I was marveling all the neon signs in Dutch as the buzz started to grow. Who could have guessed that some day an uptight pain in the ass from New Jersey would lighten up enough to find himself sitting here like this. Certainly not Harry.
Merl, one of the owners, was tending bar at the Hemp when we got there. Sir Michael was at his post, chatting up a couple of young ladies, as his custom is.
Then Cappy Jack, another regular, came in. Cappy Jack reminds me of Jack Tamminen, my grandfather. He has a story for every occasion.
At one point in the conversation, Sir Michael has his Swiss Army knife out and is using the magnifier to look at a piece of jeweler’s wire. Cappy remarks that he is a metallurgist, and what’s more, can distinguish by touch differences in gauge down to one one-thousandth of an inch. The best most people can detect is a difference of about 15 thousandths of an inch. You don’t have to take his word for it. He was challenged by some colleagues, who tested Cappy’s touch against precision instruments and he proved his point.
He had been at the concert. He had been moved to see a pregnant lady with red hair sing “Maria” to another woman, he said. The acoustics were difficult and perfect. Even he couldn’t have done the sound as well.
At another time, though apropos of what I don’t recall, Cappy was a mechanical engineer too.
I think we left the Hemp around three. But I can’t swear to it.
The Paradox of Space Cake
August 12
I’m back at the Cafe Medina contemplating yesterday’s indulgence.
I got up early, considering that I got to bed at four. It was around 11 when I woke up. Jet lag is a great help when you want to live a life of dissipation.
Larry was making stock for ragu. He invited some people over for dinner later this week. Apparently, they may show up, but Larry’s not sure. So he’s going to make something that can freeze. The stuff smells great.
First order of the day was to get something to eat and pick up Larry’s computer at the Apple Store. Halfway there, Larry pulls his bike to the curb and checks his pockets. He has to go back for the receipt. I waited at a nearby cafe and that’s how I came to have beer for breakfast.
We got to the Apple Store on Leidseplein. I waited at a cafe and had another beer.
We went to Paradox, which is reputed to sell the best space cake in Amsterdam. Could be. It carries a warning. It has 1.25 grams of cannabis--maybe three or four times the active ingredient as the other cakes I’ve been eating. All right. The label recommends taking it easy. If you’re new to this, eat a third and then wait two hours for results. If you have some experience, eat half. OK. For some reason I wimped out and ate half. Good thing, too, because this stuff rocks.
They don’t serve food, so we went around a corner, where I had pizza and a Brand.
I was thinking about going to the Rijksmuseum, which isn’t far from Leidseplein where the Apple Store is. But then we realized it was 4:30 in the afternoon and had no idea when the museum closes. I checked later. It’s open 09:00 to 18:00 every day. I think that’s 9 to 6. It’s closed on Jan. 1.
We got back to the apartment and I was sitting in the kitchen when I realized I had been partying for about 60 hours straight, so I took a nap. I must have been out for a couple of hours. It was Sunday afternoon and the kids were playing outside. Someone was playing a piano, I think. Or maybe that was another time. Today's photo is the view from the kitchen balcony.
We ate dinner at the apartment. At some point yesterday or the day before, we stopped at a wine store and bought a few bottles. We sampled one with some antipasto and had another with dinner--lamb chops with carrots and potatoes. The wines were nice and dry, almost smoky, more mineral than fruit. It was a pleasure.
We went to the bar at the Hemp, where we saw Sir Michael and discussed the origins of the American Revolution.
An early night, I was in bed before two.
Be well, all.
Harry
Culture Absorbence
August 13
After I left Cafe Medina this morning, I was in crying need of some culture.
We’re way on the far side of town, but getting to the Rijksmuseum is easy from here. You just follow one canal. Of course, as it has been for the past decade or more, the Royal Museum is a construction site. There is one small traffic sign “museumplein” with a small, easily overlooked arrow. There is also a banner, but I managed to miss that too.
If you keep going past the sign, you wind up at a commercial dockyard overlooking the harbor. I don’t know where this is. I guess it’s in the Netherlands, because nobody asked to see my passport along the way.
The museum, so happens, is only about half that distance.
The most of the museum complex is closed. There are 10 rooms mostly of paintings. They are all wonderful, but the highlights include four Vermeers, including the Milkmaid, and at least a dozen Rembrandts, including The Night Watch.
The first thing you see is a great group portrait of happy Dutchers celebrating the peace of Munster. I have no idea. Maybe this is Dutch Independence Day. Here's a sloppy shot of the painting. (That's a cannon barrel in the foreground of the photo.)
The Night Watch is a rambunctious scene of a volunteer militia getting ready to march. They’re stepping all over themselves. Some have fired their weapons, perhaps by accident. One detail is part of a face, only the eye and brow and part of a beret, that appear over the shoulder of one of the principal figures. The notes to the painting remark that it looks much like Rembrandt’s early self-portraits.
There is also an installation called Grandfather Clock. I had seen it before, almost two years ago, and remembered it, but hadn’t remembered where it was.
The clock face looks like backlit frosted glass. The hands are hand-drawn in marker. Every minute the blurry figure of a guy appears behind the glass, erases the hands, and draws new ones indicating the new time.
I bicycled back just fine. There was the Brouwerij serving ale under the canopy of its windmill. It was almost four in the afternoon. I hadn’t had a drop to drink, save water, since yesterday. Water rusts iron and sinks ships, so I was overdue for something healthy.
I had half the space cake left from Paradox. So I had cake and ale. I know it takes at least half an hour before anything happens from space cake, but just the suggestion gets to me. An 8 percent beer doesn’t hurt either.
I have wondered if I would be one of the guys who in the old days would buy oregano on the street in Greenwich Village and then manage to get high on it. After all, I have always liked oregano.
When you see the Brouwerij, unless you’re going there for a drink, you turn right, away from the canal, then left under the first railroad trestle, and the next right takes you to the head of our street, Eerste Atjehstraat.
It was before the trestle that I saw Larry pedaling up the other way. He was headed for the Brouwerij, so it seemed like a good idea to join him.
I was tying to determine if the brew was beer or ale. So I asked the bartender. It seems the Brouwerij ’t Ij only serves ale. They have one listed as a “plzen,” but it isn’t a real Pilsener. It is, as the bartender said, “soft fermentation,” the old-style yeast.
We met Sir Michael in front of the Hemp and headed to his place for a drink before dinner, which we took at an Indonesian restaurant called Tempo Doeloe. It’s on Utrechtsestraat, not far from where we stayed during my last trip to Amsterdam.
All I had had to eat at that point in the day was an apple tart at Cafe Medina around 11 a.m. The space cake had plenty of time to kick in. So I was ready to eat dinner.
We had the rijstaffel: 18 small dishes arranged across the table according to the level of heat. I don’t think I had anything from the mild side. The dark one on the far right had a yellow chili on it as a warning. We were told to eat that one last, if at all.
There was a reason for that. Curries are by definition aromatic, and these were tasty. One had the decided edge of licorice. Some were vegetable, others meat. There was dried coconut, savory crackers, two kinds of rice, and more food than three men could finish. All in deceptively modest bowls.
That last one was a bitch. Very tasty at the start, but then the slow burn gets you. The only thing I’ve eaten hotter than that was the green papaya salad in Thailand. I was taking rice, beer, water, coconut, anything to help me cool down. I could feel the acid burning my lips.
After dinner, we went back to Bush Docter for coffee and dessert.
During our earlier wanderings, we stopped at Paradox, where I picked up a couple of the super space cakes. They’re very small and fit a pocket easily. So I had come prepared. While we were sitting outside on the square, I unwrapped one and had half of it with my Americano.
We finished the night at the Hemp, where I was finished after one beer and before midnight. I found my way home and slept until the cleaning lady arrived, a day earlier than expected.
The picture for today is a heron on a houseboat, which I saw on the way to the Rijksmuseum.
So far, so good.
Harry
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