Bluespoon Restaurant (European)
Prinsengracht 587 (Leidseplein), 020 523 1250, website Book now

Sometimes people tell me that they’re intimidated by the idea of going to posh restaurants – that the more expensive a place is, the more likely they are to embarrass themselves. I think I might make it a personal side project to prove that even when you review restaurants for a living, it’s still possible to make a complete tit of yourself. And what’s more, it doesn’t really matter.

A couple of months ago, I wrote a post about how I accidentally tried to walk out of Madelief without paying, and another about how I sat for several minutes by myself in Brasserie Bark while the rest of my friends were in fact at a table right behind me. The other night, on arrival at the Andaz Hotel – home to the Bluespoon restaurant – I remarked as I walked up to what I thought was the reception desk that it seemed awfully high. Still, we’re in Holland, I thought, people are tall! But no, it wasn’t the reception desk – it was two people sitting in a booth trying peacefully to eat their dinner, wondering why muppets like me were asking about table reservations.

Anyway, crashing on, I ordered a refreshing “Spring Garden” long-drink cocktail – only to spill half of it all over myself (the tragic waste of good alcohol!) and send the barman running over with a tea towel. And this was made even more embarrassing by the fact that the Bluespoon had actually invited me to dine there – people knew who I was. And now they knew that I was a complete clutz.

Still, they were gracious enough to ignore my utter ineptitude, while I struggled bravely to regain the composure that grown-up restaurant critics are undoubtedly supposed to exhibit. I hid gratefully behind the menu for the next ten minutes. Luckily, the menu was quite interesting: first of all you got to find out where the main ingredient in each dish came from (asparagus from Maastricht, crab from the North Sea, and so on); then you got to figure out that starters and mains were all offered in small and large portions (which surely somewhat defeats the object of listing them as starters and mains in the first place?) with prices to match.

I ordered two small dishes: red mullet to start and scallops to follow. The mullet was cute because it came with a little jar of delicious things: ratatouille, potatoes, olives; it was also served with a couple of slices of pickled carrot and some very delicious homemade aioli. The scallops were – umm – small but perfectly formed. The various squashes were delicious, as was the delicately creamy foam, but only two scallops for €22? That’s either over-priced or under-scalloped in my book. We ordered side dishes at another €5 each – the watercress mash was a brilliant green, buttery stamppot, but the fries were the skinny variety that remind me of Maccy D’s – never a good association.

Dessert was an accomplished pineapple crème brûlée with a silky passion fruit sauce – exotic and sexy. But I’d expect that from accolade-laden Swiss chef Julien Piguet. In fact, I’d expect a lot for €170 for two people, especially when bottles of wine start at around €45. I liked Bluespoon in many ways, but I’m not sure my dinner was entirely worth the price tag.

Still, for a canal-side location in a five-star hotel (designed and furnished by Marcel Wanders himself), an evening in the Bluespoon restaurant and bar may be just the right note of indulgence and exclusivity you’re after. It may have been no coincidence, however, that the people at the table next to us were German – they’re probably the only Europeans who can afford it right now.

Willems (French)
Willemsparkweg 177 (Amsterdam), 020 752 1973, website Book now

Last night, I made a rare trip to the Oud-Zuid, which reminded me why those trips are (indeed) rare. On the table next to ours at dinner in Willems, sat two Oud-Zuid ladies whose sole mission appeared to be to terrorise their waiter and all the customers around them. They didn’t like the door open, but they didn’t like the smell of food; they thought they could smell smoke around them, but they didn’t want to move; they wanted a bigger table, complaining that we and their neighbours on the other side had four-person tables (we’d booked for four; there were only two of them). And besides – we’re in f*cking Amsterdam; where do you find big tables?

After listening to the Oud-Zuid ladies harass the endlessly patient waiter for a good 15 minutes, I was about ready to stand up and give them a piece of my Westerparker’s mind. As it was, I didn’t, because a) I’m British, and we just don’t do things like that; and b) it was 8.30 in the evening (hence I was starving) and I didn’t want to get us kicked out before we’d even eaten anything.

We started off with six oysters and two slices of pâté (not on the same plate – don’t worry). The oysters came with a cucumber granita and a raw-onion-tabasco-type combo; I did what I always do which is to waste two oysters trying out the fancy dressings and then conclude that I much prefer mine with straight lemon. But, indecisiveness aside, the oysters were excellent, as was the pâté. Slightly sweet, slightly pickled (from the gherkins), the iron-rich meat was well balanced.

For main, I opted for a classic steak tartare, which was perfectly pleasant though not up there with some of the versions I’ve eaten in France. No egg yolk on the side, and all of the finely chopped raw veges had been pre-mixed into the beef, which I think takes away some of the fun of the dish. It came with chips and mayo, which were fine but I thought I’d read truffle mayonnaise on the menu. Slightly disappointed, I re-consulted the menu – the truffle was nowhere to be seen. Am I just imagining food these days?

Who knows. Anyway, an extra friend turned up at this point, so we had to order dessert to keep her company. The brûlée element of my crème brûlée was thin, delicate and crispy – just as it should be. The crème part was a little on the meagre side: a thin layer of lightly set egg custard that was missing the all-important vanilla seeds. But all in all, a light, satisfying bite of sweetness.

We drank a refreshing Picpoul de Pinet plus coffee/digestif, and dinner came to around €60 each, which wasn’t bad for the number of courses, drinks and service we had. I guess we were paying for the location, too – but I’d have been happier if Willems’ clientele hadn’t included the local Oud-Zuid ladies.