Amsterdam Foodie

I’m trying to decide how to introduce this brunch-cafe review. Do I regale you with yesterday’s sleep-deprived hangover? (not again, I hear you cry!) Do I confide my monotonous anxiety and excessively poor relaxation skills? (too depressing, methinks) Or do I just get to the bloody point and stop trying to be all social commentary-ish (or possibly just self-obsessed) for the first paragraph of every blog entry? (I expect many of you are thinking in the affirmative at this point, although I can’t imagine I will kick the waffling habit any time soon – so tough luck.)

So there we were yesterday – hungover and fed up with men and hungry (what’s new?) – hunting down brunch with eggs. And then we came across Letting. I couldn’t remember having been there before, but something felt familiar about the place, so maybe I had, or maybe it just has that kind of feel about it.

The god of brunch told me that the goat’s cheese omelette was a good idea. It was. Oh, it so was.

An omelette is a simple thing, but it’s also immensely easy to screw up. It has to be the right thickness; it has to be runny yet not raw, cooked yet not rubbery; and it needs plenty of whatever type of omelette it is. Eggs alone aren’t enough for me; if it’s a goat’s cheese omelette, I want goat’s cheese in every mouthful. Letting’s omelette was all these things plus toast (of the triangular white variety that’s surprisingly right in context) and green salad, which had seeds as well as dressing.

We sat there with our eggs and coffees and freshly squeezed orange juices, and we set the world to rights. And do you know what? I actually uttered the words ‘oh sod the granita for Hidden Kitchen – I can do it tomorrow’. And then I went home and did the whole relaxing-music-and-candles-and-face-mask thing.

I think lazy brunches are what Sundays are supposed to be for…