Please note that since writing this blog post, Harkema has closed down
Ok, so I cracked. I’d just delivered my annual annual report (all 16,000 words of it), I’d had a stressful week at work, I was meeting a drinking buddy in the pub… At some point around 8 o’clock on Friday, my resolve melted – much like the snow outside. It started with one Affligem; it ended dancing round the Waterhole at 3 am, abandoning several glasses of half-drunk Heineken (which I hate, usually, and hated still more the next morning) and wobbling home on the bike, wondering if the aforementioned beers might reappear en route. No, I was not proud of myself. Frailty, thy name is Vicky.
Anyway, in between all this, I managed to go to Harkema for dinner (and – let’s be honest – a few glasses of wine). It’s a big warehouse-sized space, with acoustics to match, filled with beautiful people watching more beautiful people, some of whom I think were supposed to be waiting staff. I’d only been once before a couple of years ago, and only to the bar – its USP is supposed to be its wine list, not that one was particularly forthcoming – next to which the easterly wall is lined entirely with wine bottles. Clearly not the kind of place for a teetotaller.
Rather unimaginatively, I ordered steak. It was cooked to order, but wasn’t massively tender (I doubt it was originally marbled with much fat) and hadn’t been seasoned. It came with a foamy Hollandaise sauce, good chips (with a sort of mustard-mayo) and a salad whose large, un-chopped leaves inadvertently formed a cup for the vast amounts of dressing.
