Amsterdam Foodie

Restaurant: Holy Ravioli (Italian)    
Spaarndammerstraat 35, 681 8414 website (Westerpark)

Restaurant: Lazagne (Italian)    
Frederik Hendrikplantsoen 21, 486 0939 website (Westerpark)

Restaurant: Pinsa's (Italian)    
Spaarndammerstraat 147, 337 5021 website (Westerpark)

If you live in Amsterdam, it won’t have escaped your notice that we had local elections last week. Miraculously, I’m allowed to vote in these elections (I’m not allowed to vote in the national elections for some perverse reason, even though I pay Dutch taxes, own a Dutch flat and have a Dutch company registered with the Dutch Chamber of Commerce, but don’t get me started…). And in this case they seemed fairly important since, from 1st May, Amsterdam’s 14 stadsdelen will be whittled down to just seven. Which means that the culturally varied and diverse areas of Bos en Lommer, de Baarsjes, Oud West and Westerpark all become one conglomerate mass named simply ‘West’. Now, I’ve not met anyone – anyone – who thinks this is a good idea, so I’m assuming it must be some kind of cost-cutting exercise on the part of the government. Amsterdam may not be a large city, but each area has its identify, character and people who in turn have their own needs and demands.

But ok, I’m no politician, and how does this relate to food? Well, I’ve been taking a look at some of the eating establishment near where I live lately, and noticing that there’s something distinctly Westerparkian about them. They’re classy but not expensive, up-and-coming but not exclusive, and they draw their influences from a diverse mix of immigrant cultures.

On this occasion, I’m focusing on the Italian-influenced restaurants – and they’re all takeaway places. But not takeaways in the Domino’s-pizza-and-Maccy-D’s type way; I mean takeaway that you might eat when you’re not hungover, too.

Holy Ravioli's Thai-style prawn ravioli

With a name like Holy Ravioli, you’ve got to be good. Fortunately, they are. I’ve tried a couple of the ravioli (all made from fresh pasta, and filled on the premises in a little ravioli factory out the back) and they’re packed full of flavour and value. Some combinations are surprisingly innovative, too: prawns with Thai-curry sauce, bean sprouts and spring onions, for example. Or veal with sage, spinach and anchovy butter. Or something with truffle that I keep trying to order, which keeps elusively disappearing from the menu (or maybe they’re just trying to keep me coming back for more…). Kevin and Bart (the ravioli boys) also profile the work of local artists on the walls of the restaurant, which is good news for Amsterdam artists and collectors.

Lazagne's 'Capriccio': a taster of all three pasta dishes

Then there’s Lazagne, on the Frederik Hendrikplantsoen. The décor is kind of crazy in a scarlet-and-white-painted-flowers sort of way, but the lasagne chefs seem to know what they’re doing. The menu is simple, with meat lasagne, vegetarian lasagne and cannelloni, which change depending on the season. I tried all three, and the winner for me was the vegetarian pumpkin and artichoke lasagne, which is saying something since (as we know) I am no vege. I do, however, have a thing for artichokes. Weirdly, both lasagne dishes came with the tomato sauce on the top of, rather than in between, the pasta. I didn’t mind, and maybe I am being an ignorant Brit here, but it confused me a bit.

Finally, Pinsa’s pizzeria-cum-cookery-school serves pizza and pasta in the Spaarndammerbuurt. I’ve only tried the pizzas so far, and they’re not up to much. Their oven does not get hot enough, and they’re stingy on the toppings – including the basics like tomato sauce and cheese. It’s a shame because I want to support them, but after two mediocre experiences I’d go that bit further to La Perla or Da Portare Via to ensure quality.

Incidentally, all three places opened in the last year (give or take), proving that the area’s food scene is on the up and up. Which just goes to show: the government can take the Westerpark’s name from the Westerparkers, but they can’t take the Westerparker’s spirit from the Westerpark.

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Cheese from the Savoie region

Saucisson of every variety imaginable

So, we’re 2300 metres above sea level (in Val Thorens – officially the highest ski resort in Europe) and the temperature’s around -10 degrees centigrade. And STILL the French manage to lay on a market twice a week, stuffed full of Savoyard goodies. Just had to share…

Spices: combined and basketed-up for maximum kitsch

Macarons: admittedly, not as good as those from La Maison Doree

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Restaurant: Humphrey's (International)    
Nieuwezijds Kolk 23, 422 1234 website (Dam)

A few weeks ago, I got in touch with the brains behind Amsterdam Spoke: an online magazine for Amsterdam’s would-be writers to profile their work – and to provide insider info on the city to boot. For the last few months, Spoke’s writing community has been congregating for meet-up drinks, dinners and creative events, so I went along to yesterday’s meeting to get to know some fellow writers (and – of course – to try out a new restaurant).

The venue was Humphrey’s: a super-central, multi-roomed eatery with an international menu. Given its location, you’d expect a lot of tourists, but you’d also expect prices to match. Humphrey’s offers three courses for €22.50, which is probably what attracted a group consisting of three writers and two amateur photographers, none of whom (I imagine) are exactly on JK Rowling’s salary.

Salmon, seaweed, wasabi

After considerable mixing up of drinks orders, we tucked into the entire loaf of bread speared to its board with a knife. To start, I had salmon that had been wrapped in seaweed sheets, breaded and deep fried, served with more seaweed (this time of the salad variety). The salmon was fresh and raw in the centre; its oiliness was given a welcome zing by the wasabi mayonnaise with which it was served. All in all, a good beginning.

Mixed grill: beef, chicken and pork with curry sauce

My mixed-grill main was less accomplished, with the skewer of chicken, pork and beef all having been grilled for seemingly the same length of time – which was slightly too long for the chicken and pork, and much too long for the beef. They were also dusted in dried herbs (sorry, pet hate) and served with a creamy curry sauce. A simple Hollandaise would’ve done the trick.

The tiramisu for dessert (of whose name we spent quite some minutes discussing the Italian meaning, in true pedantic writerly style) was strangely circular and served with a caramel sauce. It wasn’t the most authentic tiramisu I’ve ever eaten, but equally it wasn’t the worst, by a long shot.

Food aside, however (and I realise it’s rare that I put food aside), the true pleasure of the evening was in talking to a Scottish musician who’s writing a Celtic fairy myth, an American travel writer who’s just trawled the hotels of England for the perfect hideaway, a Polish painter who’s turning her hand to photography and an Israeli entrepreneur with a passion for fashion photos. Amsterdam – with its colourful, cosmopolitan, creative people – never fails to fascinate me.

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Restaurant: Fa Pekelhaaring (Italian)    
Van Woustraat 127, 679 0460 website (De Pijp)

Apparently ‘pekelharing’ is the term used to describe the saltiest preserved herring Dutch money can buy. Given that extremely salty preserved herrings don’t sound all that appetising, Firma (or Fa) Pekelhaaring is not an obvious name to give to an Italian restaurant. I was hoping the website might enlighten me with some history (say – the fact that the building used to be a herring factory, or something logical like that) but no such explanation was forthcoming, and I am too lazy to do the research (sorry).

Anyway, odd name aside, the Pekelhaaring really is rather gezellig in a converted schoolhouse-type way: basic wooden tables and chairs, walls made of holey plasterboard that you want to stick black plastic letters in, naked bulbs on ceiling wires, and even a shelving unit full of games and books for kids. (Luckily, when we were there, no children were present, which is good because I dislike the ritual screaming and running around that seems to accompany them – and the acoustics in this place would’ve made the screaming unbearable.)

Arancini

We ordered a bottle of Italian red that I’d never heard of, and some arancini and a salad to start. Well, I say ordered: it involved more giggling and blushing than actual speech. But who could blame us with a waiter that hot. I’m sorry – I always promise myself (and, more importantly, you) that I’m going to stop writing restaurant reviews that expound on the aesthetics of the staff. Surely this is not the point? But then again, there’s a reason you’re reading a blog and not – say – Iens, right? If you’ve made it this far (and I’m under no illusion here – I’m aware that the majority of users of this site simply look at the ratings and the contact details and no further) it’s probably because you want something more than a list of dishes, a price indication and a few qualitative adjectives. And if this is not the first review of mine you’ve read, you’ll know that ‘appropriate’ is not a word that generally applies. Suffice to say: lekker ding.

Duck, chicory and fig salad

Anyway, moving on to the next lekker ding: our arancini. Little balls of saffron risotto, breaded, fried and served with a creamy chilli dip. What’s not to like? Our salad consisted of duck confit, chicory, pecan nuts and figs. Now, I know figs aren’t in season, so I half expected them to be dried. But I swear the table next to ours ordered the prosciutto and mozzarella with figs and theirs were fresh. I found myself wanting to put my hand up in the air, screw up my face and whine, ‘but it’s not fair!’ (I didn’t.)

Next, we ordered the melanzane di parmigiana, which (in my opinion, and I realise that not everyone will share it) should involve aubergine layered up with tomato sauce and parmesan cheese, preferably in some kind of oven-able dish. In this case, the melanzane came halved, in boat shapes, and topped with the cheese. There was too much aubergine skin and not enough tomato and – well – for me, it just didn’t do what it said on the tin. Our other main course was porchetta with sausage and cavolo nero cabbage; the pork was too salty for me, but the sausage was fantastic.

Porchetta and sausage

Feeling fairly full by this stage, we opted for a scroppino for dessert. It was the perfect digestif. Dinner came to €35 each, which is not bad for two-and-a-half courses and more guy candy than you could shake a home-made sausage at.

Speaking of which, I was so enamoured with those sausages that I went back two days later to ask the kitchen where they buy them. They don’t. They make their own, and they fully understood the frustrations of an Englishwoman trying to find a good sausage in Holland. I am working on the chefs to persuade them to sell me some for spring Hidden Kitchen… (Incidentally, this is not a metaphor – I really am talking about the sausages. Gutted.)

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