We’re now concluding month two in the Kingdom of the Netherlands and I’m more *foodsick than ever. Dutch food is bland and joyless and they know it. Part of the reason I’m feeling this way is because all I have to eat my own cooking in this country. It’s too expensive to eat out here other than doner/kebab type stuff but actually cheaper for groceries. But here is a highlight of the Dutch things that have infiltrated my diet either for novelty or permanently.

Hutspot
I’d like to introduce you to another member of the stamppot family. Previously you met her heavier, and tastier older brother: andijvie. The carrots go down easier and give the entire dish a lighter, sweeter taste. Personally, I’m partial to spinach and, by extention, spinach-like things (read: andijvie.) However, I’ve had my fill of this bloated family and am ready to give it up.

Nasi Goreng
I bought Nasi Goreng mix begrudgingly. I felt like one of those people who “make” Indian food by pouring it out of a container. Nasi is of Indonesian descent but has become such a normal part of the Dutch diet even my Canadian-Dutch grew up eating it in rural Alberta. It looks a little different than it normally does because I stir-fried with Indonesian soy sauce and vegetable mix. This being the cheapest eat ever with the mix at 6 packets for 1€ and a huge bag of Surinamese rice for 2€, I declare this a staple.

Frikandel
Frikandel is often found in the automatic vending machines but there is no better way to enjoy it than cooked at home after a drunken evening. The Dutch, best and my personal favourite way of serving it is with chopped up onions and ketchup. The alternate Dutch and inferior way of serving it is with mayonnaise. 1,60€ for 20? Dank u well!

Patat met sauce samourai
I had these in Belgium and never wrote about them. Samourai sauce is a spicy mayonnaise and excellent sauce choice. (And while I’m at it, for the record, currie-ketchup is a bad one.) I had these at Frites Flagey, an apparently famous Brussels establishment for fries. I have to say, as much as the Dutch and Belgian love fries, I still don’t get it.

*Foodsick is a word I invented. It’s a combination of “food” and “homesick” meaning to miss a food unavailable in the country where you currently reside.

posted by vicky at 10:46 pm under Belgium, Europe, Food, Netherlands
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Despite all the Adbusters talk of my teen years, I have never actually been a protest. Well, unless you count that time in first year when I covered a protest an increase in Ontario tuition fees for The Eyeopener. Which I don’t. Real protests have picket signs. And flyers saying things like “You need to know this for your own safety. And the safety of your children. Google it.” And people wearing the Guy Fawkes masks from “V for Vendetta.” Yes friends, I attended the Anonymous Picket 2008 Against Scientology yesterday in Amsterdam.

I don’t have any strong feelings against scientology or scientologists. It was my roommate heard about the protest and wanted to go, so I have her to thank for the weirdest experience of my life. (Seriously, it was weirder than Carnival.) The group met in front of the Burger King (the fast food giant here, McDonalds holds no candle) in Amsterdam Centraal at 1300. It was mandatory to cover your face for the protest to maintain anonymity and costumes were a bonus. Protesters were so serious that they wore them while smoking or eating in the wait before the march to begin. They only lifted their masks and revealed their human faces momentarily only when they could no longer ignore the basest of human needs (i.e.: eating fries, smoking.)

The point was to look ridiculous but protest solemnly to mock the absurdity of scientology. I had the option to get a free white face mask (à la a full face version of the Phantom of the Opera) but I opted not to. My everyday clothing proved to be an effective enough protest attire. (Note the popped, Dracula-style collar.) As ridiculous as I felt with my scarf pulled up under my glasses, it was more uncomfortable than embarassing. And therein lay my dilemma while we walked down the streets of Amsterdam. On the streets, I was being gawked at by tourists and locals alike (but mostly tourists) who thought we were creepy. I wanted to take my scarf off because I did think we were creepy, it was hot and I wanted people to stop staring. But at the same time I was afraid of disapproval from the rest of the protesters. It was like in Fight Club when Marla is outed as The Tourist at the cancer support groups; I didn’t want to be called out. The entire thing was beginning to feel totalitarian to me. I wasn’t in the best state of mind, so I guess I didn’t get the joke at the time.

It was getting unbearable by the time we took a break after standing with a silent menace for about a minute in front of the Scientology Kerk. My friends and I decided to have a five-minute time out from the protest because I was getting too creeped out. This turned into us abandoning our picket signs and flyers in an alley next to a church. I never really gave scientology much thought. I always just thought it was strange how they could afford such a prime location on Yonge Street. I’m still iffy of how serious about bringing down scientology these people were or whether it was just a huge inside joke, but I don’t think I could have picked a better first protest.

posted by vicky at 4:48 pm under Europe, Netherlands
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The first thing I noticed about Bruxelles was the smell of urine. The second thing I noticed was that it was like an alternate reality version of Canada. Belgium can be geographically and culturally divided into two main parts: the northern Flanders (Flemish, basically another name for the Dutch language) and the southern Wallonia (French.) I kicked off my travels in Bruxelles, the French-speaking capital on the Flemish side of divide.

This city was the biggest linguistic headtrip for an anglo-Canadian who has been living in the Netherlands. Anywhere there was written word in the city, it would be in both French and Dutch. It was a relief to be in French-speaking city since I could read signs and communicate with the locals. My ability to speak French is poor but it sure beats my Dutch, which consists of inserting the name of a food item between “one” and “please.” The only complication was I was so stuck in Dutch mode, I had to stop myself from wasting time trying to decipher Dutch signs and from adding “alstublieft” and “dank u well” to the end of my sentences. It was strange to take comfort in the French language when in Canada I regularly ignore it for the English translation.

The Belgians are currently facing a perennial Canadian political situation: separatism. Except here, it’s the Flemish political parties who want to separate from the Wallons. The Flemish area is doing better economically and is tired of their taxes being funnelled to their southern countrymen. (Equalization payments anyone?) The percentage of French-speaking Flemish greatly outnumbers the Flemish-speaking French, which doesn’t help add to feelings of goodwill. According to the Liège natives I was hanging out with, the Wallons feel a special affinity for Quèbec because of the political situation and because they think Quebeçois is more similar to their language than Français (with a capital F.)

This brings me to the first thing I brought up: the smells of urine in the city. I have reason to believe this is a French thing. I first experienced this phenomenon when I visited Paris when I was 17. There’s no doubt in my mind that Paris has been my favourite European city thus far but that doesn’t change the fact. The problem is its always at its worst in the metro both in Paris and Bruxelles. However, to Bruxelles credit, in all the Parisian metro stations, there are tiny moats running along the side of the station walls with liquid flowing through. I never quite figured out what those were for but they only added to my suspicions. I never experienced this same in the other four Flemish cities I visited, even Antwerpen, the biggest and most cosmopolitan Belgian city. This problem doesn’t seem to exist in the Netherlands either. There are many an outdoor urinal strategically placed for drunken males that prevent the city from smelling like a toilet. Furthermore, we have canals and still don’t smell.

However this smell could just be a really convenient marketing tie-in with the symbol of Belgium: Manneken Pis. It’s nothing more than a tiny statue of a little boy urinating. It’s a major tourist attraction in Bruxelles and plastered all over tourist merchandise. The Belgians have many outfits they dress him up for special occasions but always with a convenient hole for him to do his duty. There are a few stories behind the statue (boy who saves his town from fire by answering nature’s calls, boy goes missing and father finds him answering nature’s calls etc.) but seem to be of little importance. Manneken Pis is simply Manneken Pis.

Belgium has historically been overshadowed by its neighbours and before coming here I couldn’t tell you any famous Belgian symbols. However, in the Netherlands we have a chain of fry shops called Manneken Pis, a name that invokes a reputation of fries. Belgians have a self-professed good sense of humour about themselves and if having your national icon taking a piss isn’t proof, I don’t know what is.

posted by vicky at 12:32 pm under Belgium, Europe
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