Monday 28 October 2013

Drink a lot: Whiskycafé, Amsterdam


For the launch of the new album of the lovely ladies of Lois Lane, I ventured into an area of Amsterdam that I usually avoid at all costs: the touristy bit. It's a mystery to me how this part of town, so close to the wonderful Vondelpark, can be so tacky and, well, horrible. Neon lights, coffeeshops (the dodgy weed smoke filled ones) and kebab shops galore. Shudder.

I was quite happy then to stumble across the Whiskycafé, which I am sure has been discovered by many before me; it looked like it's been there a while. It was a sight for sore eyes with its inviting yellow lights, in a place where everything else is bright and shouty and colourful. In we went, for what I presumed would be a whisky.



But actually I drank a nice draught beer, a white trappist, while perching on a bench that wasn't quite at the right height for sitting. The place is tiny with a (relatively) vast bar in the middle, housing an enormous amount of whisky bottles. It's actually only a selection of what's on offer. (They have more than 1801 different ones, apparently.) The rest is locked away in dusty cages around the room, with bits of barrel and pretty packaging lining every remaining inch of free wall space.



The customers? Men. In large groups, in small groups, plus a collection of lonely old farts. Only a few of them were drinking actual whisky, which is sort of understandable given that the cheapest glass is €6. But even without a drop of whisky in your glass, this is a haven of a boozer, a content sort of place. Just the kind of place I could see myself end up on a lonely old fart kind of night.

I just sat there for a quiet twenty minutes or so, listening to some very old blues and contemplating whether I'd ever be crazy enough, or drunk enough, to order the most expensive whisky on the menu. (It's €99 a glass.) I then had to run to make it in time to the album launch. The Lois Lane ladies were great. Have a listen for yourself, this is their beautiful single. (Which happens to have been written by my man. Whoop whoop.)


Whiskycafé L&B, Korte Leidsedwarsstraat 82-84, Amsterdam, open Sun to Thu 8pm - 3am, website



Tuesday 1 October 2013

T'is the season to be foraging


Until last week, I was under the impression that the Polish - first and foremost - have a love of all things DIY. It's the Polish who happily move countries to take over a building, sleep there eat there live there for months on end while tinkering with bricks and mortar and white goods and drinking Polish vodka. No?

No.

While driving along the 11 road out of Berlin, crossing the (heavily guarded by police cars, for some reason) border into Poland, it turns out I was wrong. In early autumn, at least, the Polish seem to have a very different national hobby. They're, en masse, foraging for mushrooms. How pure, how ethical, how seasonal.


How lucrative.

All along the roads I travelled, cars were parked on shoulders, in bends and on little side roads. People carrying cute wicker baskets and (for those less stylish) plastic bags or buckets were everywhere, moseying about, ducking in and out of bushes. They would then line those same roads, selling their wares.




We stopped our car at some lady's feet. As opposed to her neighbour, an angry looking man with jars of honey and pickled wares, she was selling nothing but a few freshly picked mushrooms, in plastic punnets. No points for stylishness then. But douze points on the authentic scale. She looked sort of proud. She took her hat off for the picture. Sweet. Then she asked 6 euros for one punnet of ceps (porcini). See what I mean? Lucrative.


But we didn't care. We have been happily eating mushroom pasta (made with fried onions, thyme, cream and one of those wonderful cubes of mushroom stock that they only ever seem to be selling abroad). We dried another batch, sliced, at 40˚C in the oven for a good couple of hours. Happy autumn days they are.