A wall of apples

It's a typically Dutch phenomenon, mentioned on nearly every 'things to do when you're in Amsterdam' list: draw a sticky, lukewarm snack from a snack wall. The wall consists of little tilting windows with coin slots next to them and a (usually fairly unappealing) meaty snack, made with plenty of offcuts and flour, displayed behind it. No wonder it hardly registers with foodies. They'd probably rather die than be seen eating from a wall...

The snack wall, however, has its moments. They usually involve a river of alcohol, though. It seems like just the right thing to turn to when (and only when) the world is spinning and you get a serious attack of the munchies.

So, when I drove across the tiny country roads of the Betuwe, the Dutch fruit growing region, I was shocked to find a wall there. Dodgily (but accurately) called a 'fruit machine', after stopping this indeed turned out to a machine dispensing fruit. An apple wall, if you like.

The Elstar apples that were on sale were freshly picked, crunchy and stone cold. They were by far the best apples I have eaten so far this season. I'll definitely be driving past it again next time I'm in the area. Somehow I fear it won't make the Amsterdam tourist guides though.

De Fruitautomaat, Rooijsestraat, Dreumel

Happy birth-day

It's nought to do with eating, or drinking, but all the more with being merry: celebrating the birth of a baby. In the Netherlands, parents do so by sending everyone and their neighbour a birth announcement. Not via text, email or Facebook. They send a real, actual paper card, in an envelope with stamps on, just like in the olden days. It's a lovely tradition. 

The card itself is usually adorned with sugary sweet drawings of babies, bears or (very trendy these days) birds. 

But the ones I came across today are sugary nor sweet and designed by a papercut artist. I like them. Especially the one with the ant on. 

Surely that is one of the most original things to be putting on the front of a birth announcement? New baby born - ant. I can just see myself going (in a haze of pregnancy hormones): yes, that makes total sense. I have to have the ant! Sorry sorry, I actually really do like them a lot. Can't wait for one of my preggers friends to choose a Geertje Aalders design for the announcement of their next addition to the world.

You can order Geertje's cards here. (Please send me one if you do!)

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

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.

Foodie postage stamps, or the lack thereof

Take one large glass jar full of Dutch postage stamps, ranging from the contemporary (the latest royal princesses) to the very, very old (the queen before the queen before the king). What with the average stamp topic reflecting popular culture, you'd say there would be some food related stamps there, right?

Wrong.

There are, of course, countless ones with queens or future queens on them. Then there are famous painters, scientists (why? It's not like anyone gives a toss) and, for some reason, starving children. Big leap forward, and there are stamps adorned with cute illustrations. Now I am all for cute illustrations, but somehow there seems to be a wide gap. One the one hand, highbrow charity and long dead writers, on the other, cute colourful birds and Bambi like deer.

This says all you need to know about Dutch food culture, I think. In the eyes of the masses, no such thing exists.

There was one stamp I did find with food on it: a head of lettuce, a tomato, and what seems like airport tarmac. Slightly random, but nevertheless: double whoop!

Ferrero Rocher, deconstructed

Last week we got a family sized tray of Ferrero Rocher from our elderly neighbours. It was a thank you for trying (and failing) to help them when they'd locked themselves out of their flat. Despite our best efforts it was our neighbour himself who, with his (at least) 75 years of age, fiddled with a bicycle spoke until he was blue in the face and the door miraculously sprung open.

Anyway. Ferrero Rocher. After eating my twelfth golden bonbon, something inside my sluggish brain finally clicked and I remembered! As a kid, I would eat them deconstructed. This is how it went, in ten steps:

1) Lift the golden ball out of its paper casing, being careful not to rip the foil (didn't work today)

2) Picking the glue off the paper casing, rolling it into a ball and flicking it away with my finger

3) Either rolling the foil into a gold ball or smoothing it out nicely for use as a table cloth in my Barbie doll house

4) Cracking the chocolatey nutty exterior and eating it WITHOUT damaging the crispy ball inside

5) Opening the crispy ball at the seam, splitting it in two

6) Eating the nut

7) Licking out the Nutella filling

8) Sucking on the crispy ball, now empty, until it had gone soggy in my mouth

9) Eating the soggy remains

10) Sneaking into the cupboard to see if I could nick another one without anybody noticing

Ah, the joy. 

Good thing is, we have another 4 Ferrero Rochers waiting to be eaten. I wonder if anyone will notice if I have another one...

The Kitchen Diaries

It's two days before I am interviewing Nigel Slater about the book he once described as his favourite, The Kitchen Diaries. The book, of course, has been out for yonks, but the Dutch were a bit slow to catch on and are only publishing a translated edition now. Lucky them - there's a whole world of marvelous recipes to be discovered.

I still remember my first Nigel Slater concoction, it was his afternoon tea cake, full of fruit and nuts, crumbly and dry enough to fool anyone into thinking it is bread more than cake and thus justifying slathering on a thick layer of butter.

I have been in total awe ever since. I won't be saying that to him though, as I imagine it must be well annoying to be interviewed by a 'fan'. No, I'll be playing it cool on Thursday. Oh dear, am I nervous.

The Kitchen Diaries are about 365 days of cooking and eating with the seasons. (They're also about shopping, about ingredients and about - hurray! - the weather.) Reading it, I grew a massive ball of jealousy in my stomach. If only I had the time to Just Think About Food all day long.

Oddly enough this is also the week that I found out there are scores of people doing a '365' project, setting themselves a nice little goal to accomplish each day and documenting it online somewhere. In a blog, on instagram, wherever.

There is a lady who does a daily self-portrait, a girl who photographs her daily 'nourishment' and a woman (they're all women, it seems, apart from a Japanese guy) who designs a new pattern (doodle style) every day.

A dim sum inspired pattern by Ann Kilzer

Nigel Slater, I'm now thinking, was the original 365-er.

I'm tempted to follow suit and make a 365-style kitchen diary of my own. Focusing on one ingredient every day, maybe. That way I am allowed to think about food every day, at least for a bit, and deal with that big ball of jealousy. I also reckon it's great for tricking myself into thinking I have accomplished something, even when all I have done is hang out with the twins and snapping a picture of a lemon. It's perfect.

You can check the lovely 365-project people out here:

makesomething365.com

The self-portraits: afaceaday2013.blogspot.com

The nourishment pics: nourish365project.com

The patterns: 365daysofpattern.blogspot.com