So, it is official - cocktail maven Amy Sacco has opened an outpost of Bungalow 8 here in Amsterdam. The rumors were true, and the buzz has already started. Finally, a place to get a martini that isn't just straight up martini bianco vermouth. Sadly, this often constitutes a martini in these parts - there isn't a huge cocktail culture here.
Back to the Bungalow, though. I never made it to the NYC branch. Or London's for that matter. See, I love a good cocktail but I absolutely hate any velvet rope scene. Or the private club scene. Or the "we are so cool we don't let you know how to actually get in" scene. I support cocktails for the people! That is why I often sling them in my living room for my friends. But it is nice to get out every once in awhile.
So, yes, this could be good. Or it could be the most frustrating thing to come my way in some time. I have sent my email reservation request for a table next weekend (there isn't an address or phone number listed - strike one!) I didn't try to be witty with my prose - name / date / time - if that isn't cool enough - I don't think I am destined to Bungalow it anytime soon.
However, if I do get in... I plan to drink my weight in vodka!
Friday, July 30, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
a visit from the electric company turns into mass confusion all around
Every 6 months or so we are graced with a visit from the electric company - it turns out that several apartments in our neighborhood have their electricity meters housed in the closet of our foyer. Lucky us! This was explained to us the last time the meters were read and I have come to understand the neccessity of letting the meter reader in without protesting the inconvenience of this situation. No winning this one. But today's visit proved most interesting...
I let the meter reader into the foyer this morning and explain that all of the meters are housed behind the closet door. I point to the door, tell him to help himself, and excuse myself to quiet our dog - who usually pulls her super-cute Cujo routine when strangers enter our house. I close the glass door that partitions our home from the foyer, round up the dog, and head downstairs to make coffee. Once I make coffee, I decide to make some toast... then check my email... then write a few emails. Maybe 10 minutes have gone by. Then I head upstairs to grab the newspaper out of the foyer - and who do I run into but the meter reader! Now in all of my past encounters with various electric company representatives, they have gotten their data and boogied out the door. It is a 2 minute visit - tops - and never are there any long farewells or goodbyes. But this guy was still in the foyer. So I pop in and ask if everything is okay... and after a jumbled dutch/english conversation I realize that he has been waiting this whole time for me to come back from dealing with the dog to open the closet door that houses the meters. Ooops! I obviously open the door.
But it gets better. Apparently there are more meters he needs to read and he would like to access the other closets in the house to get his data. Believe me, I tried to explain that this was the only electric hub in the house... but language/ culture / whatever was against this reasoning. So off we go to peek into the closets - ALL of the closets. Resembling a bloodhound - the meter reader seemed to catch some sort of scent coming from our master closet. I opened the door and he began to search in vain for the missing meters. He moved my dresses to one side, he moved some of my husband's shoes off their racks. He even moved the curtains and tapped on the walls. Speechless, all I could do was shake my head and start walking back to the front door.
6 more months or so until the next visit!
I let the meter reader into the foyer this morning and explain that all of the meters are housed behind the closet door. I point to the door, tell him to help himself, and excuse myself to quiet our dog - who usually pulls her super-cute Cujo routine when strangers enter our house. I close the glass door that partitions our home from the foyer, round up the dog, and head downstairs to make coffee. Once I make coffee, I decide to make some toast... then check my email... then write a few emails. Maybe 10 minutes have gone by. Then I head upstairs to grab the newspaper out of the foyer - and who do I run into but the meter reader! Now in all of my past encounters with various electric company representatives, they have gotten their data and boogied out the door. It is a 2 minute visit - tops - and never are there any long farewells or goodbyes. But this guy was still in the foyer. So I pop in and ask if everything is okay... and after a jumbled dutch/english conversation I realize that he has been waiting this whole time for me to come back from dealing with the dog to open the closet door that houses the meters. Ooops! I obviously open the door.
But it gets better. Apparently there are more meters he needs to read and he would like to access the other closets in the house to get his data. Believe me, I tried to explain that this was the only electric hub in the house... but language/ culture / whatever was against this reasoning. So off we go to peek into the closets - ALL of the closets. Resembling a bloodhound - the meter reader seemed to catch some sort of scent coming from our master closet. I opened the door and he began to search in vain for the missing meters. He moved my dresses to one side, he moved some of my husband's shoes off their racks. He even moved the curtains and tapped on the walls. Speechless, all I could do was shake my head and start walking back to the front door.
6 more months or so until the next visit!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
from the apple back to the village
I am back from a fabulous visit to NYC. I won't bore you with all of the differences b/w my two fair cities... but I feel revived and refreshed. Probably due to all of the nourishment I must have consumed eating my way through most of downtown - or maybe cocktails do in fact have rejuvenating side effects! The good news is: I was happy while I was there AND I find myself happy to be back. Now then, will this newfound harmony last?
Back in the village... there have been changes while I was away. I had forgotten about the dead zone that most of Europe experiences come the end of July through the majority of August - summer holiday time for everyone - and I mean e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e. Up bright and early due to jet lag (and my how I hope to keep this schedule) I headed out to knock about a dozen things off of a list of "to do" items that have been nagging me for months. Today I vowed to kick off a new start - hit things head on - and enjoy my quaint surroundings - now knowing that the apple will be there waiting for me when the time is right. So I head to the jeweler to repair my favorite earrings, only to see the dreaded sign "op vakantie" which translates to "on holiday" but really means "I will be back sometime before September, but there is no telling when." As I walked my neighborhood I saw these signs everywhere. My vandalized Vespa that needs some desperate TLC - going to have to wait a bit. My favorite fruit stand just down the street - time to rekindle my love of grocery store bananas!
I might still be sleep deprived, but for the moment, I am happily rolling with the village.
Back in the village... there have been changes while I was away. I had forgotten about the dead zone that most of Europe experiences come the end of July through the majority of August - summer holiday time for everyone - and I mean e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e. Up bright and early due to jet lag (and my how I hope to keep this schedule) I headed out to knock about a dozen things off of a list of "to do" items that have been nagging me for months. Today I vowed to kick off a new start - hit things head on - and enjoy my quaint surroundings - now knowing that the apple will be there waiting for me when the time is right. So I head to the jeweler to repair my favorite earrings, only to see the dreaded sign "op vakantie" which translates to "on holiday" but really means "I will be back sometime before September, but there is no telling when." As I walked my neighborhood I saw these signs everywhere. My vandalized Vespa that needs some desperate TLC - going to have to wait a bit. My favorite fruit stand just down the street - time to rekindle my love of grocery store bananas!
I might still be sleep deprived, but for the moment, I am happily rolling with the village.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
duck ladies
About a month ago I got into the habit of taking our dog, Lola, for a walk in the nearby Vondelpark (think mini Central Park) around 6PM every night. Of course, it didn't take long for her to commit this to memory and rouse me from whatever I am doing to keep with this schedule. Well, on these walks I always feed the ducks. I used to feed them from time to time, and now I feed them every night. We are pretty friendly now. Along the way I have "adopted" a few families - and I guess I have become a little possessive as a result. Because...
Tonight while making the usual rounds I was shocked to find someone else feeding MY birds. Nile Geese to be exact. Having lugged 2 loaves of bread to the park, I decided to sit on a nearby bench and wait until the nice, older woman had exhausted all of her seed. But then I got impatient... this woman had bags and bags of bird seed. She was pulling it out of every pocket of her Chicos ensemble! I'm not sure how public park bird feeding etiquette goes, but I am pretty sure that I crossed a line next. I sidled on over to the excitement and started throwing my bread out in the midst of her crumbs. I was back with my birds and I was happy (though I couldn't actually make eye contact with the woman). And then, the greatest thing happened... she smiled at me, and I smiled back, and the most fantastic conversation took place.
It turns out that we both feed the birds every night. It also turns out that we have mutual favorites! We traded information about "who" had how many babies this spring, approximately how many loaves of bread we go through each week on our walks, and pondered what could have happened to some of the ducks that we no longer see anymore. She told me the species names in Dutch, and I filled in some gaps in English. And instead of feeling some petty jealousy about sharing the ducks - we both turned out surprised and relieved that there is someone else in the Vondelpark - sharing the same obsession.
Tonight while making the usual rounds I was shocked to find someone else feeding MY birds. Nile Geese to be exact. Having lugged 2 loaves of bread to the park, I decided to sit on a nearby bench and wait until the nice, older woman had exhausted all of her seed. But then I got impatient... this woman had bags and bags of bird seed. She was pulling it out of every pocket of her Chicos ensemble! I'm not sure how public park bird feeding etiquette goes, but I am pretty sure that I crossed a line next. I sidled on over to the excitement and started throwing my bread out in the midst of her crumbs. I was back with my birds and I was happy (though I couldn't actually make eye contact with the woman). And then, the greatest thing happened... she smiled at me, and I smiled back, and the most fantastic conversation took place.
It turns out that we both feed the birds every night. It also turns out that we have mutual favorites! We traded information about "who" had how many babies this spring, approximately how many loaves of bread we go through each week on our walks, and pondered what could have happened to some of the ducks that we no longer see anymore. She told me the species names in Dutch, and I filled in some gaps in English. And instead of feeling some petty jealousy about sharing the ducks - we both turned out surprised and relieved that there is someone else in the Vondelpark - sharing the same obsession.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
sticking with the water theme
Dining out in Amsterdam is always a mixed bag. Sometimes it is brilliant, the food is inspiring, the service surprising! Often times it falls flat. However, every single time you go out to eat here (breakfast, lunch or dinner) you are guaranteed to hit one obstacle. Every. Single. Time. The issue of ordering water.
It sounds simple enough, right? Kind of a basic request. Well, there is nothing simple or basic about it. In fact many an argument have transpired all due to ordering water. For starters, tap water (aka "water uit de kraan") is frowned upon by all wait staff. That isn't to say that they don't drink it - the water here is perfectly fine - it is only that they don't serve it. Instead, when you order a glass of water they correct you and ask if you would like either Spa Blauw (still) or Spa Rood (sparkling). These are the only options, and the company Spa has the market. Oh, and a small bottle of either will set you back close to 3 euros a pop!
So, usually the routine is that you then correct them and re-order your tap water. This rarely works, but when it does you applaud yourself and look smug to the rest of your fellow diners that most likely didn't opt for the second try attack. However, chances are you are instead told that the restaurant has a no tap water policy, and you are again instructed to choose from... you guessed it, Spa. I have been with friends who have challenged the legality of this doctrine (and then I go hungry, because who is really going to risk eating their food after upsetting the establishment like this?) The best I have seen is a half full glass of tap water after this argument, so really, there is no winning this one.
With beer and wine typically priced the same as good ole' Spa, it is no wonder why I often wake up with a headache here.
It sounds simple enough, right? Kind of a basic request. Well, there is nothing simple or basic about it. In fact many an argument have transpired all due to ordering water. For starters, tap water (aka "water uit de kraan") is frowned upon by all wait staff. That isn't to say that they don't drink it - the water here is perfectly fine - it is only that they don't serve it. Instead, when you order a glass of water they correct you and ask if you would like either Spa Blauw (still) or Spa Rood (sparkling). These are the only options, and the company Spa has the market. Oh, and a small bottle of either will set you back close to 3 euros a pop!
So, usually the routine is that you then correct them and re-order your tap water. This rarely works, but when it does you applaud yourself and look smug to the rest of your fellow diners that most likely didn't opt for the second try attack. However, chances are you are instead told that the restaurant has a no tap water policy, and you are again instructed to choose from... you guessed it, Spa. I have been with friends who have challenged the legality of this doctrine (and then I go hungry, because who is really going to risk eating their food after upsetting the establishment like this?) The best I have seen is a half full glass of tap water after this argument, so really, there is no winning this one.
With beer and wine typically priced the same as good ole' Spa, it is no wonder why I often wake up with a headache here.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
getting my toes wet
A new friend suggested that I jump on the blog bandwagon to get my brain back up and running... so here it goes. I am beyond a novice - and am a pretty private person - so this will certainly be something to behold! However, I have a feeling that deep down inside, I have a lot to say.
I relocated from New York City to Amsterdam with my husband (and our lovely dog) a year ago, and it has been such an experience. Everyday I am met with something that makes me smile, something that makes me cry, and about 10 things that make me want to scream. Emotional roller coaster? You bet.
Selfishly, I am writing this in an attempt to keep my sanity in check, as well as attempting to force myself to sit down at the computer and start writing... anything for now. I used to be an art historian who wrote about objects. Now I am a corporate wife in a village, just trying to survive what each day brings me.
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