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Putting Spice Into Dutch Cooking Returning Zing to Dutch Cooking
(about 20 hours later)
AMSTERDAMAMSTERDAM
HOW many times have you considered your dining options and thought “Let’s go Dutch?” Not as in split the bill, but as in eat the cuisine of the Netherlands. And if you  were able to locate a Dutch restaurant in the United States — best of luck with that — do you have any idea what you’d find on the menu?HOW many times have you considered your dining options and thought “Let’s go Dutch?” Not as in split the bill, but as in eat the cuisine of the Netherlands. And if you  were able to locate a Dutch restaurant in the United States — best of luck with that — do you have any idea what you’d find on the menu?
The Netherlands, as these questions suggest, has never been known as a culinary destination. Actually, that’s an understatement. For years, the gastronomy of this country has lagged woefully behind many of its European neighbors (think Denmark, for one). Which is puzzling, given that the Dutch once dominated the world’s spice trade. And nowhere is this puzzle more obvious than in Amsterdam, a city of beguiling streetscapes, gorgeous canals and really lousy restaurants.The Netherlands, as these questions suggest, has never been known as a culinary destination. Actually, that’s an understatement. For years, the gastronomy of this country has lagged woefully behind many of its European neighbors (think Denmark, for one). Which is puzzling, given that the Dutch once dominated the world’s spice trade. And nowhere is this puzzle more obvious than in Amsterdam, a city of beguiling streetscapes, gorgeous canals and really lousy restaurants.
What is a tourist in search of a good meal to do? In recent years, the answer has been to visit Dutchgrub, a blog written by Mark Schiefelbein, a 44-year-old native of Germany who moved here from Strasbourg, France, in 1999. “Amsterdam was a food wasteland at the time,” he said over lunch not long ago. “And I talked to people and they said, ‘Oh, it’s really improved.’ I’m thinking, ‘My God, how bad could it have been?’ ”What is a tourist in search of a good meal to do? In recent years, the answer has been to visit Dutchgrub, a blog written by Mark Schiefelbein, a 44-year-old native of Germany who moved here from Strasbourg, France, in 1999. “Amsterdam was a food wasteland at the time,” he said over lunch not long ago. “And I talked to people and they said, ‘Oh, it’s really improved.’ I’m thinking, ‘My God, how bad could it have been?’ ”
Very bad, is the answer. There were a few Michelin stars spread around the city, but those venues were, and remain, pricey and formal marathons of punctilious service and rich sauces. Mr. Schiefelbein was looking for inventive meals at reasonable prices, places you could visit a few times a month without going broke. The restaurants didn’t need to offer Dutch cuisine; that would have limited his list of recommendations to nil. Still, when he started Dutchgrub in 2007, he could get excited about only a handful of restaurants, and there was nowhere to find decent pizza or a burger whose patty wasn’t just plucked from a freezer. Very bad, is the answer. There were a few Michelin stars spread around the city, but those spots were, and remain, pricey and formal marathons of punctilious service and rich sauces. Mr. Schiefelbein was looking for inventive meals at reasonable prices, places you could visit a few times a month without going broke. The restaurants didn’t need to offer Dutch cuisine; that would have limited his list of recommendations to nil. Still, when he started Dutchgrub in 2007, he could get excited about only a handful of restaurants, and there was nowhere to find decent pizza or a burger whose patty wasn’t just plucked from a freezer.
The situation is improving, Mr. Schiefelbein said, and he has carefully charted the progress. His “Best Amsterdam Restaurants” list now has six entries. One is modern French (Marius), one traditional French (Madelief) and one is a mix of Mediterranean and Asian (Blauw aan de Wal)  while the others are hybrids. The latest addition is Wilde Zwijnen, which translates as Wild Boar, and is as close to Dutch cuisine as you’ll find on Dutchgrub’s list. A recent menu included an appetizer of fried catfish with ravigote, and sweet and sour cauliflower. One of the entrees was croquettes of goat cheese, potato and hazelnut with carrot coleslaw, spinach and beetroot. There was also this offering, which, to American ears, sounds plucked from a diner in “The Hobbit”: “Fish from Urk.” The situation is improving, Mr. Schiefelbein said, and he has carefully charted the progress. His “Best Amsterdam Restaurants” list now has six entries. One is modern French (Marius), one traditional French (Madelief) and one is a mix of Mediterranean and Asian (Blauw aan de Wal), while the others are hybrids. The latest addition is Wilde Zwijnen, which translates as Wild Boar and is as close to Dutch cuisine as you’ll find on Dutchgrub’s list. A recent menu included an appetizer of fried catfish with ravigote, and sweet and sour cauliflower. One of the entrees was croquettes of goat cheese, potato and hazelnut with carrot coleslaw, spinach and beetroot. There was also this offering, which, to American ears, sounds plucked from a diner in “The Hobbit”: “Fish from Urk.”
“I work with a guy who has one boat,” said Frenk van Dinther, the chef at Wilde Zwijnen, who has a shortened version of the restaurant’s name tattooed on his forearm. “He basically tells me what I’m going to cook. Him and the vegetable man. They have more say over my menu than I do.” The chef was taking a break from the kitchen one evening as rain drove diners off the sidewalk and into the restaurant. The interior design of the place could be called austerity chic: a lot of exposed brick and simple furniture, with a few hanging plants and some elegant wall hangings. Mr. van Dinther said that a lot of Dutch patrons, who have come to expect more frippery when they venture out for a meal, find the look threadbare. “I work with a guy who has one boat,” said Frenk van Dinther, the chef at Wilde Zwijnen, who has a shortened version of the restaurant’s name tattooed on his forearm. “He basically tells me what I’m going to cook. Him and the vegetable man. They have more say over my menu than I do.”
The chef was taking a break from the kitchen one evening as rain drove diners off the sidewalk and into the restaurant. The interior design of the place could be called austerity chic: a lot of exposed brick and simple furniture, with a few hanging plants and some elegant wall hangings. Mr. van Dinther said that a lot of Dutch patrons, who have come to expect more frippery when they venture out for a meal, find the look threadbare.
“They see it as some kind of barn,” he said. “Americans and Germans get this place. A lot of Dutch don’t.”“They see it as some kind of barn,” he said. “Americans and Germans get this place. A lot of Dutch don’t.”
The problem may be that Wilde Zwijnen reminds the Dutch of the utilitarian ethos that has dominated its cuisine for decades. It wasn’t always so, writes Karin Engelbrecht, a restaurant critic for Time Out Amsterdam. The Dutch, she explains, cooked with élan until  the start of the 19th century, and you can tell from still-life paintings of the era, which showed off tables piled high with delectables. A peek at cookbooks dating back a few hundred years reveals dishes like mussels with saffron and ginger, and roast goose with turmeric root. Meals were lavish, multicourse affairs that started with leafy greens and ended with pastries and hippocras, a wine sweetened with cinnamon and served warm.The problem may be that Wilde Zwijnen reminds the Dutch of the utilitarian ethos that has dominated its cuisine for decades. It wasn’t always so, writes Karin Engelbrecht, a restaurant critic for Time Out Amsterdam. The Dutch, she explains, cooked with élan until  the start of the 19th century, and you can tell from still-life paintings of the era, which showed off tables piled high with delectables. A peek at cookbooks dating back a few hundred years reveals dishes like mussels with saffron and ginger, and roast goose with turmeric root. Meals were lavish, multicourse affairs that started with leafy greens and ended with pastries and hippocras, a wine sweetened with cinnamon and served warm.
Then, as the Dutch started to lose their colonies — mostly to the British — and population growth started to strain resources, the country’s golden age ended and a new frugality took hold. But what really set Holland’s kitchens on a path toward stodgy was the popularity, starting in the late 19th century, of huishoudschool. A type of domestic-science school, it taught girls to ditch the herbs and spices and produce meals that favored nutrition and cheapness over flavor and pizazz. “It became all about, what do you need to feed yourself and stay healthy?” Ms. Engelbrecht said in a phone interview. “Recipes weren’t about using those lovely spices that we created the sea routes to India for. Those were nice to have, but you didn’t need them to survive.” Then, as the Dutch started to lose their colonies — mostly to the British — and population growth started to strain resources, the country’s golden age ended and a new frugality took hold. But what really set Dutch kitchens on a path toward stodgy was the popularity, starting in the late 19th century, of huishoudschool. A type of domestic-science school, it taught girls to ditch the herbs and spices and produce meals that favored nutrition and cheapness over flavor and pizazz. “It became all about, what do you need to feed yourself and stay healthy?” Ms. Engelbrecht said in a phone interview. “Recipes weren’t about using those lovely spices that we created the sea routes to India for. Those were nice to have, but you didn’t need them to survive.”
That keep-it-basic approach endures. One of the more ubiquitous dinners here is stamppot, which is potatoes and vegetables, mashed and boiled in a pot, with some kind of meat tossed in. And that is sumptuous compared with a typical lunch. “I work with small Internet start-up companies,” Mr. Schiefelbein said, “and when lunchtime comes, somebody goes around and collects a few coins and somebody heads to the supermarket around the corner and gets some slices of cheese and sliced bread. That’s what people have for lunch.”That keep-it-basic approach endures. One of the more ubiquitous dinners here is stamppot, which is potatoes and vegetables, mashed and boiled in a pot, with some kind of meat tossed in. And that is sumptuous compared with a typical lunch. “I work with small Internet start-up companies,” Mr. Schiefelbein said, “and when lunchtime comes, somebody goes around and collects a few coins and somebody heads to the supermarket around the corner and gets some slices of cheese and sliced bread. That’s what people have for lunch.”
We were eating a bit more lavishly as we talked that afternoon, at a place called Gartine in the Centrum section of the city. “A lot of what you see now is local ingredients with an international twist,” he said of the lunch, pointing to a dish of trout tartare on slabs of crusty wheat bread and a side of French fries. “It’s a pâté, which is clearly a French influence. The French would use tuna. Here they use trout. And there’s a side of mayo for the fries. Don’t order ketchup here. They’ll look down on you.”We were eating a bit more lavishly as we talked that afternoon, at a place called Gartine in the Centrum section of the city. “A lot of what you see now is local ingredients with an international twist,” he said of the lunch, pointing to a dish of trout tartare on slabs of crusty wheat bread and a side of French fries. “It’s a pâté, which is clearly a French influence. The French would use tuna. Here they use trout. And there’s a side of mayo for the fries. Don’t order ketchup here. They’ll look down on you.”
Mr. Schiefelbein has dark hair, parted in the middle, and wears a pair of dark glasses that could pass for welder’s goggles if they were a little heavier. He started Dutchgrub, he said, because he kept writing the same e-mail to friends, and friends of friends, who came to Amsterdam. Why not just post it all online? A hint of exasperation still wafts off the site — “I live in Amsterdam. A city that prides itself with food from vending machines” it says on the home page — but it’s clear that options here are expanding. One sign is that Mr. Schiefelbein has bumped some pretty fine restaurants off his recommended list. That includes De Kas, which is on the edge of a lush park east of the center of the city; it’s in a former municipal nursery that now looks like a greenhouse designed by a starchitect. (In this case, the Dutch designer Piet Boon.) The emphasis is on fresh ingredients, some of them plucked from a garden in an adjacent room. Mr. Schiefelbein has dark hair, parted in the middle, and wears a pair of dark glasses that could pass for welder’s goggles if they were a little heavier. He started Dutchgrub, he said, because he kept writing the same e-mail to friends, and friends of friends, who came to Amsterdam. Why not just post it all online? A hint of exasperation still wafts off the site — “I live in Amsterdam. A city that prides itself with food from vending machines” it says on the home page — but it’s clear that options here are expanding.
After a meal at De Kas, every restaurant will feel a little cramped. The ceiling in the dining room is about 26 feet high and the tables are nicely spaced apart. The three-course $62 prix fixe menu recently included an appetizer of creamy sauerkraut with roasted parsnip, carrots, brussels sprout leaves, and a carrot and mustard dressing. The main course was slow-cooked pork belly with a side of lentils and Granny Smith apples, and a confit of white onions. The guiding principle here is to keep it simple and focus on the ingredients. The results have won raves from diners and critics alike. One sign is that Mr. Schiefelbein has bumped some pretty fine restaurants off his recommended list. That includes De Kas, which is on the edge of a lush park east of the center of the city; it’s in a former municipal nursery that now looks like a greenhouse designed by a starchitect (in this case, the Dutch designer Piet Boon). The emphasis is on fresh ingredients, some of them plucked from a garden in an adjacent room.
After a meal at De Kas, every restaurant will feel a little cramped. The ceiling in the dining room is about 26 feet high, and the tables are nicely spaced apart. The three-course $62 prix fixe menu recently included an appetizer of creamy sauerkraut with roasted parsnip, carrots, brussels sprout leaves, and a carrot and mustard dressing. The main course was slow-cooked pork belly with a side of lentils and Granny Smith apples, and a confit of white onions. The guiding principle here is to keep it simple and focus on the ingredients. The results have won raves from diners and critics alike.
But  Mr. Schiefelbein says the place has slipped recently. “I’ve been there a few times and been slightly disappointed in some of the dishes,” he said. “You get a lot of restaurants in Amsterdam that put the focus on looking great instead of the food. De Kas has beautiful design, it has tablecloths, they have thought a lot about presentation. But the food isn’t there.”But  Mr. Schiefelbein says the place has slipped recently. “I’ve been there a few times and been slightly disappointed in some of the dishes,” he said. “You get a lot of restaurants in Amsterdam that put the focus on looking great instead of the food. De Kas has beautiful design, it has tablecloths, they have thought a lot about presentation. But the food isn’t there.”
Fair warning, Amsterdam chefs. Mr. Schiefelbein is watching and the man is not easy to please. He will not even enter a restaurant selling what he believes is a telltale sign of mediocrity: dorado with any kind of lemon sauce. “If I see that, I stay away,” he said. “It’s part of what I call the Jamie Oliver menu. Don’t get me wrong. I love Jamie Oliver. What he’s doing is brilliant. I have all his books. We cook a lot of his stuff at home. But what he’s good at is simple dishes and when I go out to a restaurant I’m looking for something a little more ambitious.” Fair warning, Amsterdam chefs. Mr. Schiefelbein is watching, and the man is not easy to please. He will not even enter a restaurant selling what he believes is a telltale sign of mediocrity: dorado with any kind of lemon sauce.
“If I see that, I stay away,” he said. “It’s part of what I call the Jamie Oliver menu. Don’t get me wrong. I love Jamie Oliver. What he’s doing is brilliant. I have all his books. We cook a lot of his stuff at home. But what he’s good at is simple dishes, and when I go out to a restaurant I’m looking for something a little more ambitious.”