I went with some rowing team lads to Hellas, the local athletic and triathlon club. Someone in the club decided to celebrate their special day with a 10+ km race, so the first thing everyone did was sing the happy birthday song on the track. Only then would the race start.
The Dutch as a whole are quite active when it comes to sports and exercise. The weather isn’t enough of a deterrent to have everyone hole up in their homes, although that wasn’t an issue today. Utrecht had good sunshine for once, and I learned a few new routes around the forest to run around later.
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There were kids half my height and seniors three times my age running the same race I was — and beating me, too. Should I feel embarrassed or inspired? Perhaps a bit of both.
Described by my roommate as the “pinnacle of Irish-Chinese cuisine” (it’s hard for me to distinguish Irish sarcasm), the 3-in-1 can be found in any chipper or Chinese takeaway. And by chipper, I mean any place that serves fried delights late into the night.
The 3-in-1 is straight and to the point. You’ll get a plastic or aluminum tin filled with:
A bed of white rice, followed by
A layer of fries (the Irish seem to like their fries cut thick), topped off with
Sate or curry sauce.
It looks like a big blob of goop, and its texture certainly is like that — but trust me, this tastes great when you have a few beers inside of you. Add breaded chicken balls to this concoction and it turns into a 4-in-1.
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Sometimes people ask me what I did in Ireland, and I always make it a point to say something about the 3-in-1. Is it really that good? Students usually laugh when I mention it.
Perhaps it’s because of the sheer absurdity of the thing. Rice + french fries? Who would have thought? It may not be the most refined dish out there, but it’s prevalent enough that every Irish student has an opinion of it.
And so, the 3-in-1 has a place in my heart. Or my arteries.
The Christmas season is for family, friends, and food. Things like praising 6-pound 5-ounce baby Jesus if you’re a devout Christian, getting Chinese take-out if you’re Jewish, or lamenting the present state of humanity if you’re disillusioned. Or just another day if you’re Dutch. But what happens when your family is nine odd time zones away from where you live, and you have no (practical) way of reaching them without collapsing the piggy bank? Lucky for me, I have Brian as a roommate.
He took me under his wing during the holiday season. So away we went to his hometown in Trim, where he showed me what the cool kids do for fun. And the actual Ireland — not the dopey touristy kind where everybody wears green and leprechauns come out of people’s arses with pots of gold.
Some of the students in Dublin ask me: “What are you doing in Trim?” as though I was dragged there by unseen forces. CNN ranked it as one of the top ten places to change your child’s life, but my roommate is puzzled as to why that is so.
Trim is in county Meadth (called the “heritage capital” of Ireland by the tourism industry), about forty minutes away from Dublin. The water there has natural limestone in it, so if you put on a warm kettle and let the water sit, you can see sediment start to clump at the bottom. It’s healthier for you and gives the water an interesting taste.
There are twelve or so pubs to serve the 10,000 people that live here. And when it comes to touristy things to do, there’s a spot where you can shout obscenities at some ancient ruins, and the ancient ruins will echo and shout the same obscenities back to you.
Trim is also the hometown of authors like Jonathan Swift (he wrote Gulliver’s Travels) and the Duke of Wellington, and The Castle chipper, which sells garlic fries and other tasty foods, with pubs and stuff all within walking distance. You won’t find the last one in a travel booklet, but everybody in town knows what it is.
What were the holidays like in Trim?
There’s a man in the neighborhood called “The Dub” (because he’s from Dublin), and he has the best Christmas lights in town. Families make it a tradition to go to his house every year. He’ll even pop outside sometimes to give the children sweets.
It was nice to have a real fireplace warm up the house. We had cozy movie nights in and played board games like Articulate! and Cranium with the family and the neighbors (which get louder and louder as the game progresses). The days leading up to the secret gift exchange are probably the most confusing part — what on earth do you give someone you’ve known your entire life?
I stayed with Brian and his family for about eight days and almost every day for breakfast they served a “fry-up” — that is, with eggs, toasted brown bread, grilled tomatoes, black pudding, white pudding, rashers (kind of like bacon), and sausages. Brian’s mother even put a fry-up on after Christmas Mass. Brian tells me she’s never done that before, or even have fry-ups that often — probably only because guests are over. I dunno, I enjoyed being spoiled with great food and company.
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On another note, it’s funny to see my roommate back in his hometown, and how he interacts with his old friends and family. Listen enough and you can hear stories about him that were never mentioned before. They’ve known him longer than I have after all.
“Did you watch the news tonight? There are Dutch speedskaters practicing in the Yellow River!”
One month into winter and there’s still no snow on the ground, much to the dismay of international students who have only experienced one season their entire lives. It’s unusually warm this year, even if it’s still hat-and-scarf weather. The only ice you’ll see in Utrecht comes from the occasional hailstorm, and even that doesn’t last too long. Some Dutch people have to go abroad to get their skating fix on natural ice.
I’m still crossing my fingers though. Perhaps February will be the month that the canals and lakes freeze over.
That’s what the cute animals on the Dutch Hallmark greeting cards say to welcome the new year.
Deciding to change your life for the better during the New Year is like deciding to finally love on Valentine’s Day. It’s still a tradition worth taking seriously though. Yes, even if people set themselves up for disappointment by setting unrealistic goals. And yes, even if the failure rate for the typical resolution is 90%+ within the first month. Because who knows, someone might actually make it.
Plus, it wouldn’t be fair of me to bash New Years Resolutions if I regularly use it as a conversation starter.
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Some concerns at the start of the new year — or at least the first ones that come to mind:
Cooking: I’ve eaten the Dutch food, but what about properly making it? I think it would be nice to learn how to make some dishes to show the folks back in California. It’d also be a nice change of pace when I don’t feel like having pasta at night again. And why stop at Dutch food?
Correspondence: Why am I slow when it comes to responding to people, whether through e-mail or handwritten letters? It’s not because I’m overwhelmed by an unending pile of messages. I like to give letters proper care and time, but there’s a difference between procrastination and thoughtfulness.
Speed skating: Learn how to make that criss-cross motion with the legs while turning.
Communicating: How can I connect with people? How can I make other people feel understood, and make myself understood? And how can I use the insights from the first two questions to improve my current relationships?
Learning Dutch: I’ve hit a plateau. How can I improve at this point? Do I want to improve? If I stop now, I’ll still be ahead of most other international students (as if comparing myself to other people was ever a reliable measurement). If I continue, I risk investing valuable time and energy towards learning a language I will just as easily forget within a few months of leaving the country. So the question for me is — is learning Dutch worth that risk? Hint: I still think so.
And in general, just to hammer the point in: Am I taking enough risks?
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Most resolutions tend to have a common theme. Explore more, do more. Be more. Living in a foreign country (which feels less and less foreign every day) almost takes care of the first two by default.
Kapsalon literally means “hair salon”, but it’s also the name of one of my most favorite comfort foods. Named after the profession of the first person in Rotterdam to ever order one, the kapsalon can be found in any Turkish snackbar. It’s served all year, and is almost a full meal by itself.
Yes, the “groot” kapsalon is that big.
So what can you expect from a kapsalon experience?
A thick layer of fries cover the aluminum tin, followed by another layer of grilled gouda cheese, shawarma or kebab meat, followed by another layer of lettuce, garlic sauce, chili sauce (sambal), and whatever else is in the condiment bar.
The only downside I can think of to this dish is that all the sauces and cheeses layered on top make the fries on the bottom all soggy. But then I ask myself — do I really want fries that stay crispy forever? I’d be pleased and suspicious at the same time.
Thus, like any lasting superhero, the fact that the kapsalon is flawed makes it even more charming. Mushy bottom? Uneven consistency? Dodgy health benefits? No worries, kapsalon. We’re all just trying to do our best.
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At five to seven euros (at least around Utrecht), the kapsalon is one of the more premium options for a late-night snack. But if you’re tired, slightly drunk, or “just in that mood”, the kapsalon is your friend.
The oliebol is another Dutch holiday pastry served until New Year’s Eve. It’s soft, chewy, filled with raisins, and is about as big as a closed fist or the average muffin.
The server will ask if you’d like it with powdered sugar on top. That same powdered sugar will give you a miniature white beard after the first bite, or make it seem like all the dandruff from your head fell onto your chest at once. (Hint: say yes to the powdered sugar anyway)
Like pepernoten, the olliebol also comes in different varieties and flavors. There’s the appelbol, which comes stuffed with caramelized apples and applesauce, and the berlinerbol, which looks like a miniature hot dog, except instead of a sausage there’s a squiggly line made of custard.
During the early winter you can find olliebollen booths all over town, lit up with bright lights and a huge sign that looks like it came out of WordArt in Microsoft Word. It actually matters which olliebollen stand you go to, since they’re all different in consistency and texture. There’s one open late at night in the middle of Neude square in the city center, but I’m more partial to the olliebollen stand on the intersection of Maliebaan and Burgemeester Reigerstraat. It’s strategically placed in front of the Rabobank ATMs, and in plain sight of all the schoolchildren and workers returning home.
Dick and Alex run that stand.
(My name means something different for you Americans though, hé?)
The first time I saw them was about a month ago, on their third day of business. Dick says that it’s good that I came on the third day, and not the first or the second, because he says it takes three days before his baking skills come back into proper form. He’s been doing this for over thirty years, and each year he submits his oliebollen to the national fair.
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Oliebollen is only sold for two months out of the year — three months at most. I asked Dick what he does with his time after the oliebollen season is over.
During the Sinterklaas parades, Zwarte Piet, or Sinterklaas’ helper, will run around with a big sack of pepernoten to give to all the children.
Pepernoten are these special cookie treats that get eaten during the holiday season. They’re like miniature gingerbread cookies with a flat bottom and curved top, and they’re as easy to eat (and to keep eating) as potato chips. The ones pictured above are just the classic pepernoten, but if you want to get fancy you can get milk and dark chocolate-covered varieties as well.
Grocery stores like Albert Heijn have been selling them since October. I remember conversations with people complaining about how pepernoten and other holiday classics were being sold too early, but people still bought huge packs of them anyway. And when it comes to festive gatherings, it’s not uncommon to have a huge fruit bowl in the middle of the table dedicated entirely to pepernoten.
Store-bought versions are crispy all-around, but if you take the effort to bake them in your own home you’ll be rewarded with a soft, dough-y interior.
You can find the original recipe (in Dutch) over here.
