It could appear that Amsterdam is just as nasty as all other European cities in February. The truth is, it’s even nastier. Vexatious rain gives wet smacks left and right and gripes even more so, given that locals obviously don’t give a damn about it. They pedal joyously along in short jackets, faces unfrowned. Me - not such a hero.
I crawl miserably into a random café, and voilá – I change from a severely beaten dog into one evidently cosetted. I let my coat dry and while waiting for the food, I drool a little.
A salad with pear. Lolo rosso, pine nuts, capers, sour sundried tomatoes, goat cheese, honey, thyme. Baguettes to choose from: brown and white. Tiny bowl of herbed butter. Brash New York feel. I melt immediately.
Maybe this month won’t suck that much after all.
To die for: fluffy blond waitress lost in dreams, eyes all sky-blue and deep. Food’s immense.
Turn off: opening hours are suited for brunchists – eleven ‘til five real food is served, after that only cakes and little things. I’ll still come back.
Café De Zuid, Azartplein 2a, Amsterdam
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