I admit, freely, that I am not a great fan of Amsterdam. I’ve spent a certain amount of time there, but it’s not a city that’s grown on me.
But I’ve come to quite enjoy visiting Leiden, which is equidistant on the train system from Schiphol.
A big part of that, though, is that I can visit with my friends there, Rich and Ellen, and recover from the trials of transatlantic travel with a brief idyll.
Plus, I get their kitchen.
They always have the most fun houses. As Ellen says, she’s a global nomad, and where ever she pitches her tent, it’s like the caravan has arrived.
And, for these last few years, it’s been Leiden.
We arrived, and took over the guest rooms in the back house. And then I settled down to my dream of cooking in the kitchen.
It’s like working on a set. The ceilings go up forevere, and everything looks and smells good. The produce that Rich has laid in for me is beautiful;
fresh oysters and mussels;
duck breast that looks like it was carved off of Arnold Schwarzenneger; olive oil from their friends farm in Tuscany; and lots and lots of cheese.
there was a heavy cheese, loaded with (I think) caraway seeds,
and then there was a soft white cheese that we cut away in slabs and then clumps.
And wonderful baguettes to work with.
Although the idea of wine loomed large in my mind, I held myself to beer. Of course, the fact that I’d not heard of Hertog Jan before made this an easy decision (a nice beer, indeed).
Of course, this only to keep us sated until dinner.
Meanwhile we talked. While I’d seen Ellen a year or two ago, I’d missed Rich, as he’d been away on work. And of the boys, they were away on treks and the like. But this trip had all of them together, and it was a joy to hear of growing up in the Netherlands, of shopping in Leiden (which I wish I had the time to do with them), and of the common business we pursue.
I’d shorted myself on mussels this trip, with only the stops in London and the one order at Jules in Vancouver, so the prospect of a bowl of mussels, done up with fresh garlic, a bit of ginger, fresh tomatoes, fresh herbs, and some pepper sauce….well, you can imagine what I was like.
And so, we had a simple meal of mussels, oysters, and a wheat noodle, with a very nice sauvignon blanc and one or two other bottles of wine.
And then, the great happiness, to wake up and do it again.
The light of midmorning broke through the window, and we three adults set to work as the children slept.
We had some berries that I started to work down in a sauce, while I slowly braised the duck breasts.
On the side, Ellen had some leeks, and I did these in butter while adding some in to the mussels we couldn’t fit in the pot the night before.
While Rich dissected the bird, we settled some mushrooms in the sauce, and hit it up with a bit of cognac.
And, with good bread and wine, and a mass of poorly cooked food, we were set for breakfast.
We talked, we laughed, and we enjoyed that friendship that you make on the expatriate circle. We’ve been together as children are born, and as friends have passed. When separated, it takes but moments to come back together.
And then, I had one of those moments. Like when you’re lying in a field, and the wildflowers and the sky and the birds are just right.
Someone walked up to the window of our house and took a picture.
I’ve done that. I’ve been the one who would walk past houses and see people just enjoying themselves, and I would slip a picture to capture that moment from the outside.
Payback is fair.
And then we left.
