Yeah, ok. It's just brunch.
Brunch is infiltrating Amsterdam through tiny restaurants stuffed into little pockets, corners, and other spaces that only fit in between. One of my favorites is a place that used to be called G&T's but now is just called G's. I don't know what happened to T.
It's situated inconspicuously on an unassuming residential street in the Jordaan. It's windows are always steamy. They take reservations but leave half the tables open for walk-ins. The seating is cramped, the china is real and mismatched. It's shabby and it's chic, there's a whiff of kitsch, and I would find its overly friendly, art-schoolster wait staff tiresome anywhere in the U.S. But in Amsterdam, I feel cradled in the wide-smiled service that doles out generous portions of lunchfast done right.
I was there last weekend having a meeting with my Netherlands Worldreader core group. Only one of us is Dutch. And Ernst-Jan was the only Dutch person in the restaurant. He said, "This is an expat hang out." I knew it to be an expat favorite, but a hangout, I guess it is as well. I noticed how many people arrived at the restaurant in cabs. Word has gotten out. It's now a tourist destination. Thanks a lot, Internet.
I am hardly a world-weary, tattered emigre longing for a taste of her homeland, all though anyone who's ever watched 5 seconds of Fox News could hardly roll their eyes if I fronted as some sort of one-star political dissident.
Still, to know I can settle into a tiny place that can do justice to a Caesar salad, serve up a proper Bloody Mary from scratch (or a "Slutty Mary" which comes adorned with a raw oyster on the half-shell), and not fuck up the eggs Benedict, reassures me in an oddly restorative way I can always get a taste of "home" without ever having to leave it. And if I want to sit for a few minutes with a far-away look in my eye, I can do that too. Although the only thing I'll probably be longing for is the carrot cake.
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