Indonesia, via the Netherlands.

For me, a journey of discovery. Also: let's have a cappuccino freddo, my favourite olive oil and fries worthy of a prize.

When we found out we were moving to Amsterdam back in November, one of the first things I said to my husband was: I want to eat lots of Indonesian food.

That’s because, generally speaking, you don’t see a lot of Indonesian restaurants in the UK. And that’s because Indonesia was one of the few places that wasn’t subjected to British colonial rule (except it was, briefly, from 1811-1815). But the Netherlands did colonise Indonesia, and for quite some time.

It’s a familiar story: European power ‘discovers’ far-flung land and its potential for exploitation, resulting in centuries of violent oppression, until eventual post-World War II independence. The Netherlands is filled with Indonesian eateries as a result, in the same way Britain is filled with Indian restaurants.

My first step was to get cooking. I bought Lara Lee’s Coconut & Sambol. My thoughts were: this tastes damn good. Lemongrass and tamarind, coconut and chilli. Ripeness of colour, freshness of heat.

The beef rendang recipe changed my life. It was a completely new way of cooking: I’d been taught to never let your coconut milk split. But in Lee’s recipe, the coconut milk is boiled for so long that the fat separates from the milk, caramelising the chunks of beef, submerging the dish in a reflective pool of oil. Another life-changer: telur bumbu merah, which are soft-boiled eggs, deep-fried and rolled in a molten-red mix of chillies, spices and soy. My god, SO good.

Next, I asked my Instagram followers for restaurant recommendations and made my way through them. Sampurna was tasty but touristy, and left me feeling a little greasy in the pores. Blauw was super fresh but lacked heat… it was nice but inconsequential, like a 21°C day in the height of summer. I had high hopes for Warnu Baru (the sister restaurant of Amoi, which I’ve still not been to) but the dishes were stingy (read: binocular-necessitating). A good meal was Tujuh Maret, but we ate there on our very first night in Amsterdam (as I said, I was excited about all this) and my memories might be overly positive because of that.

Overall, the best Indonesian food I’ve had was not at a restaurant, but from a takeout deli: Proper Indo Food on Vijzelgracht. It’s knocked my socks off twice. Quite a few people seem to agree with me. Do you?

But Proper Info Food aside, none of these places have been a slam-dunk. And I think that’s down to the rijsttafel. For the Brits reading this: rijsttafel translates to ‘rice table.' It’s a collection of dishes from across Indonesia, from curries to satay to those aforementioned eggs (my god, SO good). It’s also a Dutch bringing together of Indonesian cuisine, a ‘best of.’ I’m not sure how I feel about it. Imagine a British ‘beige table,’ filled with fish and chips, haggis, Welsh rarebit, pork pies, roast beef, toad in the hole… all served at once. Okay, maybe that sounds a little alluring. But you get the point.

Having eaten quite a few rijsttafels now, I don’t like their freneticism or how they make you feel after… it’s a huge amount of ingredients to digest. I usually stumble away, belly like a tombola. But more than this, their concept is hard for me to grasp: Indonesia is wider than the USA and compressing its cuisine into two-dozen boat-shaped dishes seems a little icky.

That’s not to say hybrid food cultures are intrinsically bad. British-Indian cuisine is not Indian-Indian cuisine. Anyone saying so needs to do their homework. Instead, it’s become its own thing, ranging from Michelin-star level to Sunday night takeout extravaganza.

I think the same is true of Indonesian-Dutch food. For better or worse, the complicated bond between these two countries has produced its own culinary child. So I won’t raise the red card of inauthenticity too high. But I’m still looking for star examples and I still don’t like rijsttafels, sorry.

Perhaps my journey has stalled for now, until I take that flight to Jakarta. Husband, if you’re reading this…

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The cappuccino freddo, queen of iced coffees

I LOVE a cappuccino freddo. If you haven’t had one before, it’s a Greek iced coffee. A holiday staple. A true the-beach-is-a-minute-away treat.

It’s not really a cappuccino: more like tar-coloured espresso in a rattle of ice cubes with a thick layer of steamed milk on top. Two colours, which you mix into Saturn-clouds using a very thin straw. And the straw has to be a very thin. It’s part of the freddo’s charm.

I think it’s perfect. The hard suck, the sound of the ice, the bitter mingling with the sweet. We’ve only got a few weeks left of summer (HA!) so go get one. That’s an order.

The best and so far only place I’ve found to enjoy a freddo in Amsterdam is IKARIA on Bilderdijkstraat. That said, unfortu, their straws aren’t thin enough.

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Liquid gold

Now, I love olive oil. I could drink it with a spoon. In fact, I do.

My favourite brand is Honest Toil, who are a small-scale producer in Kyparissia, Greece. They’re hands-on and collectivist and they care about oil in the same way I care about nice sentences. It’s the pursuit of an ideal. Which is time well spent.

Anyway, this oil is raw. Think olive juice, thick and bitty and a ridiculous colour of green. When I eat it (drink it with a spoon), I feel a million times healthier. People can be split into two groups: those that see olive oil as a fat, and those that see it as a life-elongating, liquid kind of gold that needs to be cherished, can-in-hand. Guess which group I belong to. Go on.

You can buy it in Amsterdam at Levain et Le Vin, which is a great bakery. In fact, it has all sorts of wonderful groceries that make me feel like a successful adult when I buy them.

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Recent Eat

Best fries in ‘Dam? Definitely not on De 9 Straatjes but actually from Gitane, which is a softly lit, small plate restaurant that happily unfolds onto the street. I’ve been a few times and I’ve never been disappointed (although it does embrace the ‘small’ of small plates a little too much, IMHO).

The fries, though. What a little dish of wonder. They must be triple-cooked. In some kind of animal fat. Each one is its own little world filled with flavour and texture and salt and oil. And the mayo, the mayo. Perfectly European in style. Truly, I loved it.

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OK BYE!

ps. What would you like to see more of on my Instagram? Bakeries? Restaurants (I am doing more of these soon!)? Travel tips? Lifestyle? Attempts at 10m diving? Let me know, I’m genuinely curious.