Let's get brunching.
It's about time we started going out for brunch more. But where's good? And does Stacks stack up?
The question I get asked most in my DMs?
“Where should I go for brunch?”
Where should you go for brunch? That’s a good question. It’s not one with an immediate answer. If you were to ask a local for recommendations in Sydney, they’d be able to reel off a ten-location list with a sub-list of which dishes in each place are worth your time.
In Amsterdam, I wouldn’t even be able to provide you with a five-location list. The scene here is strangely un-brunchy. Perhaps it’s the pesky residue of Calvinist belief that only a limited number of souls are granted eternal salvation while the rest of us are damned to burn in hell. Work hard, be frugal, repent – that mindset doesn’t exactly lend itself to leisurely catch-ups over poached eggs, papers and coffee.
I’m determined not to let my DMers down. So, I’m checking out three brunches, one obvious, two perhaps not. Hopefully you’ll go check them out too. It’s time to bring about a brunch revolution. Be the change you want to see in the world, and all that.
I have a sneaky suspicion that we’ll begin to see more brunch options crop up. As the food scene here blossoms, breakfast is ripe for bougie-fying.
FLOW Brunch
Newly opened FLOW is on Eerste Jacob van Campenstraat, or what I’d call Brunch Street, with Locals right next door and Bakers and Roasters across the road. That’s a serious jostle of spots.
FLOW, the website informs me, “is curated to align with the contemporary, design-conscious lifestyle” of its visitors, but also does so with a typo. Awks. As a contemporary, design-conscious visitor, I immediately notice the harsh overhead lighting, which feels like an assault on relaxation. I can only conclude this is on purpose, that this brunch spot wants you to be VERY AWAKE when eating here. That or someone mislaid the dimmer switch.
The menu is a little restricted but does feature some brunch classics like Eggs Benny. This is what I go for. It comes with turkey bacon. It’s fine but it’s no pig. If this is a conscious decision, there’s no explanation for it. I’ve tried, hard, to think of a reason why you’d go for turkey over pig. If it’s for health concerns then, oops, the gallon of butter in the hollandaise sauce went under the radar.
FLOW is a good brunch. My egg yolks voluptuously erupt when I skewer them with a knife. It’s undeniably cinematic. The sourdough is thick as a plank and toasted perfectly, no risk of shattered tooth. But my side of avocado came fridge-cold and unseasoned. It tasted like Pollyfilla. That said, my coffee was more complex than an advanced maths exam. What a lovely thing, reminding me of berries and chocolate, but also the promise of morning.
FLOW isn’t a bad brunch spot at all – it simply needs an edit. Someone to question every single decision and, hopefully, locate the dimmer switch.
Belly Pepper
Behind a riot of (probably unnecessary) roadworks on De Clercqstraat is Belly Pepper, a Turkish brunch spot that serves sucuk, borek and, my favourite, çılbır, a plunge pool dish of poached eggs and yoghurt.
Turkish brunches are slap up: they’re high in fat, bellowing with flavour. They’re not like full English breakfasts where every ingredient stands politely apart. No, Turkish brunches ooze and bleed and swirl. Their destiny is to become one glorious mess.
I could go for anything, but I go for the çılbır, which comes doused with bright orange oil. Two perfectly poached eggs – and I mean perfectly – sit on a bed of rich yoghurt. On top, a heap of crumbly, crisp mince. As I plunge my simit bread into the yolks, the wetnesses begins to mix like paint on a palette. It could be an Edvard Munch painting.
I also have two cups of Turkish tea, which come served in hourglass cups. This is after a coffee, mind you. On the walk home, my bladder swells to the size of Uganda.
Belly Pepper is a good spot: small enough to feel cosy, like somewhere only a local would know. It has its own vibe, a little mid-century with its minutely organised modular shelving, Persian rug on the floor and rag tag selection of back-in-fashion chairs. I’ll be coming here again and so should you.
Stacks
Ask anyone where to go for brunch and they’ll say Stacks, the American-style diner. For all its 1950s, interstate diner decor – leather stools, checkered floor, clunky salt shakers – it doesn’t feel like a period piece. The balance is just right, offering nostalgia without service in roller skates. Mercifully, there’s no juke box.
The Big Stack – a plate of eggs, sausage or bacon, biscuit or toast and choice of potatoes with a pancake side, yes, really – is simply exceptional. Emphasis on simply: this is a dish composed of American classics squished and seared on a proper flat top grill. My hash brown is cataclysmically crunchy, biting into it is louder than an asteroid hitting Earth. My biscuit is made with a baker’s touch, someone knew not to overwork the dough. I order an extra of sausage gravy, which brings the whole thing together despite looking like sick.
I’m salivating thinking about it. Stacks, if you’re reading this, I want you to know I love you. And I haven’t even got to the pancake yet! It arrives with a little half-sun of butter and a bucket of maple syrup. My god, the Dutch know their pancakes, even American ones. You won’t find a better example of a mattress-sized, fluffy pancake this side of the pond.
If my breakfast sounds like a grotesque amount of refined carbohydrates… then literally why do you subscribe to this newsletter? But also don’t worry! It doesn’t leave me comatose. I exit Stacks filled with Midwestern might, ready to keep on trucking (cycle my dinky eco-bike home).
OK BYE!
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Never tried any of those spots, but will have to next time! Some of my faves were Staring at Jacob, Box Sociaal (the Shakshukah is divine), little Collins and Wasserette also highly commendable.
Love this. That çılbır is making me want to fly to Amsterdam!