Spicing things up



Indonesian Restaurant X, Amsterdam.

We're wandering aimlessly through the cobbled streets and chasing lights that shimmer in the dark waters.  I left the others in Njimegan and travelled up/down/across? to Amsterdam where I was met by Freckles. As she slips her ever cold hands (bad circulation she tells me) into the pocket of my mac, our unknowing feet guide us to the Red Light District. She implores me with wide eyes to go and watch a show with her. I know that she doesn't really want to. She just likes the idea of it. How about we go for an Indonesian? We're both more turned on by this.

    With nowhere in particular that I want to try, we both agree to head away from the ostensibly iridescent glow of the artificial lights. Not away from the hookers you understand me, but from the overtly touristy 'Argentinian Steak Houses' and 'Indonesian by Numbers.' Eventually we find an intimate place bathed in blue light off Leidseplein. As we enter the maître d’ addresses us in Dutch. This immediately pleases me for it suggests it not to be a tourist hot-spot and also means we can superficially pass as natives. I say 'Hello, table for two please' and the illusion is broken.

    I am genuinely intrigued by the role of Indonesian cuisine within Dutch culture. From the beginning of the 16th century Europeans have sought to dominate the Spice trade at it's helm, with the Portuguese, British and the Dutch all vying for the colonisation of the Maluku or 'Spice Islands.' Now I certainly don't mean to trivialise any of this history, but that spices such as Nutmeg and Mace had such a magnetic power certainly endears me towards the idea of Indonesian Cuisine.

    We order the classic  'rijsttafel' or rice table, which is an adaptation of the Nasi Padang and is essentially a collection of side dishes which in theory skims the surface of the spectrum of Indonesian food. I always feel sorry for Freckles in such situations for she is tiny and really doesn't eat anywhere near what I do. Oh well.

    As we wait for the food to arrive and crassly play footsie under the table like foolish teenagers, I'm filled with optimism by the fact our young love is sound tracked by Indian music one minute and Chinese the next. I become genuinely excited (by the music and the footsie) for it suggests that the restaurant are prepared to embrace Indonesia's promiscuous culinary affair with its neighbours.

   The food is brought out and set on the table by the waiter(s). And some more...and a little more...that everything?

Sometimes, by complete chance, you hit the jackpot. This was one of those times. At every crossroads we made the right turn until eventually we were brought here. It was incredible. A properly prepared rijsttafel should hit you like a Monet. Each ingredient, each subtlety is to be enjoyed in relation to every other spiced brush stroke on the canvas. Every mouthful is like a step away from the gilded frame until eventually it just makes perfect sense.

    Amongst the star performers was the codfish cobek, which was coated in a sauce that managed to fuse countries effortlessly in an enduring love affair. The galangal and lemon grass hit me first, but was then immediately followed by just a hint of dill. In one mouthful you can trace the history of an incredible culinary mistress who has opened her legs to many lovers. It was the kind of dish that would inspire Said to fuck it all and write a sonnet.  

    You see, what made it work so well was the relative sparseness of the meat and fish dishes in comparison to the rice. They are used more as condiments designed to flavour the staple. When combined in such a way it gives you that feeling of waking up in the morning and not knowing what day it is. It's that split second when the unknown lurks over you. You know that you are warm and comfortable, but what's to follow? In one instance the mango-infused crackly crab from the salada asinan segar crept through and I realised that it was still the weekend and I was soon to be watching Super Sunday. It's a delicate balancing game, but it worked sublimely.

    The only slight criticism was the unnecessary inclusion of a hard boiled egg that just seemed to be floating in oil. What were we supposed to do with that? We're not going halfsies on an egg, that's not very Lady and the Tramp is it? To be fair though, that didn't detract anything from the meal, but it certainly didn't add anything either. On the whole (and Freckles agreed) we struck gold in the lottery that is 'walk and hope you find somewhere.'

D.