Christmas 2012

After a few days of gluttony, we're embracing a pared down diet over here. Christmas was, as always, a family affair that rotated around the dinner table. Christmas seemed to sneak up on us this year, and I felt woefully unprepared. Most of the presents were bought a few days before they had to be given out, and we didn't do our meal planning until just before my parents arrived. I choose to blame this on a combination of celebrating Sinterklaas and being busy with things that interest me more than decorating a tree: finishing a free-lance project, reading Slate, getting outside for the few minutes a day that it isn't raining, keeping a toddler from careening to certain injury from the top of the sofa.  I'm not a Christmas fanatic, and I am often very glad to live far away from months-long Christmas displays in Target and the custom of putting up the tree on Thanksgiving evening.

What I totally got behind this year was our Second Christmas (December 26) dinner. We usually celebrate with my parents, who are staying with us, and a few close friends. In the past I've viewed it as a chore, since one of our friends doesn't like seafood and the other doesn't like cheese.  Because I tend to shy away from preparing meat, mostly because I am lazy, I've had a difficult time coming up with menus that suit everyone.  This generally leaves me a nervous wreck.  I also prefer to make fun desserts, although the crowd of meat eaters at our table gets less excited about my efforts than I generally do.

This year, we did it differently.  I nixed the dessert and bought some nice bonbons (insert frowny face for no Holiday baking), and Niek declared we would be roasting pork belly.  Pork belly?  Where are we going to get a 6 lb. pork belly? It turns out that there is an amazing butcher about five minutes from our house.  I must have walked past that place hundreds of times thinking it was nothing special.  His display case holds mostly potato salads and a few chickens.  Given the modern Dutch penchant for heat-and-serve meals, I wrongly assumed he would not have pork belly.  When we walked over there on the Saturday before Christmas, the place was packed.  Niek asked the lady behind the counter about our cut of meat, and I heard her shout into the back, "Do we still have pork belly today?"  The butcher came out and asked how much we needed.  Next thing I knew, he was hoisting almost half a hog onto a back counter and grabbing a sharp knife. Honestly, it's been years since I've been to a real butcher  shop, and I've never ordered such a large cut of meat.  Even though it was a really simple cut, it was pretty awesome watching him work.  We were so excited about our purchase, and we couldn't stop talking about having an actual butcher in our neighborhood. I'm kicking myself for not going in before now.  I think that experience is what got me excited for making the meal and entertaining friends.

Niek did most of the cooking, although I stepped in as sous-chef/baby wrangler throughout the afternoon. Here's Niek getting ready to prep the huge chunk of meat we bought:

The roasting pan we borrowed from my in-laws barely fit in our oven.  Seriously, we had about 1/8" on either side.  We were so terrified it wouldn't fit.  The recipe we used called for cooking the meat at a high temperature (250 degrees Celsius=482 degrees Fahrenheit) for the first hour in order to create a crispy skin.  It certainly worked, but it also created a smokehouse in our living room. Our oven is so small that the meat came closer to the oven's heating elements than we would have preferred. We had expected a bit of smoking but not to the degree we had. All our windows stayed open for about an hour.  It was either get a little cold or feel like we were living in a campfire.  

I'm so proud of Niek's cooking abilities.  The meat was delicious, says the woman who has no great love for pork.  It was, however, a really fatty cut and not one that I would want to eat weekly.  For Christmas, though, it hit the spot.  I was sad to see the evening end.  This is really the first time I felt like I truly embraced the fun of a second Christmas.  The 25th was all about my father-in-law's amazing meal--and it certainly was amazing--but the 26th was our chance to relax and have fun in our kitchen. I suppose we'll have to get more adventurous next year, since we now know where to buy our meat.

Even the toddler had a good time.  Did you know giant spoons are more interesting than food?

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Winter Blahs...

Last night I read a post on a blog about a woman who sits under a light therapy lamp at least once a day all winter long, and I got a little jealous of her miracle lamp.  This morning it wasn't truly light outside until almost 9:00 a.m., and as I ran through the streets of Amsterdam in darkness watching kids and their parents heading to school with their bike lamps on, all I could think about was this feeling of winter blah.  It hit me early this year.  Usually I don't get this way until mid-January, and by that time there are only a few weeks left of nasty darkness before the days become exceptionally longer.  Not sure what it is about this year, but we haven't even reached the shortest day yet.  I'm almost there, almost there.

The terrible news about the school shooting has not helped much and has left me quite weepy in the evenings as I listen to NPR's Morning Edition while cooking dinner.  Technology has made it so that I can feel connected to American current events and culture even when I would rather bury my head in the sand. 

I've been surprisingly good at keeping the winter food blahs at bay.  It's mostly due to my love of Ottolenghi's vegetarian cookbook.  I would shower the world (or at least all of my friends and acquaintances) with his books if I could.  I know that I need to broaden my horizons and add a few more cookbooks into the rotation--forlorn Tessa Kiros books on my shelf, I'm thinking of you you--but I can't get enough of his warm and hearty meals.  Maybe it's because he lives in London and knows a thing or two about the cold days when the damp seeps in.

I need to go make some soup and stare at my Christmas tree for a few minutes before I head outside and soak up the few hours of overcast sun that we still have today.  Only a few more days until the sun starts staying up longer.  

Sinterklaas 2012

Het Sint Nicolasfeest, Jan Steen.  Image via Kunst en Cultuur

I was almost certain that I had written something about Sinterklaas before (Feast of St. Nicholas), but glancing through my archives I noticed that there wasn't a post dedicated to it, and I don't have a label for it.  How could I have gone so long and remained silent on the subject?  The Dutch celebrate Sinterklaas on December 5 (Feast of St. Nicholas Eve).  Sinterklaas comes on his white horse with his helper, Zwarte Piet, to deliver gifts to the deserving children of the Low Countries.  Yes, I have a problem with the blatant, racist overtones of the black helper to the white saint, although very few people here seem to be troubled by it.  If you want to know more about that from an expat's perspective, you can read the Jessica Olien's Slate article from last December.

As a fairly integrated foreigner, I try to roll with the differences in culture without succumbing to or becoming an apologist for the aspects I find less than acceptable.  I like to think I do the same with American culture, too, although it is tougher when you're on the inside trying to observe your own sense of identity with a critical eye.  I told Niek that we could celebrate Sinterklaas with Johanna if he wanted to, but that I would draw the line at letting her wear a Zwarte Piet costume or ever, ever, ever wearing blackface.  Seriously, that is just not going to happen.  I'll happily explain to her when she's old enough to understand why it isn't acceptable.

I think we would have let Sinterklaas pass this year without any sort of celebration if we hadn't been invited to a party at our friends' house.  It was a pretty serious affair replete with a visit from Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet themselves.  My friend's brother-in-law filled the role of Sinterklaas and her brother happily dressed up to play the part of Zwarte Piet.

Never have I seen children so excited and terrified all at once.  I suppose it's the same mixed bag of reactions you would see at a mall while kids wait to sit on Santa's lap.  Just like Santa, he knows whether you've been good or bad, and also just like Santa, he brings you gifts.  Instead of elves to do his bidding and manual labor, though, he's got an army of Zwarte Piets to carry his bags, pass out the gifts, and throw (literally throw, as in chucking with full force) handfuls of little cookies and candies to the waiting throngs of children.  The last part is what Johanna liked best as she scrambled around the living room picking up the cookies and popping them in her mouth before I could stop her.  Sitting on a  stranger's lap...yeah, she did not allow that to happen.

Here's a pic of Piet getting ready to throw the pepernoten (the hard, spice cookies) to the crowd.

I really am not sure what Johanna thought of the whole operation.  This was taken a few moments before her name got called.  When Niek brought her closer, she just started wailing.  Right there with you, kid.  I didn't want to sit on the Sint's lap either, even though I had to.

Here's Niek showing me how it's done.  Good times.  All the adults got the traditional chocolate letters. My "D" was pretty delicious.

Honestly, this is my favorite pictures from the entire day.  Sinterklaas, at its heart, is a child-centered holiday, and every parent wants to capture the memories of childhood.  With the explosion in popularity of the smartphone has come the instantaneous record keeping of daily life done en masse.

That was our first Sinterklaas celebration as a family.  I still don't know how to broach the subject of Zwarte Piet with the Dutch.  For the most part I just look at all the Piet decorations and the Piet costumes with a mixture of awe and irritation.  However, I love seeing how excited all the kids get about Sinterklass visiting and their anticipation for the likely gifts they'll receive. The kids were so cute and really bought into the theatrical display of their beloved Sint.  I'll have to see how Johanna reacts next year when a towering man in a miter tries to lure her onto his lap with candy and presents.

Thanksgiving 2012

**I wrote this post a week ago with the intention of adding the pictures later in the day.  Unfortunately my computer had other plans.  No pictures for now, but I'd better put the post up about Thanksgiving before we get too deep into December.  Besides, I have a Sinterklaas party to blog about.  Let's all hope I can post pictures for that one.**

Oh, yes, it was that time of year again already.  As always, there was no way to celebrate the holiday on Thursday.  This always depresses me a little bit, and I think even more so now that Facebook and Instagram light up with a million posts wishing everyone a Happy Thanksgiving.  My mood was also not helped when I stopped in for coffee in my regular café and ended up talking to a Notre Dame fan.  The man was obviously American and had a Notre Dame jacket on, so I asked him if he was from Indiana--just to be nice.  He was, in fact, but had about three words to say to say to me after learning that I was not from South Bend and not a Notre Dame fan.  Ugh, that man only served to reinforce my stereotypes about Fighting Irish fans.

The rest of the day was fine and busy with prep work.  A quick call to my father-in-law that night confirmed that the bird had arrived and was big enough for our group of ten.  The only questions in my mind were weather the roasting pan was big enough and if I could just squeak it into the oven.  My father-in-law assured me that everything would fit with room to spare.  He was half right; it all fit, but I had to take out my oven thermometer to get it to fit.

I took Martha Stewart's advice this year and did as much prep work before the actual day arrived.  She was right, I was less stressed on Saturday, but it didn't dissipate my stress, it merely redistributed it.  At least I had help in the kitchen on Friday: two babies (mine and my friend's) and a good friend doing all peeling and chopping that I hate to do.

And for the first time, I felt very good about the bird.  I resisted the urge to take it out early since I, yet again, failed to insert the instant-read thermometer correctly and got a skewed reading of the internal temperature.  Fifteen-pound turkeys don't cook in two hours, they just don't, so I turned off the temperature alarm and kept my eyes on the clock.  All in all, a great success.  I miss my family and friends and get a little homesick, but this year really felt like a Thanksgiving day.  Maybe it was the mass chaos caused by the kids, or maybe it's because I feel more at home here now.  What's really helped make it feel like Thanksgiving are the massive amounts of leftovers we have in our fridge.  I think I may have one more turkey sandwich left in me, and after our turkey soup tomorrow-oh God, there is enough soup for Thursday's dinner--I'll be ready for a break until next November.

Running with a baby in Amsterdam

I'm used to seeing all sorts of strange, wheeled conveyances here.  I passed a mattress store the other day and saw a special double bike with a trailer bed attached to it for deliveries.  You know, it didn't phase me at all.  It must mean that I've been here long enough not to be surprised by these sorts of things.

photo from www.debeterewereld.nl

Years ago during my first visit to the Netherlands, I ran past a woman on a bicycle and did a double take just to confirm that I actually saw her transporting a newborn baby in a car seat on the back of her bike.  All the safety issues popped into my head, and I wondered if it would even be legal to bike with your baby that way in America.  What about the helmet laws?

photo from trotsemoeders.nl

There must be twenty (or even more) different ways people transport their kids on bikes here.  If You have to get from A to B, and if it's too far to walk, you have to find a way on your bike.

Two kids?  No problem.  photo from fietsfabriek.nl

Two kids?  Kids and a dog and groceries?  Sure.  photo from fietsfabriek.nl

I have even embraced--more than embraced, I absolutely love it--bicycle transport with a baby and cycle all over the city with Johanna in a seat on the front of my bike.  All of this is to say that nobody really pays attention to the way kids or goods get transported.  

What, then, is with all the stares I get when I go out with the running stroller?  I have the B.O.B. Ironman.  We brought it back as checked luggage when I was 35 weeks pregnant.  I would have gladly ordered one here, but I couldn't find a retailer.  Running stroller choices here are almost nonexistent.  As comfortable as the Dutch are throwing their kids in a wooden box on the front of their bike, they are not fans of putting their kids in a running stroller.  However, I've seen people jogging with babies in regular strollers, a sight that makes me cringe as I envision those tiny wheels not being able to handle a turn and then tipping the stroller over.

Honestly, I thought it was all in my head that people were staring at us.  But, no, people really do look at us with an expression of confusion or bewilderment...and point.  The pointing is the weirdest, as if to say, "Hey, look at that weirdo mom running with her baby."  Maybe it's because I wear a lot of spandexy type pants?  It's cold, I wear running tights.  Running strollers are incredibly popular in the States (I have been led to believe) and maybe even in other parts of Europe.  Why not here?  I'm still trying to figure it out, but my guess is that it is a combination of limited space and cost.  If you've already invested a lot in an everyday stroller--let me tell you, lots of Amsterdammers own rather expensive, durable strollers--are you prepared to drop even more into a stroller you can only use for running?  For suburban, American families with a garage, a running stoller is no big deal.  I do wonder if running strollers are popular in the U.S. for urban runners.  Our BOB claims some prime real estate in our hallway and does not fit into our tiny car.  If I ever meet any other running moms here, I'll have to ask them how they do it and where they stash their kid during a run.  My guess is that they leave the kids at home with grandma.  I should ask my mother-in-law to retire or just get used to the pointing.

Hiatus over?

Honestly, it's just really time for the blog hiatus to be over.  I think I would feel better if I just got back into some form of writing at least once a week.  Are you allowed to come back to a blog after a six-month break?  Would it help if I said that I have been suuuuper busy, even if that has not always been true?

Here is the long and the short of it, which explains why I didn't write a word for so long.  I quit grad school and didn't want to talk about it any more than I already had.  I was then an unemployed, grad school drop-out and feeling kind of crappy about the whole thing even though I was so much happier than when I was in I-don't-want-to-write-my-dissertation-hell, and I didn't really want to discuss it on the interwebs.  I was suffering from some chronic injuries leaving me unable to run or exercise at all, making me sad and feeling gross, which I absolutely did not want to talk about.  All this blahness didn't really put me in the mood to cook creatively or make witty observations about life abroad, which is kind of a problem when those were the mainstays of the blog.

At the start of fall everything finally started coming together, it would seem almost effortlessly, but that would be a lie; there was a lot of effort involved. Still, it was amazing to see all the pieces falling into place.  I have a tentative job offer that I am truly excited about.  (Hello, full-time employment, I'm so excited to be reacquainted with you!)  My injuries, although still present and accounted for, are settling down and giving me a few good, albeit short--so horribly short--runs every week.  And, obviously, fall cooking is in full swing.  My favorite time of year to cook has come once again.  It's a good thing my toddler girl likes roasted vegetables is all I'm saying on the subject right now.

Anyway, time to get back to a bit of cooking and a bit of blogging.

Things I love about the Netherlands...

Fava beans are just a regular veggie that you can find in the frozen food section of any supermarket.
Name in Dutch: tuinboontjes (little garden beans).  I've seen them fresh at the grocer, but I was in a hurry today.

It's gloriously warm, and I feel like salads for dinner almost every night.  This one I thought would be easy, and for the most part it was, until I realized I would need to shell each individual bean.  As I stood in my kitchen for twenty minutes spitting flat beans out of their waxy coating while simultaneously trying to entertain a teething baby, I completely understood why some people prefer to eat fast food every night.  Enough with this whole foods movement, let's go get some french fries.

But then it all just came together: the lemon slices, the crisp radish bits, the creamy avocado, and yes, those hearty fava beans.  Even the baby seemed to appreciate the effort, diving into the salad with gusto.  I felt so happy.  Thanks, Amsterdam, for making my dinner enjoyable tonight.

Dutch Barbeque

A friend of ours called this week to invite us over for barbeque.  You never know how long the summer is going to last here.  If it's warm, you'd better get your white beers on the patio in while you can, because the rainy, fall weather could start before you know it.  We don't have a yard, and I'm not dedicated enough to the art of grilling to lug supplies to a nearby park.  I'm so lucky that one of our friends lives to grill in the summertime and also that he has a backyard to unwind in.

Barbeques are meat-heavy affairs here.  Not that they aren't in the U.S., but you're pretty much out of luck here if you're a vegetarian.  At least in the U.S. you stand a chance of finding some potato salad or maybe even some vegetable kebabs.  At a Dutch barbeque I have been offered hamburgers (which are more like sausage patties), chicken kebabs, bratwurst, and pork chops.  Get ready for animal protein overload.  It's all delicious, but it's not something I can handle more than a few times a year.  I suppose that's why I find it such a treat; it feels so decadent and slightly irresponsible of me to eat such a protein-dense meal.

Someone is not a fan of her new sunglasses.

While the meat may take center stage, it would really be nothing without the important lineup of condiments.  Forget your standard ketchup and mustard (although those were on the table, too).  It was time to get crazy with garlic cream sauce and satay.  Everything gets dipped in the sauces, absolutely everything.  I'm not joking, you dip every bite in a sauce.

Dear God, whatever you do, don't forget to serve bread.

I realized once we got Johanna to sleep that this was the first evening we've been out with friends past eight o' clock since our baby was born.  Does that make me boring or responsible?  I do love that we still had the requisite cup of coffee/tea after dinner and that it was served with stroopwafels and gevulde koek (cookies filled with almond paste).

Probably one of my favorite moments of the night: our friend's dad starting the fire in the outdoor stove with a blowtorch.

Brings new meaning to the slogan,"be prepared," doesn't it?

No, we were not cold.

What an amazing start to our three-day weekend.  It's Pentecost here tomorrow, which means we have Monday free for Second Pentecost Day.  Hope the sun is shining wherever you are.

RIP, my dear converter

When you decide to move to another country and you also decide to ship all of your kitchen appliances to the aforementioned new country, there is absolutely one essential piece of equipment that you must purchase: a converter.  I'm not talking about those little, adapter thingies you buy at Target before going on a trip.  You can slap those on your cell phone charger and gleefully plug it in willy nilly all over Europe.  When I studied abroad in Germany, I thought an adapter was all I needed to get my hairdryer to work.  Guess who may have started a small fire and ruined a nice hairdryer?

For appliances like my Kitchen-Aid and my Cuisinart, I've relied heavily on a converter.  The thing weighs about as much as I do and takes up some prime real estate on my kitchen counter.  It has done its job well, so I don't complain much when I have to lift it to clean (which I do just about never).  Unfortunately, it's been  quite sick these last few months, and I'm afraid that it's finally given up.  It's bought the farm and is probably frolicking through the open spaces of transformer heaven, relieved to no longer work long hours as the Crock-Pot hums or to convert all that energy while the mixer paddles swirl around.

So long, my invaluable sidekick.  *sigh*  Time to get a new one.

Seriously, I have a lentil addiction

We've been looking for different types of protein to feed Johanna lately.  I seem to have handled daily life pretty well with minimal protein, but those nurses at the doctor's office really like to scare new parents into thinking that their children are all horribly malnourished.  I was told last week that she's old enough for meat and was handed a list of acceptable foods.  Since we're not huge meat eaters--and I don't want my child to wast away to an anemic nothingness--we've gone a little crazy with the legumes.  Yes, it absolutely has something to do with Yotam Ottolenghi, but I really think it's because the "legume" aisle at the Moroccan grocers just looks so beautiful.  I want to take every variety of lentil home and put them in gorgeous jars on a shelf (note to self: buy gorgeous, glass cannisters...and a shelf).

As a huge departure from the typical Dutch bread party that lunch tends to be, here is a lunch around these parts recently.  Red lentil and cheese wedges with veggie and fruit slices.

I even made hummus this week, because I happened to have dried chickpeas laying around.  The chickpeas were left over from my disastrous attempt to make falafel a few weeks ago (seriously, what is up with our middle eastern cuisine kick?).  I'm not sure I'm cut out for frying food.  Every time I'm supposed to cook something in a large vat of oil, it ends in disaster.  So glad the hummus only required the food processor.