Eddie’s Food Grievances: That Food Abroad Is Tastier, But I Live Here
Adeline loves food, lots of it and often, both at home and out. Usually, that goes well, but sometimes it doesn’t. In the series Eddie’s Food Grievances she shares her observations. This week she is seriously fed up because food abroad is always tastier.
If my taste buds had their way, I wouldn’t live in the Netherlands anymore. Don’t get me wrong, because kale with sausage can sometimes genuinely be an eight out of ten, but I believe I was born in the wrong country food-wise. Kílo-kilo-kilometres too far north.
With my head in a bowl of Greek salad
I sometimes dr óóm of perfectly grilled aubergines, freshly picked oregano and those juicy, flavourful tomátoes drenched in olive oil. Signome, I was briefly lost in a bowl of Greek salad. The annoying thing is that I live in the Netherlands and simply don’t have the strength (or the talent) to cook like that every day. Even though I do want to eat like that every day.
Oh, that onion soup with cheese and croutons on that terrace in Paris.
Poorly prepared, dry satay
Abroad, you can still eat a divine dish at every battered taverna on any random street corner. Don’t try that here, because you’ll end up sobbing over poorly prepared, dry satay. There’s nothing wrong with properly prepared satay, by the way; the satay itself can’t help it. It’s about the love you put into the food. I dare say that we Dutch (with the occasional exception) simply aren’t as in love with food as all our southern neighbours.
Just head down to Belgium sometime; I’ve never seen a people so happy to meat-fondue. I didn’t even know meat-fondue could make you happy until I saw a group of Belgians fill the entire place with greasy smoke in the Ardennes. How happy they were. We simply aren’t that happy when we eat.
Damn, that velvety fava on Santorini.
You make time to eat together
In the Netherlands, we cram two sandwiches down during a 30-minute lunch break so that we can get back to work as quickly as possible. Talk about misplaced priorities. Try saying that to a Greek, French person, Spaniard or Italian. You make time to eat together. You cry out when something tastes divine, close your eyes and ask the chef to come to the table. Be honest, have you ever praised your sandwich like that? I’m telling you, we’re doing something wrong.
That baklava!
This summer I ended up on some southern island at a shabby restaurant. It was somewhat necessary, because when it’s over 30 degrees, you drink water non-stop and need to pee non-stop. With another boat trip ahead, I had to go. The restaurant was the kind of place I wouldn’t have let myself be dragged into back home even by ten overzealous touts. But here, you know it’s good when the locals have a well-worn spot at the bar. My better half ordered an iced coffee and baklava.
Mamma miaaa, that sticky honey on the crisp pastry of the baklava.
I’m starting today to fall in love with my food. Who knows, maybe it will taste a little more like it does in the south. And otherwise, I’ll move. Promise.
Read also:
- Eddie’s Food Grievances: an uppity waiter at the table
- Eddie’s Food Grievances: wet tea bags lying around everywhere
- Dishes that (star) chefs never put on the menu
