Positives & darlings
Lotje Deelman was editor-in-chief of ELLE Eten, has been working for Allerhande for almost 15 years and worked behind the scenes on television programmes such as MasterChef, Worsten van Babel On Tour and De Nieuwe Lekkerbek. She ate pig’s trotter with Anthony Bourdain and flirted with Gordon Ramsay in his Aston Martin. Lotje is the (co-)author of more than ten cookbooks and, in her kitchen in the Drenthe countryside, is never too scared to set something on fire. On FavorFlav, Lotje shares what occupies her mind every week. This time: boundless positivity.
When I’m feeling a bit down, I think of the rail attendant. I have great admiration for the rail attendant, who moves through the aisle of the moving train like some kind of cross between an injured beach crab and an awkward camel. The rail attendant masters the art of putting patience, understanding and hope into a single word like no one else. When the rail attendant says ‘coffee?’ or ‘good morning’, it always sounds unconditionally kind. And positive.
A little bit angry
The rail attendant is my example of how to remain positive under all circumstances. If you want to. Cheerfully pouring not-so-good coffee from some kind of contraption on your back at a time when everything is moving at lightning speed and is digital, surrounded by people who are all rushed, tired and, for some reason, always a little bit angry. When I recently asked the rail attendant on a grey, rainy day on the train between Almere and Lelystad how he managed to stay so cheerful, the rail attendant replied in surprise: ‘I really do come everywhere, ma’am!’. Touché. You can’t argue with that.
Now that I’m talking about it: another example of boundless positivity and hope for a better world, to me, is Robèrt van Beckhoven’s theatre tour. Don’t get me wrong. I’m certainly not saying you should go. I didn’t. But just the knowledge that it exists: halls full of people all over the country, from Assen to Maastricht, who have put on something nice and are watching and listening to Robèrt.
Just a little more minced meat
Robèrt is a baker, you know. Not a politician, not a guru, not a stand-up comedian. A baker. A baker who says things like: ‘These are the most beautiful pistachios in the world, people’ and ‘fifty to forty, just a little more minced meat.’ Call me crazy, but I find that simply very reassuring. And kind. That it exists.
Tracksuit bottoms
I’m actually glad it was sold out when I tried to order tickets, in a kind of fit of positivity. Heroes should remain heroes. You have to hold on to your illusions about heroes, because if they turn out to be less fun or clever or inspiring than you thought, they’re immediately of no use to you anymore. Believe me, that has happened to me more than once: having to get rid of a hero. Ferran Adrià, for example. He was wearing a shabby old pair of tracksuit bottoms when I interviewed him. Nigella flirted with my husband (a true story, seriously) and Anthony Bourdain wasn’t actually very nice in real life. Or even remotely sexy. Sorry. Shit. I’m definitely not going to make any friends with this.
So whenever I’m once again on the verge of making an intern cry, tell an Uber driver that there really is a shorter route, and feel a great deal of irritation rising at the waitress who insists, come hell or high water, that fresh orange juice and organic orange juice are the same thing, I think of the rail attendant. And of Robèrt van Beckhoven.
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