Real life: can we talk about the insanely small portions in restaurants?
Dear Amsterdam hospitality industry, we need to talk. Not about your cozy candles, your industrial-chic interior, or the fact that a glass of tap water is now presented as if it were a limited-edition gin and tonic. No. We need to talk about something much more serious. Something that literally and figuratively hits me in the heart (and the stomach). Your ridiculously small portions.
Marijntje comes with a cry for help after yet another meal out where the portions keep getting smaller and the prices keep getting higher. ‘Help, my plate has anorexia!’
What on earth happened to the portions?
‘I know we live in a city where people enthusiastically post an €18 “deconstructed avocado toast” on Instagram, but seriously… last weekend I got three gnocchi on a designer plate that, so to speak, had more surface area than my kitchen table. Three. They were lying there like lonely islands in an ocean of white ceramic. The waiter barely needed binoculars to point them out.
And the dish cost €22!
Burger and fries
But okay, I’m not a stingy sourpuss. I’m happy to give the hospitality industry some breathing room. Energy prices are rising, staff are expensive, margins are tight—I get it. But there has to be a limit. This isn’t food anymore; it’s a culinary suggestion. A hint of a meal. An edible teaser. The other day I had an “artisan mini-burger” with fries that cost me €14.50. The hamburger was so small that for a moment I thought it was an accessory for a Barbie picnic.
Extra hilarious/sad was that I deliberately didn’t order a basket of bread beforehand, because I thought it would be too much bread and I wouldn’t have room left for my main course. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when the waiter asked afterward whether I’d enjoyed it. I said, still fairly cheerfully, I thought: “What? Oh, was that it already?”
And of course, then comes the classic Amsterdam response: “Yes, but madam, it’s about quality, not quantity.”
A three-course meal served on a postage stamp?
In the old days—yes, I know, that’s such a terrible way to start a sentence—you’d still get a proper full plate at a casual restaurant for your guilders. Three generous chicken satay skewers with a thick dollop of sauce and half a baguette. A steak with pepper sauce, fries, and a salad. The holy trinity of the Dutch meal. These days you get a “reinterpretation of a bitterballen with beef espuma” that melts before you can even look at it. Meanwhile, you pay a price that my grandparents used to spend on groceries for an entire month. What’s next? A three-course meal served on a postage stamp? To share?!
So here goes, dear hospitality industry: I love you. Really. You are the soul of the city, the places where we celebrate, grieve, date, and drink. But I’m hungry too. Literally. I beg you: give me food again. Food with substance. Food that fills you up. Food that means I don’t have to buy a snack on the way home. Until then, I’ll bring my own sandwiches. Just to be on the safe side. In a linen bag, of course. I’ll stay hip.’
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Marijntje’s name has been changed for privacy reasons. Her real name is known to the editorial team. Would you also like to share a personal story (anonymously!)? You can email us at info@favorflav.com
