You won’t get closer to the hospitality industry than at this chicken stall
Adeline loves food, lots of it and often, both at home and elsewhere. Usually that goes well, but sometimes it doesn’t. In the series Sunday Roast, she shares her discoveries. This week she went to a chicken joint and wanted to stay there forever.
Did you see the gigantic queue of delivery drivers on 1 January? I too had a tasting menu delivered from the snack bar. Just a bit of everything, to share; it was pure snack schizophrenia. My order arrived forty-five minutes late, but it didn’t matter. The only important thing was that my enormous snack craving was satisfied. Until recently, I was a staunch supporter of team home delivery, because what’s the point of not cooking for yourself if you still have to get dressed and leave the house? I even had Turkish pizza from around the corner ring my doorbell for an extra two euros fifty, until now. In the place where I live, I discovered a takeaway where I would actually like to stay all evening.
To a chicken joint with my man
I was still sighing a little when my other half suggested getting a chicken from the chicken joint in front of that one fancy restaurant. I didn’t really feel like going outside, but I did fancy some chicken, so we went anyway. Food usually wins out with me. And what I found there came closest to the hospitality industry since 10 p.m. on 14 October. A display case full of chickens turning on the spit, containers of homemade pea soup to go, a sparerib bike (?) but above all: music (!), cheerful hospitality types and that feeling I hadn’t felt for so long.
Darling
The man behind the chicken stall reminded me of the friendly barman who always calls me darling and asks whether I might have fancied another beer. Meanwhile, the woman made sure everything kept running, while the man was often and easily distracted. Yes, it was bloody cold, she said, but my fries would be extra crispy in a minute. In the meantime, they had a ‘rackie’ brought over from the sparerib bike next door, and there was some casual banter and swaying along to Happy New Year. I stood there grinning broadly and shivering, hoping my fries would take hours to arrive.
There at the chicken stall
Maybe that feeling is what I miss most. Talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Swaying along a little without actually having to dance. Someone calling me darling and me not finding it annoying. Shredding my beer mat while suddenly having a good conversation with a stranger. The man behind the bar telling me about the recipe for the chickens from back when he went on holiday to Spain. An order being called out to the kitchen, followed by a not-quite-irritated shout of confirmation.
I would have loved to stand there by that chicken stall all evening, soaking up this feeling that came so close to the hospitality industry (I would have taken the grill smell for granted). The only problem was that they closed at seven and it was genuinely cold. But I could see in their eyes that they understood me. I went home with a divine chicken and a tiny shot of the hospitality industry.
PS. In the mood for a chicken and a shot of the hospitality industry? Kippentent het wapen van Amsterdam is where you need to be. Thank me later!
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