Zen

Lotje Deelman was the editor-in-chief of ELLE Eten, has been working for Allerhande for almost 15 years, and worked behind the scenes on television programs such as MasterChef, de 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 timid to set something on fire. On FavorFlav, Lotje shares what occupies her mind every week. This time: Lotje gains some clear insights in a nursing home.

“Vanilla custard? I don’t know that. I’ll have the yellow one, please; I love that.” The very elderly gentleman sitting next to me at the table speaks less frailly than he looks. Around his wrists are colored bands with numbers and letters on them. Not from festivals, but from hospital admissions. He has blue and purple spots and bandages and plasters from needles and IVs all over him, and a little comb in his breast pocket. He keeps checking whether it’s still there, that little comb. Every now and then, it seems as though he is going to choke on a sip of beef broth or a bite of fish finger, but he recovers valiantly after every coughing fit. “Delicious!” he constantly shouts, to no one in particular. Sometimes he turns to me: “Do you think it’s all so delicious too?”

Pulled jackfruit

I say yes, but I think no. From the bottom of my heart. I’m really not going to enjoy this. Do you know who I am, old bald gentleman with the little comb? I’m a culinary expert, a foodie, a trend watcher, a columnist, someone who eats pulled jackfruit and who never gets closer to a fish finger than, on a bad day, at Allerhande. I’m immediately ashamed of all those ugly elitist thoughts. That ancient gentleman is clearly enjoying every bite. And I’ve decided that I’m definitely not going to do that, enjoy myself. Pretty clever, Lotje…

Top prize

I’m dining out with my mother, who is also quite old, but fortunately wears fair-trade bracelets around her wrists from the world shop, and who likes that vanilla custard, though she finds it a little boring. We’re sitting next to each other (“then we have the same view”) in the restaurant of a care home. Residents, visitors of residents, local people (my mother) and people with little money eat here. The poorer you are, the less you pay. I pay the top price. Eight euros for 3 courses: soup, potatoes-vegetables-meat, dessert. Including a glass of wine.

Insight

My elderly table companion (not my mother, but that Zen master with the little comb) has given me some insight without knowing it. I’m going to enjoy my meal, just like everyone here. There is actual meat floating in the beef broth, and it’s deliciously salty on this warm day. The broad beans with the drumstick (isn’t that dangerous, or at least difficult to eat, such a bone, for those old folks?) are of course from the freezer—otherwise it would be impossible for the cook, naturally—but there are a great many of them and they’re cooked al dente. The custard comes in no fewer than 3 colors: strawberry (is that actually a color?) and yellow and vanilla (also a rather strange color, vanilla). And everything is simply delicious. Even the wine.

Cake

I say goodbye to my new friend, who is being driven to the evening service at the church, while already asking about the cake with the coffee later. Those old folks really do have something, you know. And because young people these days aren’t entirely right in the head, you naturally start finding old people more and more likable. Old people are tough cookies. They live (just like I do) from one meal to the next. They swear by potatoes-vegetables-meat. They think custard is a delicious dessert. That’s what you get with old people. You can still learn something from them.

Want to read more columns by Lotje? Then look here.