LIVING

Ik Ben Terug…Deel 2 (I’m Back…Part 2!)

Vincent van Gough (1853-1890)
Wheatfield Under Thunderclouds, July 1890
Auvers-sur-Oise, France
Oil on Canvas, 50 x 100 cm
Van Gough Museum, Amsterdam
Post-Impressionist Master

So as Brantley (his name is Michael but I call him by his last name) and I settled into our seats on the train, we unfolded the tables that divided us, got out our magazines and tried to settle in a bit, but we were both balls of nervous energy. My excitement was ineffable while Brantley just wanted to physically explore the place he would soon be living. His girlfriend Jean had been before and wanted him to experience it for himself before they moved.

The great thing about Moleskins is that they have these little pockets in the back so you don’t loose your tickets and such.

After the first stop in Belgium, half of the train was vacated, so we took the last car of the train over for ourselves. Brantley got out the music while I set up our picnic. Our picnic soon turned into panic when I realized that the wine tool we bought in Paris was no where to be found. Luckily a group of eight Germans in the next car had the same plan as we did. So I walked up to them, bent down and asked them, first in French, if they spoke English and if they had a wine tool. The largest woman in the group looked up from the country pate she was smearing all over a thick slice of bread and in an equally thick German accent she said,

“Oh dear! You have wine and no wine tool? That is a scary place to be! Of course we have a wine tool!” and graciously loaned me the pull. I uncorked the wine, admired our set up, and returned the wine pull to our German friends. “Oh, thank you, darling…so glad we could help and we all like very much your necklace!” she said as her ruddy cheeks found agreement from all of her friends as they sat there with their mouths filled with food, nodding.

“Thank you so much!” I said. “It’s my favorite,” as my thumb and forefinger grasped the the golden gun that rested on my chest.

“Yes, with your boots and that necklace, we like, very much!”

“Thanks!” I smiled. “and thanks for loaning us the wine tool; you saved us,” I smiled.

Ahh, humanity. I walked back to our section of the train smiling to myself at how lucky we were and how genuinely nice these perfect strangers were. As I opened the door to our car, I could hear the building of music, that sounded far away, like it was playing in a distant tunnel and I was pressing a glass to the concrete, vying to catch each and every note.

“We only have headphones,” Brantley announced. ” But you want to know the great thing about headphones?” “What’s that?” I smiled.
“There’s two of them!” he laughed and then we both laughed; hard. “Gimme that, you whack-job,” I laughed, shaking my head and fitting an ear-bud into my right ear.

Soon, our theme music was filling our heads, gloriously filling me with so much, my eyes closed so as to not let a single thing escape. We both just sat there, motionless, our heads resting against the cushions as Jeff Buckley’s seminal album, “Grace,” began to unfold.

Then we looked at each other with a knowing glance and we busted out, singing “Hallelujah.” By the time “Lover, You Should of Come Over” started playing, we were singing and at the top of our voices, “Hungry for your love, but no way to feed it…”

“You miss Jean, don’t you?” I asked.
“Yeah, I do. I miss her very much,” he replied, looking down at his boots.
“That’s a good thing,” I reassured him and he immediately agreed.
“Who do you miss,” he asked?
“Someone who makes my soul feel like these songs,” I replied, gazing down at my knees.
“Oh,” he replied. “Sounds serious,” he said trying to get me to laugh. “Does he have a name?”

“You already know his name,” I smiled. “Besides, saying it makes the magic of him disappear and I always want to remember him with magic .”

Brantley gave me a bear hug and said not to worry. “The universe always has the first move,” he said and I smiled even bigger because he was so right. The unknown is so vast, I had to surrender to it so the magic could truly live.

“I feared surrender would sand me down to nothing. Now I’ve started believing it can bloom me more solidly into myself.” –Mary Karr

Before we knew it, we had arrived. It was nearly 11pm so we headed straight to the hotel, which was located right in the town center. We immediately freshened up a bit, left our bags on the floor and headed out to explore.

The stunning canals, glittering in all that blackness.

NOVEMBER 8, 2009

Marianne Raous
Keizersgracht
Amsterdam

The next day, we were both famished, so we headed over to this wonderful little Cafe called Spanier + Van Twist (they don’t have a website) but I LOVED this little cafe. The interior, like most all places in Amsterdam, was full of character and although somewhat rustic, overflowing with proud modern design.

Their trademark green sign…

The great thing about Spanier + Van Twist was the fact that it was a completely organic establishment, and their coffee was FANTASTIC. I’m a coffee hound and the brew at Spanier was so good I immediatly got my journal out, jotting down “ORDER DUTCH COFFE WHEN YOU GET HOME.”

When I struck up a conversation with the waiter to inquire about organic restaurants, he said that the Dutch take not only their flowers seriously, but their food as well and that most all restaurants try to have as many organic items on the menu as possible. I told him how impressed I was with this notion and he said, I kid you not,

“That’s because organic food makes you smart. How can our minds function on baselessness?”

My jaw dropped. Finding a common ground, we shook hands, exchanged names and then I asked Anton if he knew anything about gluten free dining and living. He said I could come back in a few hours to talk to the chef as he was gone, but that the grocery stores had items as well. Then I asked Anton if gluten allergies were a problem in Holland and he said yes and that if you work in a restaurant, it is very important to be educated about such things.

He couldn’t of been nicer and I thanked him for his information and complimented him on my very delicious meal.

I ordered the sweet potato soup with a red chili infused chicken stock and a plate of homemade tortilla nachos with nothing but melted cheddar cheese and jalapenos. The tortilla chips were some of the best I’d ever had and being from Texas I’m very picky about this particular point. They made their own tortillas and then friend them in sunflower oil and then the moment after they are drawn from the hot oil, they are drizzled with kosher salt and a mixture of lime and garlic powder. I was impressed and felt more satiated than I had in days. Then I realized I was eating a very worthy Tex- Mex dish in the middle of Holland and it was 100% organic. The beautiful thing about the soup is that is was not thick at all. I could still see the bottom of my spoon with each successive bite and I took my time eating because I knew each component of my meal was handled with extreme care.

Then Brantley said he needed to sleep some more and headed back to the hotel, giving me time to hit the pavement on my own, which is my favorite thing to do while traveling, so I didn’t protest.

We agreed to meet up around three.

So I wandered…

The wait to get into the Anne Frank House was over and hour and a half, so I didn’t get to go in, but wanted to more than anything. I loved the book and wanted to see where she really lived. “Next time,” I said to myself, “for sure.”

And I walked around some more…

“Inspiring,” I thought to myself. “Wouldn’t it be great if we were all so qualified?”

Then I walked around some more and found the most beautiful shop I’d seen on the whole trip:

The shop owner here was completely charming and had the most incredible taste I’d seen thus far with everything from Missoni hand woven throws to rabbit fur lined leather vests.

I picked up a one of a kind bracelet and a hand woven wool scarf by Khadi and Co. by Bess Nielson, who sources her wool from the same place Gandhi produced his own hand woven pieces.

By then, it was time to head back to the hotel to meet up with Brantley and Suzi, who would be arriving soon.

“Let’s go get flowers for the room; it’s Suzi’s favorite thing,” I suggested.
“Good call,” Brantley replied as he extinguished his cigarette.

On the way to the flower market, however, we saw the sexiest car of all time:

Right after I snapped this photo, I asked Brantley to give the car a little push. The car lurched very easily when touched, so we figured not the best car to get lucky in.

All I can say is I’ve never seen such stunning flower specimens:

Suzi arrived later that night and we decided to go somewhere ethnic and the hotel recommended this oriental place called Dynasty.

The interior was very tastefully decorated with inverted paper parasols hanging from the ceiling and the food was good.

Since it was an asian restaurant, I again proceeded with caution and asked the waiter what was on the menu that had no soy sauce.

He looked at me with this blank stare that seemed to say,

“Are you fucking kidding me? This is an asian restaurant, you whackjob!! Everything has soy sauce!” He looked up, shrugged his shoulders and got the manager to come over to the table.

I explained my situation and the manager replied, “Oh yes. First, I am very sorry for you, but our yellow curry is gluten free and very delicious.”

“I’ll take it, thank you.”

Brantley and Suzi got the drunken shrimp and the crispy duck, both of which looked amazing but reeked of gluten the way a rest-stop reeks of urine, so I kept to my side of the table.

I was pleasantly surprised by the curry because it was done very well and I loved the sauteed pineapple that lined the bottom of the clay pot it was served in, but the peas were not cooked through and the green beans were, well, raw. I tried to figure out how this could of happened, and then realized they probably layered the raw vegetables over the sauteed pineapples and then poured the hot curry over the vegetables, cooking them en suite. The only problem was they didn’t let them “cook” long enough.

Ever the antagonist, during dinner Brantley got me going:

“So, Miss. Morgan, what would happen if you ate some crispy duck right now,” he asked.
“Well, my insides would feel like they were being consumed by a raging fire and then I would spontaneously combust,” I sarcastically replied.
“Suzi, quick, slip her some duck. I want to see her explode.”

We all laughed until we couldn’t breathe and then cut the evening short and headed back to our room.

Marianne Raous
Brouwersgracht
Amsterdam

NOVEMBER 9, 2009

Marianne Raous
Herengracht-Brouwersgracht
Amsterdam

The next morning we awoke early, being sure to wear an extra scarf and gloves so we wouldn’t be cold. I tied my trench coat belt snugly about my waist as we headed out the revolving door of the hotel, turned right and headed to the bike rental store.

An example of one of the many places you can rent a bike while in Amsterdam.

I went for the classic Dutch bike known as the Gazelle, which, to me, is not only lovely to behold, but comfortable to ride. The seat provides perfect support for your spine so rather than being hunched over, you are sitting up right, looking very English (or Dutch).

Then we popped into Sarah’s Pancake House for a quick bite to eat. Although I wouldn’t be able to enjoy a pancake myself, I knew they had an omlet that would satiate me as I educated myself from the other side of the table. As we sat down, they had two kinds of syrup on the table, a creamer filled with home-made caramel, salt and pepper and katsup. So then I knew they had savory and sweet items to choose from.

I immediately smelled the two kinds of syrups and I was actually quite surprised to discover that their “plain” syrup smelled just like backstrap molasses while the “vanilla” syrup was molasses with vanilla.

I struck up a conversation with the waiter and asked him about the Dutch pancake. To me, they looked just like a giant crepe, but presented on a much grander scale; they were well over 12″ in diameter. When I asked the waiter if they were basicly a large crepe, his whole body bristled at the comparison as he quickly responded,

“No, this is NOT a giant crepe. This is a Dutch pancake and No-Thing like the French little crepe.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little bit inside at his endearing pride because when Brantley finished his pancake, the plate had “Pancakes…Crepes…Pancakes…Crepes…” hand painted in giant letters all the way around the circumference of the plate.

Either way, I didn’t care because the pancakes Brantley and Suzi enjoyed were beautiful in their presentation: a giant 12″ pancake with a fried egg, sunny-side up in the center, surrounded with carefully placed pieces of bacon and three little mounds of melted swiss cheese, I was envious of their meal, while I was busy consuming my fourth omlet of the trip. I wasn’t crushed though, because I knew that when I got home, I’d just make one for myself.

So we set off on our way in search of the Van Gough Museum and on the way there, we had to stop so Suzi could get some gloves because she had accidentally forgotten to pack them. With everyone snug as a bug, we pedaled on.

Just as we were about to arrive at the museum, Suzi spotted this store called Scremn vs. Noelson that glowed white behind the all glass facade, even with the overcast sky above us. The interior, from floor to ceiling was white; every single t-shirt was white and the walls were a flat white. The only colors that existed came from the art and the patrons, which had an amazing effect on me. Standing there in that white box made me feel very calm in my confidence and I quickly chose four prints to purchase for Leo and I to enjoy. (See my “Loving” section for more information on the artists and the works I purchased.)

Scremn vs. Noelson
Scremn Filled Chest, 2009

You see, these two very talented young Dutchmen, Anders Meisner and Mical Noelson, started Scremn vs. Noelson as an artistic experiment which quickly became a statement that built so much momentum it is now a store that sells everything from snow globes to ceramic plates with their satirically metaphysical messages imbedded in the images they produce.

After carefully tucking my new treasures in my purse, we again mounted our bikes in search of one of my artistic mentors, my Mr. Vincent van Gough. As we pushed on, my stomach felt hollow as a cave, but I knew it would soon be filled with something more magnificent than any culinary delight could provide, even for a foodie like me.

Reading books is like looking at paintings: without doubting, without hesitating, with self-assurance, one must find beautiful that which is beautiful.” –Vincent, 1888

Vincent van Gough, 1853-1890
Wheatfield with Crows, July 1890
Auvers-sur-Oise, France
Oil on Canvas, 50.5 x 103 cm
Post-Impressionist Master

“The mood of colors and tone must be at one with meaning.” –Charles Blanc, 1813-1882 from his Art Theory Manual, Grammaire des Arts du Dessin.

The power of Van Gough’s art occurs when you stand before it; so much emotion pours forth; so much knowing that he called out into the universe, with only an echo of his own voice as his comfort. I couldn’t help but feel somber knowing this about such an artistic genius that lived nearly his entire life misunderstood. And he never pulled back from his vision. He never stopped. He ran towards it until his “running would no longer run.” Inspiration welled up within me, percolating like a coffee pot; it was at this moment that I realized I had to have this same courage, living protected by nothing more than my ideas.

Vincent van Gough, 1853-1890
Eugene Boch, (The Poet) 1888
Oil on Canvas, 60 x 45cm
Musee d’Orsay, Paris
Post-Impressionist Master

“Self study avoids a tame or conventional language which doesn’t stem from nature itself.” –Vincent, 1888

Vincent van Gough, 1853-1890
Chaumes de Cordeville, 1890
Auvers-sur-Oise, France
Oil on Canvas, 73 x 92cm
Musee d’Orsay, Paris
The Man

“As for landscapes, I’m beginning to find that some, done more quickly than ever, are among the best things I do.” –Vincent 1888

What most people don’t know about Vincent is that he was a prolific writer that wrote fluently in Dutch, German and French:

“Il faut commencer par eprouver ce que l’on veut exprimer.”

“You have first to experience what you want to express.”

Vincent van Gough, 1853-1890
Skull of a Skeleton with a Burning Cigarette
Antwerp, winter, 1885-1886
Oil on Canvas, 32 x 24 cm
The Badass

“I feel a failure. I feel that that’s the fate I’m accepting. And which won’t change anymore.” –Vincent, 1890, just before he shot himself in the stomach, dying in his bother’s arms two days later.

“On ne se sauve qu’ensemble.”

“The only salvation is uniting with others.”

My two beautiful friends, Brantley and Suzi…

After the museum, we popped into a cafe for some warm tea as we were all a bit chilly after the bike ride from the museum. The lighting was low, the service was spot on and we got some great pictures out of it. I love this one of Suzi and I; it looks like two separate pictures in one.

Then I requested that we stop by a supermarket (not a specialty market, just a regular supermarket) so I could do a little research and I found what I was looking for on the whole trip! An international gluten free product with a gluten free symbol on the front!!!!!

Best of all? These crackers were very inexpensive and tasty to boot, so if you are ever traveling overseas, here is an excellent source: Rice Toast

“YES!” I blurted out in the middle of the store. Aside from a chuckle from some lady in the aisle, I felt like I was levitating because, you see, part of my coming on this trip was to solve a very pertinent problem: does universal consciousness about celiac disease and gluten intolerance exist and where is an example of this consciousness? I was holding it in my hands.

I found it without struggle and I found it after van Gough gave me the final piece I needed to get there: total surrender to my purpose for living. Why am I still living after two years of ceaseless suffering? My divorce nearly destroyed me emotionally and forced me to question over and over again: why am I here?

Standing there in the aisle of that grocery store in Amsterdam, I had my epiphany. My purpose, crazy as it may be, is to be a conduit for making gluten free living mainstream. I sold my cookbook, so I was already a part of something greater than myself. I am, as we all are, a part of that which exists beyond the physical body and lives in the tendons of the world, waiting to be stretched.

Vincent van Gough, 1853-1890
Skull, Paris, Winter, 1887-1888
Oil on Canvas on Triplex
41.5 x 31.5 cm
My Guruji

In the span of thirty seconds I died there in that grocery store, standing fully erect, an ocean away from my son, in the middle of a foreign land, only to be reborn a breath later.

I looked around, feeling invisible. Then Suzi came around the corner as I held up the box.

“Good job, Megaphone Morgan,” she smiled at me, proud as a mother, proud as my friend, and I hugged her and told her thanks for her insisting I come at all.

Our dinner later that evening ended up being the highlight of the trip. We rode our bikes to Barbeque Castell. Walking through the heavy wooden doors was akin to walking into a giant hearth; heavy grey, rough hewn stones lined the floors and walls, making you feel like you walked into a chalet in the Swiss Alps after a full day on the mountain. Dark leather cushions lined the massive fireplace in the room to the right and dark leather chairs lined the bar to the left.

The lighting was dim over the bar with only the works of art highlighted by individual spotlights, creating this glow that made you feel as though everything was illuminated by candle light. The bottles behind the bar cast hints of reflected light, refracting color and slow, studied time. The waitstaff wore all black and moved so nimbly around us one would think they were shafts of odorless smoke.

The menu was extremely easy to navigate and I asked which items had not been marinaded in a soy based sauce. The man behind the bar said the chicken thighs were safe and one of the very best items on the menu, so I ordered them without hesitation. Brantley ordered a steak and Suzi also ordered the chicken thighs as well.

From inside the bar.

The food was served on individual cutting boards accompanied by very sharp steak knives. Nestled in the middle of the board were three pit roasted chicken thighs that had dark, beautiful edges, a small ramekin of mashed potatoes and a ramekin of curried mayonnaise.

I slowly began to carve into one of the chicken thighs and couldn’t help but smile to myself. They were perfectly tender. I swiped the top of my morsel with a dollop of the curried mayonnaise and experienced a moment of stilled existence. Every single ingredient was in perfect harmony with one another; I inhaled slowly and deeply, carrying the subtle spice of the curry to the back of my throat as I slowly chewed the succulent chicken.

I think I even closed my eyes so I might see all the spices, plucking their names from the encyclopedia on my tongue. Just a touch of garlic, good kosher salt, fresh black pepper, cumin, coriander, and turmeric and homemade mayonnaise resulting in an absolutely simple yet profound moment of culinary genius. I immediately requested another ramekin of the curried mayonnaise so I could slather the remainder of my chicken thighs with it, memorizing everything.

It is always the simplest meals done with exceptional know how that create these kinds of experiences and Barbeque Castell is a leader in this regard. I was completely blown away and still fantasize about going back to Amsterdam just to go to Barbeque Castell and eat.

We made fast friends out of the people sitting next to us at the bar and the bar tender had a crush on Suzi, so we got a few free glasses of red wine to boot. We all left happier than when we entered and I’m still so grateful to have eaten there.

Then we headed out and danced until we couldn’t dance anymore; riding happily home as a gentle mist began to coat our backs and the cobbled stones of the street.

The reflective canals at night.

NOVEMBER 10, 2009

We stayed out so late the night before, we didn’t get going until the morning was gone and lunch was kind of a passing thought.

And during the day…

We casually strolled through the city, leisurely wandering into various stores. The standout place for me was this stunning bookstore, MENDO. The books they carried were portable works of art with publications by Taschen, Nilsson & Lamm and teNeues.

We continued to wander the city, ruminating on the amazing time we all had.

Suzi headed back to the room to pack while Brantley and I decided to walk around a bit more and check out this shop, Nieuws Innoventions.

They had some of the funniest gift cards I had ever seen and an amazing selection of gifts for just about anyone. They had everything from solar-powered lamps to coloring books and Japanese calculators. I got several of these very clever coloring books, Johnny Joe’sfor Leo, where you are the one that has to add the head, arms and legs to the characters throughout.

Next it was our turn to pack, so we headed back and prepared for our flight the next morning.

But before we did, we headed out for one last meal to a wonderful Italian place called Ristorante Hostaria.

Located in a very residential part of Amsterdam, Ristorante Hostaria came very highly recommended to us and was filled with locals when we arrived, which is always a very strong indicator that the fare will be delicious. With only 15 table tops inside and a very clear view of the kitchen from every seat in the house, it was a delight to end our stay in such an intimate, almost homey fashion. We smiled at the pictures of Sophia Lauren in various poses serving and preparing food from her kitchen but it was the one with her next to a wheel of parmesan the size of a tractor trailer that made me laugh out loud as the food began to arrive.

I ordered the lobster salad to start. The perfectly steamed lobster tail and claw was served en suite with cherry tomatoes that were lightly dressed in a simple balsamic vinegrette with a few ribbons of basil and drawn butter as a dipping sauce. It was light, simple and so good Suzi and Brantley ordered one for themselves to share after having finished their own starters.

For my main course I had the rosemary wild boar served with oven roasted potatoes and twice cooked fennel. The boar was expertly cooked and not overly gamely, but the component that really grabbed my attention was the twice cooked fennel. First it was blanched in chicken stock and then oven roasted with year-old parmesan, and it was divine.

I didn’t know this until after I got back and went and had a chat with my cheesemonger friends Kelly and Medhi, but year old parmesan is not the same as Parmesan Reggiano, which absolutely must be aged for at least two years to bear the full name, Parmesan Reggiano. The name isn’t all that is different. Year old parmesan is very creamy, so experiencing it melted over the fennel made my eyes roll into the back of my head.

For dessert, we ordered two of their frangelica infused panna cottas served with a raspberry coulis and it was heaven. In fact, of all the desserts I was able to try on the trip, this was the one that stood head and shoulders above the rest.

NOVEMBER 11, 2009

Vincent van Gough, 1853-1890
The Langlois Bridge, 1888
Oil on Canvas
Otterlo, Rijksmuseum Kroller
My Inspiration

We quietly loaded our bags into the taxi and headed to the airport and in my contemplative silence, I began meditating on what had really happened during the last seven days. What had occurred to the interior me that was unfurling, so vulnerable yet stronger than ever? I slowly began to understand that the only thing holding me back from being my fullest self was me. My heart was racing but my body was at rest. I took several deep breaths to calm my nerves, but a new found energy was coursing through my veins and couldn’t be slowed. The new me was emerging and it was walking over the bridge from the mundane to the super-conscious and all I had to do was sit there, perfectly still.

Marianne Raous
Amsterdam Birds
Brouwersgracht
Amsterdam

Tot volgende tijd mijn mooie Amsterdam! (Until next time, my beautiful Amsterdam!)

November 17th, 2009 — 9:58 am

1 comment | add comment