The meal continues, if not now, then soon enough, so better wipe clean the taste of the previous course. Sour-sweet liquids tucked sophisticatedly in between the cold starter and the soup as on a late summer afternoon in T. s. Loop, with a kind but dispassionate aroma being caught in the nose. I remember that L’Auberge had a daily menu, with maybe two starters, three main courses and two desserts. Now it offers a set menu on its page. Life is changing.
Less choices. Or just more definite ones. Two sides of a coin flipping through the years. Can’t always be heads. Wishing for it each year though. The dance of life that leads through the feasts of the continents first forced some reality but then somehow got stuck with just the show. In the meantime the next aroma is already pinned clearly in the air. Cool mint and the scent of the monsoon garden, a touch of sea salt and 47% dark chocolate melting together with the green tea in white. Take 1.16 chewy winterdream from the hill where the spring never set, mix it up with 6.6 travelling pairs of ski and you’ll feel right on the tip of the Mediterranean. We get the fado in the air, although from the front row. So out with the Indian spices, let the summer picnics take over. A bottle of French rosé and goat cheese with cherry tomatoes, ruccola and walnuts by the Kralingen Lake after a great run on the shore. The Macarena reunion started with a bagel, a cheese cake and two lattés in Amsterdam on the day the earthling called MJ got on front page once again. A sidestep on the road to nowhere led to my first encounter with Suriname cuisine ordered at the Warung Mini and consumed until the last drop of sauce in a backyard in a block of Rotterdam houses with the scent of masala rising contently up in the hot summer air again. Soothing reminder that it’s only the pace that changes when it comes to the periodicity of birth, unfolding and diminishing. The rhythm of the dance gets well-caught again and again on the basis of the law of large numbers.
Right foot step in…
