Europe 2001: A Travelogue
"There's a party in my mouth and everyone's invited"
Eurodiary, 12 October 2001, based on events of 4-6 October
The phrase above seemed to epitomize last weekend, from Thursday night's dinner (and dessert!) in Rotterdam to Friday's lunch in Luxembourg to Saturday's culinary orgy (calling it lunch doesn't do it justice) in the Alsace region of France.
The sad thing is, we didn't write down our reactions to the first two meals immediately afterwards, so although we have a vague recollection that we really enjoyed them both -- and in fact I seem to recall saying, after lunch in Luxembourg, "Could tomorrow's lunch really be better than today's lunch and yesterday's dinner?" -- after that second lunch almost all memory of those fabulous meals was erased. Such a shame. It was so bad that, as we sat on the train home, jotting down our notes, we couldn't even remember what we'd eaten on Thursday night.
Suffice it to say, however, that if you ever find yourself in Rotterdam and want a delicious, fancy dinner -- and if the occasional waft of cigar smoke doesn't make you ill or ruin your appetite, we highly recommend The Old Dutch. This restaurant is actually an apparently pre-20th century gentleman's club surrounded by modern office buildings, leading us to think either that it was spared the decimation that the rest of downtown Rotterdam experienced or that it was painstakingly recontructred from an original.
The clientele was almost uniformly 50+ and in coats and ties -- or the feminine equivalent. I was dressed for work and in a skirt, so I felt fine, but whereas Adam had planned to go home and change after class, he ran out of time. Thus, in jeans and a polo, he felt underdressed. (Awhile later, some other young couples arrived, similarly casually attired, but Adam thought it just reflected poorly on the lax standards of youth today.)
The prices were a bit expensive, and the menu decidedly Dutch, so we though we'd forgo appetizers. As we saw others' dishes arrive, we realized they looked quite good -- if we return, probably on a future vacation, we'll go whole hog, so to speak.
Adam ordered the duck in a port wine sauce, and I ordered the sole. Both were delicious, but what surprised us was the presentation -- they were nouvelle cuisine, something we hadn't seen at all in Europe. Fortunately or unfortunately, it left us wanting more, so we decided to order for dessert the strawberries Romanoff.
For those who don't know, strawberries Romanoff consists, basically, of fresh strawberries smothered with a Romanoff sauce. In the case of The Old Dutch, the dessert had to be ordered by a minimum of two people, and we soon learned why.
The waiter brought to a nearby "staging table" a plate on which was a large glass bowl with an inch of ice cubes, and nestled in that was another glass bowl. Also on the table were four small bowls -- with strawberries, whipped cream, ice cream, and some red liquid that may or may not have been strawberry sauce -- and two bottles of alcohol -- vodka and creme de cassis. As we watched, the waiter dropped the berries in the top bowl and began to mash them, and then he added the whipped cream and a couple of soup spoons each of the two liquors, followed by the ice cream and the unknown red liquid. After mixing it all thoroughly with a fork, he took the bottom plate and placed it atop the top bowl, and he left it there to chill.
A few minutes later he returned with two elegant glass bowls of strawberries with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, over which he proceeded to pour the sauce.
Needless to say, if any of you have ever ordered this dessert at La Madeleine or elsewhere, yours may well have been a Romanoff, but it was probably some illegitimate stepchild. Ours, by contrast, was clearly Peter the Great.
(Adam comments: The Old Dutch has something most of the Netherlands doesn't… service. Even the bellman at the front door made me feel at home despite my casual attire, and he had our jackets waiting for us when we left before we even asked for them.)
After that lovely meal we went home to pack, and the next morning we awoke early to catch a train to Brussels and from there another one to Luxembourg. We arrived in Luxembourg at 12:30 and put our bags in a locker, and then headed into town for lunch. We decided on Roma, a restaurant recommended in Frommers as being the oldest Italian restaurant in the city: it was opened in 1959! Indeed, it looked rather modern, but the wall prints were lovely old drawings of Rome, and the seating, while a bit cramped, was comfy. Most important, however, the food was superb and at the same time rather reasonable. Adam and I shared a generous insalata caprese -- mozzarella and tomato salad -- that was loaded with both items and had a tasty olive oil dressing. Adam's entree was a risotto ai funghi e mascarpone -- a mushroom and cream based risotto -- and I had a ravioli dish with cheese-filled pumpkin ravioli, topped with a creamy spinach sauce and whole slices of truffles. Wow!
As we ate, I noticed that the couple next to us, with their capuccino, got little chocolate truffle candies that looked quite good, so I decided I had to order a capuccino (decaf, of course). When it arrived, with the little confection, I took a bite of the chocolate and just went straight to heaven. I then held out the remaining half for Adam, who thought I was crazy after the huge lunch we'd just eaten. But I made him eat it, as did Eve with the apple, but if this was a sin it felt amazingly divine. (Adam comments: yowza.)
We then asked the waiter where they got their chocolates, and he said they make them in-house; the chef likes making them. We then asked if we could buy a box -- they were better than any Belgian chocolates we'd ever had. Unfortunately, the answer was no, but the chef must have been pleased by our comments, because the waiter then brought out four more, on the house. We each ate one and took the others in a spare plastic baggie Adam had in his pocket, "for later." (Adam comments: manners be dammed, these were good chocolates.)
I'll describe Luxembourg later, since this entry is all about the food. Suffice it to say, we rented a car and eventually arrived in Colmar that evening.
The next day we walked around a bit and then returned to the hotel to change clothes. Our lunch reservation was for noon, but we didn't know how long it would take us o drive to Illhaeusern, the village where l'Auberge de l'Ill is located. (About 20 minutes, it turned out.) So we arrived at 11:30 and took some photos outside the Auberge, along the bridge over the river Ill. After a few minutes we went inside, and we were met by a young man in full dress attire (tuxedo, that is) with a long black apron tied at his waist -- he was one of the sommeliers. He led us out on the patio that overlooked the idyllic scene we'd just photographed from the bridge, and took our aperitif order. He recommended a muscat, and I recalled that we often like muscats, so I whispered to Adam that he should get that. (Adam comments: good idea.) I requested a Perrier, not knowing if Evian would seem too pedestrian, and thus we encountered our first surprise: go figure, I like Perrier!
As we were sipping our drinks we perused the menu, and we decided to order from the prix fixe menu, which offered three choices each of an appetizer, a fish course, a meat course, and a dessert. (Adam comments: don't even ask how much money the a la carte menu would have been). Then the waiter brought us a pre-appetizer, a plate with four "bouches au fromage" (or, that's what I think he called them). These little puff pastries with cheese had to be held daintily -- better that they melt in your mouth than crumble in your fingers.
Of course we savored every bite and every moment, and of course I took several photos. It was such a beautiful and unexpectedly sunny day, considering the weather reports we had seen had predicted rain for the whole weekend.
While we admired the view a sommelier came over to take our wine order for lunch. We had been reading the wine menu (book is more like it) for awhile but hadn't focused on anything. I explained that we weren't heavy drinkers and he suggested a half-bottle. Somehow, he was able to size us up perfectly, yet without any note of superiority or disdain, and he picked out a perfect local riesling for us. As with everything else, we were in awe. (Adam comments: we didn't even think about how well the sommelier had sized us up until an hour or two later.)
After awhile, we were reseated inside, in one of the dining rooms. I can't tell whether it was a nonsmoking room or whether there were simply no ashtrays (and therefore no smokers) because it would have been improper to allow smoking where people are dining. There had been ashtrays on the patio tables -- ingeniously designed ceramic pieces that looked like they could have been little vases, with a base into which ashes would fall and therefore not be visible (and also not be blown away). But there was nothing of the kind in the dining room, and we were quite grateful.
Soon after we were seated we were offered bread and then each brought a small covered kettle on a plate, whose contents turned out to be not our appetizer, but our true pre-appetizer (apparently the bouches au fromage were mere hors d'oeuvres, or as we called them, pre-pre-appetizers). Inside the pot was pre-shelled escargot in a delightful cream sauce with a hint of garlic, accompanied by a little toasted crouton. I had had escargot before, though never this good; it was Adam's first time, and his turn to make the claim, "Go figure. I actually like snails." Of course, this is like saying that he enjoys flying: sure, in first class he does.
Following this came the real appetizer -- the first actual menu item we'd ordered. Adam had decided to get the pate au foie gras, despite (or perhaps because of) our Parisian experience at Cafe Max. The waiter came to our table with a porcelain terrine half-filled with pate, with what looked like truffles in the middle. He presented it to Adam by holding it at an angle so we could see inside, as if to say, "Will this be ok?" or possibly, "Look at this marvelous creation." He then removed it to the nearby staging table, scooped out two chunks, and placed it gracefully on a plate along with a large scoop from another bowl of what was apparently some sort of caviar. Then the plate waited there until the assistant waiter arrived with my appetizer, a salad with shelled crab and a little fritter of some unknown substance.
Once again, Adam found himself surprised to note that he actually likes pate, and we were both pleasantly surprised by the caviar, which was somewhat sweet and not hardly salty (it was light brown rather than black, so although we therefore knew it wasn't beluga, we didn't know what it was). (Adam comments: could have been chicken shaltz for all I know.) For my part, the crab salad was quite tasty, and I later looked at the menu to see if it described it, but I don't think I want to know if "tete de veau" is what I fear it is... If so, then go figure, I like [***unappetizing substance deleted***], but I'll never knowingly order it again!
Our next course was fish. I ordered a salmon soufflé, which came in a creamy white wine sauce with some yummy vegetable on the side, and Adam ordered the poached sole, which came on a "risotto aux grenouilles" -- rice with frog, though presumably not the leg, since I think I saw that elsewhere on the menu. In case you couldn't guess, yet again Adam found himself saying, "Go figure, I like frog. ... It tastes like chicken." But this time my dish was certainly the winner. The hardest part was realizing we still had the main dish to come, because we were already feeling full. But of course we ate it all!
Around this time, several of the tables around us were well into their second if not third or fourth bottle of wine, but we were content with our Perrier and 37.5 cl of riesling. Moreover, we were able to appreciate the various kinds of wine glasses and goblets at the other tables -- each designed to enhance the taste and bouquet of the various wines. And the restaurant had several lovely crystal and silver decanters for the reds, a different one for each table.
I think we also appreciated knowing that we were not drinking away my salary. Our delightful half-bottle cost about $30 (Ffr 180). Earlier, as I had perused the wine book, I distinctly recall seeing a red, about two-thirds of the way down a page, whose price was Ffr 15740. Why that number stuck in my head, I don't know, but the fact was that it was not the most expensive wine on the page! (Adam comments: yes, for those who are numerically challenges like myself, that's about a $3150 bottle of wine.)
I think it was also about this time, as were on our third set of cutlery, that we noticed the Haeberlin logo engraved on each piece. The Haeberlin family are the owners and chefs of the hotel and restaurant, which was founded in the mid-1800s by the current generation's great great grandfather. Their logo was simple: two lowercase h's, one backwards and the other forwards, like dh if the d were in fact a backwards h. The same logo was on the linens and serving plates, of course.
One question we had was how the chefs and waiters knew just how long to wait before serving the next course, especially when that course involved cooking. I'm sure their job was made easier by the fact that 90% of the diners had ordered from the set menu, so to a certain extent they could just keep preparing dishes, and eventually everyone would be served. But of course some people eat faster than others, and some have to visit the restroom at some point during the meal...
In fact, if we hadn't visited the toilettes, it would have been a shame. In the hallway to these bathrooms were photos of various royalty on their visit to the restaurant over the years -- most notably the Queen Mum and Japan's crown prince (on different visits, of course). The restrooms themselves were well appointed, and Adam particularly like the sinks. (Adam comments: the bases of each sink was a lion resting on its paws, with the supporting stand extending gracefully from its back.) I liked the fact that, when Adam went to the restroom and left his napkin on his chair, the waiter paused a moment, picked up the napkin, and returned with new, folded napkin on a plate. Rather than leave the plate on the table or physically place the napkin on the table, the waiter deftly tilted the plate in such a way as to have the napkin drop perfectly on the table, "untouched by human hands" as Marc would say.
Just when we realized we did have some room left in our stomachs, the meat course arrived. Let me pause here while I reflect, in silent reverie, on how scrumptious it was.
...
Oh yeah.
I had ordered the lamb, and Adam the veal. The menu had described my meal as " Le filet d'agneau en habit vert, accompagné de pommes de terre cuites comme en vallée de Munster, parfumées aux olives noires et au thym" and Adam's as " Les médaillons de veau aux cépes, chartreuse de blettes et jus de veau parfumé au citron confit" What was not mentioned in the description of my meal was the large, breaded, baked tomato that also came with it. That is, it looked just like a whole, baked tomato, but in fact it was stuffed with the equivalent of a French moussaka, with eggplant, shredded lamb shoulder, tomato, and pepper. Let me just say right now that I could never be a food critic, because I don't know enough words for "divine." (Adam comments: go figure, I like baked tomatoes.) The three lamb medallions were each about Eisenhower-dollar sized in circumference, perhaps two inches thick, and wrapped in some sort of spinach pasta or ... something ... and then patterned with shredded cheese, thus making the green wrap look like leaves. Cut in four, they made for wonderfully mouthwatering bite-size morsels.
The only mildly disappointing bit on my plate was the mashed potatoes, which unfortunately had pieces of calamata olives in them. I'm sure that, if you like olives, you'd have liked this side dish, but neither Adam nor I particularly like calamatas. Still, the lamb and the stuffed tomato, on top of everything else we had already eaten, were more than enough.
(Adam comments: my veal was delicious as well, even though I typically do not like rare meat. It came with the most delectable mushrooms and a lovely little potato shred pancake that just melted in my mouth. I also adored the side vegetable, which unfortunately the waiter says has no good English equivalent.)
But of course, lunch was nowhere near over. Next came the cheese cart, from which we could choose among dozens of bleus, bries, chevres, and camemberts. Perhaps thankfully, the waiter pointed out that there were two somewhat harder cheeses, so I tried a gouda and another cheese whose name I can't recall, but which basically, to me, tasted like one of those Laughing Cow cheese balls. Yummm! Ok, so I don't have a particularly trained palate when it comes to cheese.
Adam was more adventurous, but he still asked for something "a little mild." What he got was a camembert that he didn't particularly like, and a chevre (or perhaps a bleu?) that he thought was just amazing. He was smart enough not to offer me a taste.
With the cheese and Perrier finished, we ordered a bottle of Evian, and later a pot of tea, to accompany what turned out to be three(!) dessert courses. First came the pre-dessert, in which we each received a plate of palate cleansers: an inch-long pistachio cake, a mini lemon meringue, a key-lime tartlet, and a rolled cookie "cigar." (Adam comments: imagine these dessertlets. Now, imagine them ten times better, and you will understand.) Then came the item we had ordered. Adam got the fruit and sorbet tulip, and I ordered the peach "Haeberlin," a house specialty. After I saw the third option, I had my one regret of the afternoon: the chestnut mousse and ice cream looked awfully tasty.
My peach creation ended up being a poached peach accompanied by a large ball of pistachio ice cream, both smothered in a champagne cream sauce. Adam's tulip was a homemade cookie cup made of the same dough as the cigar, filled with four small sorbet balls (melon, strawberry, raspberry, and peach) and fresh fruit. Gauche though it might have been, we switched.
By this time it was a bit past 3 p.m., and the amazing thing to us was that it was still so beautiful and sunny outside. So when we were offered the chance to have our tea and final plate of desserts out on the patio, we didn't hesitate. If anything, the scene had grown even more bucolic, as an old man had taken one of the bateaux and anchored it in the middle of the river, where he sat fishing, the sun silhouetting him in a perfectly picturesque manner. So of course I took several photos...
Ironically, the little plate of chocolates also had a little truffle that looked quite similar to the ones we'd had in Luxembourg, but to my way of thinking it was overly dusted in truffles, such that it overwhelmed rather than accentuated the chocolate. Which goes to show that you don't have to spend the big bucks to get a good truffle. Either that or I just don't like real truffles that much. (Adam comments: please don't think this took away at all from the meal, especially given how divine some of the other chocolates were.)
By the time we left the local church had long past tolled four, which meant we were there nearly five hours, and at a mere $25 per hour per person it was a true bargain. Ok, maybe not a bargain, but it was certainly great value for money. As the sun made its lazy way towards the horizon, we sadly bid our goodbyes to Illhausern (Adam comments: English translation is "Tastyville") and filed away the happy memories of our haute cuisine in the mental category of "major lifetime events."
We didn't eat much dinner that night.