In 2004 I studied in Japan, anyone that's spoken to me more than 5 minutes knows that. I had the time of my life in Osaka prefecture, and most of the credit goes to my two Kansai Gaidai University roommates. One is the crazy fluent Japanese-speaking Icelander, Halldor son of Olaf. The other is an international recording artist from the Netherlands --
http://www.ilja-alexander.com/
Please don't judge them based on my wicked behavior.
Halldor taught me how to eat a bowl of noodles without chewing, sing the songs of his Viking ancestors, and forgo pints and drink pitchers instead.
Ilja taught me to eat fries with mayonnaise, cheese with mustard, and why Dutch musicians prefer to sing in English.
Six years later Ilja invited me to the Netherlands, and I taught him some American idioms involving his countrymen like;
Going Dutch - to pay separately on a date
Dutch Oven - trapping an unwilling participant under the covers, and farting
Dutch Rudder - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mfuLRwqpy-Q&feature=related
After spending two weeks eating his kroketten, drinking his Grolsch Kanons, and depleting his metro card, you'd think he'd be pretty sick of me...NO. Instead he took me to dinner to experience Holland-style hospitality, he chose Gauchos Grill.
Service - I don't know if it's because they found me a difficult patron or they generally use a team approach to serving, but we had three 1.83 m/6 ft blonde servers that I swear were all named Anika. They actually looked related, or more likely the older one, and the middle one, had used time travel to warn the young one of my coming.
As you'd expect in a European restaurant, the wine list was spectacular, and reasonably priced. The range was €20-50 a bottle, or €3-9 a glass, and featured mostly Argentinean varieties.
My host had the all-you-can-eat spare rib dinner for €18/$26. The meat wasn't overspiced, and I thought it had the power to levitate because I couldn't even see the plate it was on. Their recipe mandates that the ribs be slow-cooked until the flesh falls off the bone. I know all of this because I ate half a rack before getting a stern warning from the staff, then Ilja said, "hij is een Amerikaan." She nodded that she understood, smiled, and went to do something Dutch, like dance in wooden shoes.
I had recently heard the drug laws in Amsterdam were getting more restrictive, so you can imagine my surprise when one of the Anikas asked me how many grams I wanted. Ilja to the rescue again, "how big of a steak do you want?" At this moment, I wish had payed more attention to the metric conversions section of General Chemistry, because I gave her the wrong answer, 450g/16oz was a bicycle seat of meat. The €22/$32 Bife Ancho/Rib-Eye was cooked to the perfect temperature, and came with fries sprinkled with sea salt and parsley. There was just one little problem...
In Argentina like the good ole USA like, good BBQ doesn't need anything but good company to help you eat it. But every once in a awhile I like to break up the meat marathon with a little chimichurri. The house version had parsley, oregano, basil, cilantro, olive oil, and chunks of TOMATO?! What the hell happened here!? I'm going ask my good friend, Yelper Marcos R., to help Gauchitos out with his award-winning recipe.
MexiRican Chimichurri
235ml (1 cup) fresh parsley
115ml (1/2 cup) L'estornell olive oil
60ml (1/4 cup) red wine vinegar [not Balsamic]
60ml (1/4 cup) fresh cilantro [I use oregano or thyme instead, cilantro puts me in a murderous rage]
2 1/2, peeled garlic cloves
3/4 teaspoon, crushed red pepper
1/2 teaspoon, ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon, sea salt
Puree all ingredients in a food processor, transfer to a bowl, and let it marinate for 2 hours without refrigeration.
Now that that's over with I'd like to add that European ketchup sucks! It tasted like cold, gritty, marinara sauce. Trust someone who has ketchup running through his veins; it should be smooth, sweet, and unnaturally red.
After that red meat riot I had a major case of the "itis" and the only medicine was...more espresso. Even though I think I saw a Nespresso machine hiding somewhere behind the bar, it hit the spot. A fantastic evening that I can't thank the Anikas, our other dinner patron Wa-Yi, and my personal Dutch ambassador to the United States, Ilja Alexander.
Americans - take a break from eating space cakes, hash brownies, and the fruit from the "Bananen Show" and take the 15 minute tram ride to Beethovenstraat, you won't be disappointed.
Nederlanders - my host couldn't have known that my hometown, Miami, is an ethnic enclave for Argentinians. Or that I have high standards for their cuisine, and he still made an excellent choice.
p.s. to the other American reviewer, Gabe H., all I can say is...one of our visits was a fluke. read more
