Tales From Amsterdam

The queue was particularly long that chilly morning and I was starving. I was probably the seventh person in line for pancakes in this tiny spot called, what else, Pancake Amsterdam, in Negen Straatges. It was my second time here. The previous one I was with my younger son and the Dutch version of pancakes with goat cheese, spinach and pine nuts wouldn’t leave my mind all night, so I woke up very early for this.

A guy interrupted my thoughts. “The line goes to the left, not to the right,” he said. He was fixing the outdoor tables for the other restaurant, the one right beside the pancake one. No one was lining up for his burgers.

All of us moved and lined up properly. There were about twenty people behind me, and it was taking a while to get seated. Two guys in front got called for a seat and the line moved an inch. I was giddy with excitement. An elderly person was ushered in. I was getting giddier. But, after that, there was a long pause. The mom and daughter far in front looked to the back of the line, caught my eye and asked, “Maybe, we should give up.” Her daughter stood firm.

Then it was my turn. I savored being in front of the line. The ones behind me were murmuring in excitement, too. The European guys behind me started talking louder.

Finally, the door opened. It was for me. But an American guy who came out of nowhere darted inside and called in his family of six. They were a noisy bunch and the girl at the door couldn’t make out what happened. Neither could we. I looked back at all the Europeans behind me and asked, a little bit angrily, “What was that????”

A tall guy appeased the crowd with his wry humor. “Maybe, he was really hungry,” he said to the disappointed crowd. Then he said to me, “Don’t worry, it’s going to be our turn soon. I smiled to him but my Asian sensibility of following rules and getting in line was seething.

Then I got seated. Finally. I ordered my dream pancake with goat cheese, spinach and nuts. And I ordered a cup of hot chocolate to go with it. The girl asked, “with cream?” “Yes, with cream!” She smiled her widest smile.

I noticed in this part of the world, when you say yes to cream and lots of it, they smiled like they like you a lot.

Seated in this tiny space, listening to conversations in different accents, waiting for my Dutch pancake, it was everything I dreamed of.

While savoring where I was, I saw the mother and daughter in front of the line earlier seated near me. The mother recognized me, smiled at me, and said, “Oh, so you made it!” I did. That I did.