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Algarve |
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Dutch dinner date
• 29 Nov 2007 •
 SINCE moving to the Algarve we’ve made friends with several delightful Dutch people. Last week we pulled out all the stops to entertain an exceptionally charming couple who have a restaurant in Almancil.
Yes, I agree we were taking a risk by cooking for ‘foodie’-gourmet people but I thought if I kept the meal simple and traditional – smoked salmon followed by roast beef – I couldn’t go wrong. It worked out fine but I received the sort of backhanded praise I was not expecting.
As an aperitif we served a modern concoction of sparkling white wine and pomegranate juice, a drink they told us they’d enjoyed before. It turns out there’s a secret restaurant in Amsterdam that’s by invitation only. Situated below the level of the canals, people are blindfolded for the journey and literally have no clue about where they’re going.
Our friends had been invited by telephone and out of curiosity went. Arrangements were made for a private car to collect them and when they arrived at the restaurant their blindfolds were removed. (Okay, now you think I’m pulling your leg but I assure you this restaurant, although a clandestine place, is a talking point in Holland. If you’ve any Dutch friends, go ahead and ask them, they’re bound to know.)
The couple entered a narrow, windowless room with a table laid for eight people. Like them, the other six guests had no idea who owned the restaurant or who had invited them but they enjoyed a superb meal.
Coincidentally, their first course had been smoked salmon washed down with sparkling wine and pomegranate juice. How up-to-the-minute our evening meal appeared to be, since that’s exactly what we served. To eat with it I placed a brown wholegrain heart-shaped loaf on the table. This humble item was to become the star comestible of the night.Our guests professed to never having eaten such delicious bread in all their lives. Since it’s sold in our local supermarket it is our daily bread, although under normal circumstances we don’t talk about it at all. Then out came the second course; a fillet cut of roasted beef and perfectly risen Yorkshire puddings. Our friends, far from commenting on my culinary genius or noticing the individual Yorkshires, continued talking about bread.
On and on the conversation went, eventually reaching the subject of Portugal’s bread festival in Tomar. The couple had been there earlier in the year and witnessed the occasion when young women balance as many as 30 loaves on the tops of their heads. Weighing up to 15 kilos, the bread is held in position on bamboo frames. A procession through the town is a way of remembering Portugal’s most beloved Queen Isabel, noted for giving bread to the poor. Over more than 600 years her generosity has not been forgotten and the people of Tomar still regard her as a saint. Across the country she is the focus of a popular legend but one that shows a lack of matrimonial trust. The story tells us that the pious queen left the castle’s kitchen, her pinafore filled with bread crusts. Unexpectedly her husband appeared and demanding to know what she was hiding, instructed her to drop the edges of the apron. By a miracle of God, the bread was transformed into a stream of petals that drifted innocently to the ground.
Back at our dinner party the topic of bread was still firmly on the table and when I came to serve a fresh fruit salad for dessert, I wished I’d a made bread and butter pudding instead! Finally, rather than cheese and biscuits, they asked for cheese and bread. Once more they devoured the heart shaped loaf as if they were 14th century beggars on the brink of starvation.“It has such a perfect texture and wholesome flavour,” they reiterated. “Thank-you for a wonderful meal.” We’ve arranged to meet them for a picnic next week if the weather stays fine. I’ve agreed to bring along three-wedge sandwiches; that’s bread on bread on bread, without any filling! |  Return to Top
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