Kagetsu, Greenwood’s and the exception that proves the rule
You know the rule: if you walk past an empty restaurant, there’s probably a reason it’s empty. And the opposite usually holds true, too: a packed place is generally worth checking out. But – like all good rules – there are exceptions to prove them.
On Friday night, I went to Kagetsu, a Japanese restaurant in the Negen Straatjes. It was lucky a friend had recommended it to me, as only two other tables were occupied during the entire time it took us to eat a four-course meal. If I’d been passing trade, as it were, I’d never have given it a second glance.
Overwhelmed by ten pages of dishes, we ordered the fixed “Menu Sashimi” for two people and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and sat back in what was basically our own private garden for the evening. First to come was the miso soup, laced with strips of carrot and seaweed and cubes of tofu. There were no spoons on the table so we asked for some, only to be told that they didn’t have any that were matching sizes. Apparently no one usually asks for spoons?! I can easily believe that we weren’t familiar with how to eat the broth (perhaps we were supposed to sip it straight from the bowl – although I’m not sure how we’d have eaten the tofu and vegetables) but surely we can’t have been the first dumb Westerners to ask for spoons to eat soup?
Strange cutlery customs aside, the food was excellent. The soup, once we had the wherewithal to eat it, was delicate and refreshing. The sashimi of tuna, salmon, scallop and sea bass was uniformly fresh and well presented. In fact, I was so enthusiastic about the food that I forgot to take any photos after the first course.
As main dishes, we shared teriyaki salmon and beef yakiniku. The cooked salmon was every bit as fresh and marbled as the raw, and the sauce sweetly umami-rich and not too thick. I had no idea what yakiniku was, but it didn’t seem to be drastically different: thinly sliced, quick-fried beef with a lightly spicy, meaty jus. Both were served with short-grain rice that hadn’t lost its bite.
Dessert was simple ice cream: I went for white sesame while the Honey Badger chose the green tea. Dinner came to €75?? and I’d happily go back for more. Hell, I might not even need a reservation.
Next morning, following a few too many glasses of wine after dinner, we headed to Greenwood’s for brunch. I’d been before, years ago, and remembered it being packed to the rafters. Surely a good sign? Saturday was no exception: we got a spot because we came early, but within minutes all the tables inside and out were taken. The service was polite and friendly and very English, and if I were scoring that alone I’d award Greenwood’s five stars without hesitation. The menu also looked very tempting, not least for its inclusion of eggs Benedict – the entire reason for my visit.
The fresh orange juice was a promising start, although I had to send my double cappuccino back for an extra shot of espresso as it seemed to have double the milk but half the coffee. My eggs Benedict, however, fell far short of expectations. The slices of ham were so thin that I could barely detect their porky flavour at all. The eggs were fine, and the muffins definitely English, but the Hollandaise let the dish down completely. It tasted like it had been made with cream rather than butter, and lacked the vinegary punch to cut through the egg yolks.
The Honey Badger had the breakfast special: an omelette featuring chorizo, feta, tomato and rocket. It reminded me of an (embarrassing but formative) experience I had aged 10 with my Dad in a Novotel hotel-restaurant that we stopped in for lunch on our way to go on holiday. As the waiter came to take away the remnants of my Dad’s mushroom omelette, he made the mistake of asking him how it was, to which my Dad smilingly replied that it was the worst omelette he’d ever tasted. The waiter laughed, assuming from his facial expression that he was joking. He wasn’t.
Greenwood’s breakfast special omelette would’ve given the Novotel a run for its money. It simply wasn’t an omelette. It was a very thin, overcooked, pancake-shaped sheet of egg that had the other ingredients wrapped up in it like a burrito. The chorizo was the cold, ready-to-eat, thinly sliced round stuff, rather than chunks of chopped chorizo I’d expected to have been lightly browned in a frying pan. I didn’t have anything against the feta or the salad, but they were in no way incorporated with the eggs. On the plus side, the rosemary potato wedges (that we swapped for bread) were a delight.
Brunch came to €27, and I left a generous tip because the service had been so accommodating that I wanted to reward it. But equally strong was the urge to walk into the kitchen and teach everyone how to cook an omelette. (I didn’t, by the way, in case you were worried.)
If there’s one thing I learnt from all this, however, it’s that looks can be deceiving: by far the best food came from the restaurant with 90% empty tables, and yet the non-omelette and the I-can’t-believe-this-passes-for-Hollandaise-sauce came from the place that was packed to bursting by 11 am. Which just goes to show that if everyone follows the crowd, they might be missing out…
