For almost four years now, I’ve spent most of my Friday nights in Eylders – a brown cafe just off the Leidseplein. If you have to spend any time on the Leidseplein (which, if you work there like me, is unavoidable) then Eylders is your saviour from the overpriced Irish pubs and music bars.
But since my corporate job moved offices, the tourist traps are a thing of the past. When we visited the new office, my first task was to stake out our new local. And there it was: on the corner of Vijzelgracht and Prinsengracht: Cafe Myrabelle. I started chatting to the clientele immediately, and I expect the barman will soon be hearing my life story. (Lucky him)
Unlike Eylders, however, the Myrabelle serves food: proper meals, not just bitterballen. So last Friday, after I’d conveniently spent the day at a client while my colleagues hauled boxes, we decided to eat there. Two of us had the ribs with good, salty chips and salad. The vertiginous pile of three racks defeated even me (the ability to eat vast quantities of pork ribs is one of many useless talents I possess), but they hit the spot after a day’s work.