We’ve never seen so much snow in Amsterdam. Well, someone probably has, but not those of us who’ve lived here for approximately the last half decade. And we’re extraordinarily badly adapted to it: children push toboggans along in the absence of any hills to slide down (why do they even sell toboggans in the Netherlands?); commuters in heels skid through slush on the-opposite-of-mountain bikes; and the public transport suddenly goes all British and useless.
Still, a foodie with a brunch appointment is not to be defeated by a little dusting of the cold white stuff. And so it was that yesterday morning I set out for the new Pain Quotidien (recommended by my French friend, who ought to know about these things) in de Pijp. The tram was not looking good, but then again the Phoenix – with its dodgy tyre tread and even dodgier brakes – was looking frankly dangerous. Even clad in salopettes and a ski jacket (clearly essential for fast movement in an entirely flat country) it took me 45 minutes to get there, so it needed to justify the journey.
Beginnings didn’t bode well. Our waitress didn’t appear to know what the brunch menu was, and my first cappuccino ended up in the lap of my friend opposite. The brunch menu ‘to share’ seemed not to have been designed for sharing at all: there was one of almost everything, except the bread, of which there was enough to feed an entire Alpine ski team.