I generally seem to judge an eetcafé by its satay (or saté, or however you spell it), largely because I think it’s what people want if they’ve decided to go somewhere cosy and dark and warm. Café Sarphaat’s was really rather good: decently spicy-sweet sauce, chicken that was char-grilled but not dry, crunchy kroepoek and a side of chips and salad.
My friend – who lives just off the Sarphatipark, hence our choice of location – ordered the special: chicken stuffed with blue cheese and (Turkish?!) sausage with andijviestamppot and mustard sauce. Now, I thought andijvie came from the French ‘endive’, which is chicory, but I could’ve sworn this was fennel (aka venkel). Anyway, it all tasted quite nice, though there were a few too many strong flavours competing for attention.
What was really standout about the Sarphaat, however, was the service. Not that it was particularly brilliant, but it didn’t feel like a struggle. It was just… you know, normal. People smiled at me, and brought me drinks. I like that.