Amsterdam Restaurant Reviews

A weekend in restaurants

On Saturday morning, a letter dropped through my mailbox containing two newspaper clippings. This is just one of the many reasons why I love my Dad (who is, in fact,...

Olive 63: in search of kleftiko

Last week I met up with London friends and purveyors of Spice Mountain (no prizes for guessing what they sell). If you’re ever at Borough market of a weekend, drop...

Kobalt: Cafe convenience for those with a person in every port

For reasons I can only put down to commitment phobia, I never seem to have boyfriends who live in Amsterdam. I also get a lot of visitors. Not surprisingly, then,...

Saskia’s Huiskamer, and little white lies

I’ve always been a terrible liar. I blush horrendously, apart from anything else. And the guilt eats me up. I can only remember telling one significant lie, and that’s when...

On Mother India, and missing the motherland

It’ll come as no surprise to you that I consider myself to be an Amsterdammer through and through. I don’t think you have to have been born in a place...

Diga: is there any such thing as a free dinner?

I’ve always maintained that it’s hard to write a restaurant review when you’re not the one paying. Even if you can see the prices on the menu, somehow the fact...

Sowieso: a rather poor review of a rather good restaurant

I’ve just returned from a week of three multi-course meals a day, prefaced and prologued by copious amounts of drinking, and interspersed with as much skiing as my sleep-deprived, hungover,...

Indian, Chinese and boys’ nights out

Something I’ve noticed amongst the whole break-up scenario is that somehow – consciously or sub-consciously – people seem to assume that you hate the entire male species, and that the...

Pizza and prosecco, tagine and teppanyaki

I’m struggling for motivation at the moment. Blogging is a weird thing – it’s kind of like writing a diary. If you’re a diarist, you just do it – you...

Restaurant reviews