A Foodie's Twenty-Four Hours in Amsterdam

Amsterdam sets a trap for anyone arriving with a single day: do you look at the city, or do you eat it? My cousin refused to choose. He had spent the flight compiling a list of Dutch dishes he was not prepared to leave without, and his wife had a shopping list of her own. I had a Dutch SIM card, a tram map and no fixed opinions, which made me the planner by default.

The day began at the hotel breakfast, which was better than it needed to be: Dutch cheese, good bread, croissants, coffee and hot chocolate, and a plate of ontbijtkoek, the firm spiced breakfast cake that Dutch families slice thin and eat with butter. It was the right foundation for a day built almost entirely on snacks.

The station, the rain and three orange umbrellas

We bought transport cards at the station machines and went down to the platform, where the sky immediately opened. Three people who had packed for a city break discovered they had packed for the wrong city break. The station shop sold umbrellas in a single colour, orange, so we bought three. The rain stopped while we were still debating which exit to take and did not return for the rest of the day. Somewhere there is a photograph of us carrying them, unopened, for eleven hours.

That is the Dutch weather in miniature, and it is worth planning around: a light waterproof costs nothing and saves a detour. It is also worth knowing that the city is compact enough to walk between most of the places you have read about, and that the trams fill in the gaps quickly when your feet give out.

Museumplein: bubbles, letters and a queue

The tram carried us towards the Van Gogh Museum and the I Amsterdam sign. The mood on that patch of grass was closer to a festival than a museum forecourt: bubbles drifting over the crowd, music from somewhere, strangers taking turns hanging off the letters. Getting a clean photograph of the sign without another person in it is a sport in itself. The trick is to stop trying and enjoy the acrobatics instead.

A short walk through the park brings you to the Van Gogh Museum, which I had assumed would be a matter of walking in. It is not. Entry is from one side only, and the queue curled around the building in the way queues do outside the Paris Catacombs or Notre-Dame. We looked at it, weighed an hour of standing against an hour in the park, and chose the park. The Diamantmuseum and the Stedelijk Museum are minutes away, and so is the House of Bols, a museum devoted to gin and jenever. We were not in the mood for a full tour and tasting, but the doorway was too photogenic to ignore.

A sausage, eaten standing up

Then my cousin's eyes met a sausage stall across the street and he was gone, mid-sentence, like a man who had spotted something he had been looking for all his life. Mustard? Yes, please. He ate it standing on the pavement, and it was the first proper street food of the day and, by his own verdict, a strong opening.

We drifted on towards the canal. In Amsterdam you meet water every few blocks, which is why the city is so easy to wander and so hard to hurry through. The figures I had read somewhere and repeated all day: around 100 kilometres of canals and roughly 1,500 bridges. I cannot vouch for the survey, but I can vouch for the effect. Every bridge gives you a new angle on the water, and every angle makes you stop.

Kroketten from a wall

While the shopping half of our group disappeared into the shops, I sat on a bench with my phone and planned the next move. The Dutch SIM earned its keep there: no data charges to worry about, so I could look up whatever occurred to me. What occurred to me was FEBO, the chain where hot food sits behind little glass windows and you feed coins into the slot to release it.

For under two euros each we tried kroketten and frikandellen. The kroketten were vegetarian, the frikandellen were not, and my cousin preferred the meat. Both are fillers rather than meals, crisp outside and molten inside, and both did the job of postponing lunch by an hour. There is something satisfying about a wall of food that works like a vending machine, especially when it is raining and you are not.

The cheese and mustard shop

Further along we passed a shop that sold cheese and mustard and very little else, which is my idea of a well-edited business. We went in and tried everything on offer. Dutch cheese covers a wide range, from mild to sharp to flavoured with herbs, but I had never seen so many mustards in one place, or so many combinations of the two. My discovery of the day was that green pesto gouda and I are not compatible. Everything else was a yes.

If you want an introduction rather than a lucky encounter, there is the Cheese Museum, and the Henri Willig shops run tastings and explain the different styles.

Stroopwafels were on the counter too, so a pack came home with us. Two thin waffles pressed around a layer of syrup; rest one on a hot coffee cup and it softens into something close to perfect. I also learned why so many canal houses lean, from a blog I read before the trip: not the builders' fault, the foundations. Look along a row of gables and you will see angles no plumb line would allow.

The flower market and a Keukenhof promise

The market by the canal sells tulips, bulbs and seeds alongside the usual souvenirs, and a bag of bulbs is a lighter thing to carry home than a wooden clog. I have never seen the Keukenhof gardens in spring, and the photographs of those long stripes of colour have been on my list for years. Some things you save for a longer visit.

Fries, and the limits of enthusiasm

By mid-afternoon we reached the thick Dutch fries, patat or frites, served in a paper cone under a landslide of sauce and chopped onion. The classic combination, as the man behind the counter explained, is mayonnaise, peanut satay sauce and onion. Order it. But order one, not two large portions between three people, because the sauces merge into a paste and one of them, which I still cannot identify, was not for us. We finished them out of stubbornness.

Rescue came from the third member of our party, who had found a table and a vegetarian plate of black beans, vegetables and rice, and who had been sensible enough to order a proper meal while the rest of us grazed.

Dam Square and a cone of ice cream

Full, we walked to Dam Square, the square that holds the Nieuwe Kerk, Madame Tussauds and a ring of cafés and restaurants. I have never been to a wax museum anywhere, so it stays on the list. On the street leading to the square my cousin spotted an ice cream shop with a queue of locals, which is the only review that counts. That cone, dense and cold and absurdly good, was one of the best things I ate all day, and it cost less than the umbrella.

Tram 14 to the windmill brewery

More than half the day had gone and we still had somewhere to be. Tram 14 from Dam Square runs east towards Flevopark, and you get off at Pontanusstraat. From the stop you see it at once: a windmill with the canal in front of it, the kind of view that makes you check the camera twice. The Netherlands once had around ten thousand windmills; Amsterdam keeps eight.

We had not come only for the photograph. The Windmill Brewery sits beside it, a place built for sampling Dutch beers and for talking to whoever happens to be standing next to you. We did both. The pigeons provided the entertainment: something in the air had them diving at people's food with a recklessness that broke the ice between strangers. By evening I suspect they had eaten better than most of the customers.

Night: a lost pass, a small museum and the red lights

Back at Dam Square we stopped for coffee while the light went. The plan was Centraal, then the Red Light District, then dinner. The plan had not accounted for my cousin losing his day pass. We asked at the counter, we explained, we asked again; the pass could not be replaced. He bought a single ticket and we carried on, because a twenty-four-hour day has no room for sulking.

Amsterdam after dark is as busy as it is at noon. Restaurants, pubs and clubs cover every mood, and one museum stays open, which is how we ended up in the Sex Museum on Damrak, the Temple of Venus. Entry was four euros. Inside, the exhibits run from ancient Greek ideas to Marilyn Monroe and Mata Hari, with film, books and advertising folded in. It is small, cheerful and entirely without embarrassment.

The Red Light District is what everyone says it is: glass cubicles along the canal, pubs, clubs and coffee shops, and a crowd that never thins. Put the camera away. Beyond that the night is yours: a walk, a drink, a meal, or bed.

Midnight tacos and a missed breakfast

We had meant to have a recommended dinner and then eggs Benedict the next morning, from a list my cousin had bookmarked. Instead we ate Mexican food somewhere around midnight and slept through the breakfast we had talked about since the airport. That is what travel does. The itinerary is an aspiration; the day is what happens, and the trick is to enjoy the version you get.

I have been to Amsterdam twice now, both times for roughly a day, and the city has given me two good days. I would like to give it a week. Next time: the Van Gogh Museum, with a ticket booked; the Keukenhof in April; and a table somewhere quiet with no list at all. If you are planning a short trip, this shortcut guide is a useful starting point.

Stroopwafel photograph by Jocelyn and Cathy on Flickr.