Taart in de Markt

Like most traditions, I don’t really remember who started it. I suspect Erik, with his unreasonable need for caffeinated beverages. But soon Elia had hopped on the bandwagon with me, forming the core players in what were to become quite frequent trips to Beestenmarkt.

It was always six o’clock (by which time everybody would hopefully manage to be dressed and showered) and as such, those not of Spanish origin would be somewhat peckish. This led to a gradual sampling of all the appeltaarts available in Beestenmarkt. The first week we found an extremely high quality establishment, Bar “Mij”. So considered because they gave you a cube of chocolate cake with your coffee and had couches. It seems that in the first week we must have overstayed our welcome a couple of times on those couches; because after that they closed and never reopened.

So we tried some others. The tiny place whose name we never managed to learn had the best appeltaart, but lost popularity after we were fumigated out by a group of cigarette-smoking adolescents. There were so many of them they practically had to sit on the tables. The next stop was Kobus Kuch… proclaiming to have “the beste appeltaart van de helemaal Nederlands”. I only tested this proclamation once with Maureen, when we were so starving and blotto that we gobbled down our appeltaart without even tasting it. Although I had the vague impression that there was a little too much cinnamon. Belvedere was always our café of last resort; a place whose only virtue is having the largest amount of seating. We would only set foot in it when all other possibilities had been exhausted (Except for Billy Bear… the name alone ensured we never even tried that place). Their appeltaart was reasonable, but the service so rude that I found myself with steam coming out of my ears, having to be physically restrained from throwing handy objects at the waiter.

They had no table service. But rather than telling you this, the waiter would make a great show of ignoring you, wiping glasses with his back obnoxiously turned to you. Even when you were the only table of people in the whole bar (and I wonder why that is?).

The favourite by far was Vlaanderen. Vlaanderen where they served you excellent appeltaart with a dob of cream bigger than the cake itself. Occasionally they would have a rather overwhelming jazz band, but everybody has their faults. Forgiveness comes as long as they keep the coffee and the cake a’flowing.