After breakfast in Cinque Terre, lunch in Florence, we bussed to the airport, where I applied a spritz of Bulgari perfume, and got on a plane to Amsterdam.
We arrived late on a Friday night. Mr. B and I made our way to our apartment, dropped our stuff off, went shopping for breakfast supplies and laundry detergent, threw a load of clothes in, and headed out for a late dinner.
The guy we rented the apartment from gave us directions to a street where he assured us there were plenty of restaurants. But when we found the street, it was like some kind of joke. We passed Italian restaurant after Italian restaurant. “No!” I shouted every time I saw one. Then burst out laughing at the absurdity of it. This is some kind of weird food juju.
Finally we found a place that looked open and not Italian. It was Daar Baand, a Persian restaurant. I have eaten Persian food, homemade for me by my friend and leadership tribe mate Parisa, who is from Iran. But this food was different.
We ordered several small dishes: two kinds of eggplant, dolmas, Everything that was hot had a crust of cheese baked on top. I’ve never eaten dolmas hot with melted cheese. The eggplant dishes were the best. All of it was great, washed down with beer.
If I’d not been so travel weary I would have written down or drawn what we had. All I have are some bad photos.Daar Baand for breaking the Italian food spell.