Put on the red light

My favorite spots in Amsterdam

On The Cusp is about becoming the next version of ourselves. That means experimenting with the breadth of our interests, exploring the depths of anything that captures our imagination, and learning to embrace uncertainty along the way.

Welcome! This is letter #65.

Amsterdam streetscape, captured on Kodak Portra 160 film

We hadn’t yet stepped foot in our laid-back, design-forward Amsterdam hotel, but I’d already decided this was the coolest city I’d ever visited.

Maybe it was the ornate rowhouses lining every street. Maybe it was the vibrant bike lanes stuffed with cyclists, most of whom looked casually runway-ready. Maybe it was the cobblestone streets latticed with canals and arched bridges.

Either way, by the time we dropped off our bags and dug into our first official meal—a thin, platter-sized Dutch pancake studded with sliced apples—I was all in.

The next morning, we became acquainted with the biggest drawback of life in Amsterdam: the weather. The city’s downpours emerge from cloudless blue skies, so if you’ve just landed, you won’t know to carry your umbrella even when the sun’s shining. We were caught unprepared while walking to our first bakery pick, the cheekily-named Scandinavian Embassy.

Shivering and soaked, we slipped inside a steam-cloaked glass door that hinted at the warmth within: pairs of chattering customers, lattes served in bowl-shaped mugs, ovens turning out sheet after sheet of barely-sweet buns—golden brown, glossy and a bit tacky with glaze, their pillowy twists perfumed with specks of cardamom.

We sat at the counter and watched employees fuss over their wares, draping each warm tray with a kitchen towel. On the walk back, we stopped into Back to Black Coffee, where we found resident tabby Binky strutting across the communal table.

Of our most memorable morning treats, two were pistachio-themed: the croissant from Salvo Bakehouse piped full of pistachio cream, and Bun Bun’s offering, a sheet of croissant dough spread edge-to-edge with pistachio filling, then rolled into a spiral, sliced, and baked.

There were different sweets to enjoy once the clock passed noon. Café Papeneiland, one of the city’s wood-paneled “brown bars,” served a classic Dutch appeltaart: a tower of thinly-sliced apples and raisins bookended by cakey crust. Project Cheesecake offered my first taste of the luscious Basque dessert. Hans Egstorf, Amsterdam’s oldest bakery, served stroopwafels straight off the iron, wrapped in a paper sleeve that couldn’t quite contain the layer of warm caramel sandwiched inside.

Van Stapele Koekmakerij sold a single type of cookie—dark chocolate, with a melty white chocolate center—but drew hordes of hungry visitors. The operation hummed with assembly-line efficiency. In a large room adorned with Grecian columns and chandeliers, a dozen bakers manned the wall of ovens and used conveyer belts to deliver warm cookies to front-of-house staff.

But the best delicacies came, perhaps unsurprisingly, from Maarten Langeslag’s Fort Negen; Langeslag made his name baking bread for Michelin-starred De Kas restaurant.

Visiting Fort Negen required us to make an hourlong round-trip walk, which we did gladly: for their sourdough boules and baguettes, their sandwich bar (I’m still dreaming about the aubergine schnitzel), and the weekend cruffin specials—like their spin on appletaart, with croissant layers coated in sugar, then topped with Swiss cream and a delicate crumble. All of this acted as window dressing for the mess of cinnamon-baked apples hidden inside.

One morning, I went to Bakerij Wolf for a solo meal of shakshuka, housemade focaccia, and the freshest, crispest green salad ever to grace a plate. I sat at the breakfast bar, which I discovered was excellent for eavesdropping.

Over brunch, a pair of Amsterdammers in their early thirties were talking about their respective evenings, which had ended at dawn. After discussing the previous night’s escapades, the topic turned to their recent vacations.

“Was it your first time flying private?” the first man asked the second—as if this was an experience common enough in their circle of friends that it was likely to happen again—before he launched into his own story about a recent yacht outing. Clearly, we weren’t in Kansas anymore.

This was by far the best overheard conversation of the trip, but there was plenty of other good food and drink.

Kantjil & de Tijger offered up Indonesian food in the form of rijsttafel, an impressive presentation (tied inextricably to Dutch colonialism) of a dozen dishes served all at once. Raïnaraï, which describes itself as an “Algerian-nomadic kitchen,” was the perfect spot for veggie-forward picnic supplies. We drank Belgian krieks and tripels at Café Gollem, ate tender chicken shishlik and burnt corn salad at Mesiba (the Hebrew word for party) and slurped noodles in lemon-ginger broth at Fou Fow Ramen.

But our most memorable dinner was at Salmuera, run by Dutch brothers of Argentinian descent. We sat in front of an open hearth—a lovely detail that, like Binky the cat wandering around his coffee shop, I couldn’t imagine passing health department muster in America—and chewed bites of steak topped with chipotle salsa, chimichurri, and the eponymous salmuera, a basting brine that the restaurant serves as a tableside condiment.

When in Amsterdam, there are a few activities that everyone agrees are must-dos.

Get tickets to the Anne Frank House months in advance, and prepare to be extraordinarily moved by your hour inside. Visit the Van Gogh Museum—even if you’re not an art aficionado—to learn about the supernova of Vincent’s career, and the brother and sister-in-law who championed his genius. Get your sea legs on a canal tour, preferably towards the end of the day, so you can see the city in full sun, at dusk, and after dark. (Pro tip: ask your guide about the wildest thing he’s ever witnessed mid-tour, because the answer is probably “houseboat orgies.”)

But make time, too, for Amsterdam’s quirky side: for the KattenKabinet, a museum devoted to art featuring cats, where you can spot its resident felines dozing on chair cushions in each room. Catch a flick at the Pathé Koninklijk Theater Tuschinski, named the world’s most beautiful cinema by Time Out magazine, even if that means attending the singalong version of The Sound of Music and its attendant costume contest.

And spend time pretending to be a local, whether by shopping at the gargantuan de Bijenkorf department store—where I felt extremely European purchasing Fiona Franchimon hairpins—or by visiting the rooftop café at the OBA Public Library, an architectural marvel that also happens to be the chicest place for Dutch students to study and sip fresh mint-leaf tea, and for tourists to read while waiting out the horizontal rain.

Before returning to Schiphol Airport for our departing flight, we made one final pilgrimage to Fort Negen at 7:30am. Our last hurrah included four cookies for the plane (two miso-chocolate chip, two oatmeal), a blackberry cruffin topped with panna cotta, and an ijscroissant to share: half a croissant that doubled as the ice cream cone, filled with a swirl of cherry sorbet and vanilla soft serve, then topped with chocolate-miso crumble.

We passed the croissant cone back and forth between us on the chilly walk back, agreeing—between bites—that our decadent final breakfast was the perfect match for this decadent city.

Are you following along with my year of pizza on YouTube? Here’s the latest installment of the In Depth Cookbook Club! ⬇️

Step into my kitchen, where I’m making the Greek Pizza with Spinach, Cherry Tomatoes, Kalamata Olives, and Feta (p. 116) and Chicories alla Romana (p. 118) from 

Alexandra Stafford

’s wonderful cookbook Pizza Night.

As always, I’d love to hear from you. What’s captured your imagination lately?

Warmly,
Maddie