Paprika

Upon rising from my bed (at 3pm) I showered off all my Americanness and set out for my first Dutch adventure! Thea pointed me in the direction of the grocery store and off I went, braving tiny cars, bikes, and vespas alike to reach the Voorburg marketplace. I was told to look for a supermarket, but assuming all European cities are set out like what I’ve learned from French textbooks, I wound up paying an arm and a leg for petit magasin produce and bread. My oneness with the ease and joy of the jetsetter was revved up when I taught the cute, fauxhawked Dutchman at the produce shop that the English word ‘pepper’ refers to both the spice and the vegetable. Voila! Le meme! Onward to the bakery where I tried to order some sliced cheesy (I think that’s cheese) topped bread and got laughed at for reasons I still don’t understand by the beautiful bakery girl. Confidence down, I wandered about till finding the actual supermarket where panic officially set in.

I am a picky eater. In the past few years, I’ve become decidedly less so, and mark that as a personal achievement. Still, there are a number of foods, which quite honestly scare me. Thus, the plastic container of some sort of soup was an obvious NO. As was all other unrecognizable soups which came in everything but tin cans. Milk products in general were also stayed away from. I took a shot with some sliced cheese I didn’t recognize, but since it had no spots and no distinguishable smell, it went into the basket. My French actually came in handy one or two times, such as when I had to determine what jam was strawberry (frazenboen or something is the one I went with) and not yucky raspberry, and in staying away from anything champignon that wasn’t an actual champignon (re: mushroom). I came away with some things that I hope will together constitute an actual meal at some point, but we’ll see.

Dan and Thea informed me they were planning on eating out tonight, so I thought to find something easy to eat while I was out. There was an adorable and IKEA looking restaurant in the square called Noody’s that looked promising. However, while pretending to understand what was written on the chalkboard sign outside and actually staring at everyone’s food inside, I realized that every plate was adorned with something like a shiny ball of meat and some gravy and quickly ran away. I came home to D & T ordering pizza and I learned the Dutch word for pepper—‘paprika’, just like the spice!

Lessons learned: What goes around comes around. And everybody loves pizza.