Abroad and On Board

I wrapped my scarf around my nose to protect it from the autumnal cold as I headed to the east side of the charming absurd Amsterdam. I was in search of a peculiar traditional Dutch snack; the Dutch New Herring or as the Dutch call it ' Hollandse Nieuw Haring'. I cycled fast on my rental bike past the usual Argentinian steakhouses, the fast food outlets and the kebab shops. With not one pair of souvenir clogs in sight I approached the Dappermarkt in the outer rings of the city.

As I walked under the sign demarcating the entrance of the street market I had finally found a place which was unconcerned for the likes of me. This place was not intended for my touristy eyes or capital affluence. I felt comfortably invisible amongst the bargaining mums, barking dogs, screaming chips starved children and stall holders' rhythmic call outs.

Seduced by the seaside odour coming from Joost's Nieuw Haring Vishandel I was subconsciously and sensuously led to my objective of the day. Amongst all the red, white and blue I spotted the immaculately lined up herring fillets. The Dutch flag colours not only decorated the stall but also the toothpicks used as forks for the herring and its accompaniments, diced raw onion and sliced gherkin. The juxtaposition of the fish and the flag spoke in straight forward symbolism: herring is a matter of national pride and national pride is, well, herring.

Back in Medieval times, fishermen figured out that removing the guts from the freshly caught herring amounted to a longer shelf life. However, by leaving the pancreas intact, the herring could be naturally conserved in its own pancreatic juices. Nice trivia but certainly not very appetising. Joost watched my face as I went for the first bite, laughing eyes they were, as if they sarcastically said 'go on, you can do it'. The verdict: fish that melts in your mouth coupled up with the onion's spicy crunch and the gherkin's perfect acidic balance. An instantly acquired taste. Having adventured into the feared unknown I knew Joost's Hollandse Nieuw Haring at the Dappermarkt would be the first tip I would be enforcing upon friends and family. In the likelihood of failing to describe the delights of Hollandse Nieuw Haring, the promotional photos which decorate such outlets, of attractive young Dutch women sensually dangling a slimy fish over their mouths, were bound to convince.