No more despair.
I have been to the brew home in Amsterdam near the river last night.
Something told me I had to go to this place. The oldest bar in Amsterdam they say.
I have been to the brew home in Amsterdam near the river last night.
Something told me I had to go to this place. The oldest bar in Amsterdam they say.
When I walked in my attention was drawn to the back of the dimly lit barroom. There was a large table with only one person sitting at it.
A grumpy looking man, in a polyester polo shirt, wearing a little hat and sporting a necklace that reflected the sparse light that fell on it. On the table a flock of empty whiskey glasses.
The man was washing down unami oysters from Zeeland, each
with a glass of Superior Jenever (Dutch gin, produce of Holland that is, right
in the capital of the Netherlands) and on his bib I could see the sorry proof
of a fight with a lobster. The lobster lost, for only a shell remained on his
plate.He drinks a bottle of Sancerre for desert. He speaks French so nobody can understand what he is mumbling about.
He is a young man with an ancient spirit.
He orders a few I.P.A. beers to go with a new bottle of Superior Jenever.
His voice grows louder and all of a sudden it is as if there is a glowing light around his head. Still in French, with the slightest Normandy accent, revelation after promise after prediction flows from his lips (a bit greasy from the classic thermidor style lobster butter) and the barroom lights seem to become brighter.
Girardi, Cashman, the Steinbrenners, Yankee Stadium and the 2018 season are put in perspective and all doubt there might have been in my head, disappears.
Then the man gets up and walks towards the exit. Suddenly he turns around and looks at me. He takes a few steps until he is standing right in front of me. His surprisingly large torso towering over me.
He thrusts a plastic bag in my hands and says, ”Trust the 99." Then he leaves.
I couldn't make sense of it, so I just did what any normal man would do. I started drinking heavily. And in the thick fog alcohol provides, I got the message. I opened the plastic bag.
One thing I can tell you, I have been to the brew home near the river in Amsterdam and got the t-shirt to prove it.
I have been Judged.
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6 comments:
An awe-inspiring post. Urban Farmer has done a great job conveying the wonder, the mystery, and the wisdom that is Alphonso.
To add to this story, I would like to remind everyone old enough to remember that 99 was also the name of Barbara Feldon's character on "Get Smart." As Bob Hope would say, Mrrrowwwww.
HE IS.....
THE MOST INTERESTING MAN IN THE WORLD.
STAY THIRSTY MY FRIENDS....
Seems like an episode of Stranger Things, Dutch Edition. Excellent prose.
When I first came to Holland, I was attempting to visit the Netherlands. I was 20 and trying to learn the ways of the world. I had to choose between playing in the Dutch baseball league ( where Urban Dutch Farmer played second base......he didn’t have the arm for shortstop or third ), or take the Heineken Brewery tour.
I was later that day fished out of a canal in the countryside by some American young women with a van.
You can figure I had taken the beer tour, followed by a competing beer tour over Amstel way. Then, you could go back to Heineken and repeat the process until closing. Things were much looser then.
I lived in a $5 per day hostel with 8 guys from Egypt who were there training as a crew. My Ability to communicate with them was limited to sigh language. It still would be.
Enough about me......if my steamer makes it safely around Cape something or other, I will be writing about the World Series we failed to be in, the next Yankee manager, and the political landscape in Holland, the Dutch Antilles, Rotterdam and the Netherlands. The weird thing is; the favorite color is orange, and yet they can’t grow them here.
But some regal woman in a painting has one in her hand, shortly after her husband died of smallpox.
dammitdammitdammitdammitdammit ...
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