100% rundvlees = 100% cow (and cow by-product)

Why is Amsterdam a regular stop for the WDT?  I’ve got one word for you:

McKroket!

Sure, I post a lot about this bar or that bar … pretending that it’s all about the beer, or maybe about the jenever.  But it’s all just a cover story.  Years have passed since my first encounter with the McKroket, but I’m still jonesin’ for a McKroket.

Take a croquette and put it on a bun?  Genius! (more…)

De Wildeman

It is with great pleasure that I look back on another successful European fall campaign by the WDT. The first leg of the tour was Amsterdam.

It’s a pretty bold statement to start in Amsterdam.

First Westmalle of the trip

After taking the train into the city from the airport, the festivities always start at In de Wildeman. Why? Well, In de Wildeman may very well still be the best beer bar in Amsterdam, but it’s best quality is that it opens at noon. I love Amsterdam, but let’s be honest, it opens late, or at least the decent beer bars do.

It is customary to start with a Westmalle Tripel, and then gradually get more adventurous. On this recent visit to the Wildeman, I did take the opportunity to try a few Dutch microbrews.  Two that stood out were the Jopen Fokkerbier (especially the way the bartender pronounced it), and the Emalisse Black IPA.

(more…)

One of the great things about Amsterdam is that you just never know. Seriously. You never do. Even the most mundane, simple, or otherwise generic situation can evolve (or in all likelihood escalate) into something very, very different that what you anticipated.

Case in point: Club Royalty off the Leidseplein.

One night during our recent trip, Steve and I were wandering aimlessly about town trying to find live music. You would think that a party town like Amsterdam would have tons of live bands gigging nightly to packed houses …. You’d be wrong. It was a Saturday night at about 10pm and we simply could not find a club with a live band. Now, I’m not counting the weird two man band in the horse trailer pulled by a golf cart that stopped every two hundred yards so that a skinny Dutch kid could do an awful karaoke version of Iron Maiden’s “Run to the Hills”. Oh yeah, that really happened … but it still doesn’t count.

We were prepared to give up the hunt and just get to the business of drinking without provocation when just out of earshot we heard the strains of what could only be a live drum kit and a slightly out of tune guitar. “A band!” we screamed, “an honest to goodness band!” and we scurried off toward the sound. It was coming from a very dark, very modern looking place called Club Royalty. We paid the doorman, went inside, and there, on the stage, was a band called Mongo or Mondo … something like that.

Okay, this is where it gets weird. The band was fun – a Dutch cover band doing passable versions of U2 and Lenny Kravitz songs – but apart from the band and the staff …. Steve and I were the only people in the place. Not weird you say? Well, dig this …. Big bar, four bartenders on duty, three doormen, two bar backs, and a host of additional people … all for …. me and Steve. Further, there was an upstairs with an additional four staffers. Still, just me and Steve and our glasses of Heineken … which we could get refilled by any number of people at the raise of an eyebrow. It was the best service … ever!

An hour passes … then two. We watch the band (still just us), and notice even more people reporting for work! At this rate there was about a 6 to one staff to patron ratio meaning that Steve and I could easily walk from one end of the empty bar to the other on the heads of bar employees without ever touching the carpet. We were stunned. The band played on and eventually announced there last song. It was a rousing AC/DC cover that met with the hearty applause that only four hands can make. Then it happened …

At exactly midnight the bar was full. I don’t necessarily remember people coming in … I just remember being one of two people in the room and then, in the blink of a bleary eye, there were two or three hundred people taking up every available square inch of space. I’m not complaining – we had fun and met some very interesting folks. We even came dangerously close to a full on bar fight with some older gents who seemed to be dressed for an “Insurance Salesman of the Year” banquet. Even stranger, now it cost 25 cents to pee … and from a female Men’s Room attendant who looked like she had borrowed Lindsey Lohan’s liver for the weekend.

The band never went back on – so no one but Steve and I actually saw them – instead a DJ playing 80s dance records took over – but the place remained balls to the walls packed until 4am. Needless to say, it became harder to get a beer when there weren’t eighteen people serving the two of us. Ah, but we managed to drink until we were asked not to, and since it was Steve’s birthday … plenty of ill advised tequila was involved.

As is always the case, the story gets weirder and darker and involves one of us doing our part to strengthen international relations in a way the UN can only dream of … but I’ll leave that story for braver souls to tell …

Suffice to say that Amsterdam always delivers … just not always on time.

Many moons have passed since the completion of the 2006 World Drinking Tour and not one single post? Is it shame that keeps the faithful from imparting their tales? Perhaps … but as one without shame, allow me to cast the first stone.

It was rendezvous day. The day that our Belgium contingent would board their train and join Steve and myself in Amsterdam. The plan was to meet at 7:30 (pm) at the Café Belgique and then … game on.

Me and Steve? Well, we’d been in Amsterdam for a few days already and were starting to feel the effects of having done very bad things … lightly peppered with the pain that comes from knowing you still have bad things left to do. We had awakened – or better yet – “come to” at about 2pm and were walking to get some coffee. We were far too traumatized for a scone but secure in the knowledge that we’d bounce back by 7:30 and be ready to drink anew.

At roughly 2:15 we passed through the alley where the spectacular beer bar, In De Wildeman, is located. As fate would have it, I turned, looked, and saw Skippy walking into the Wildeman just as we passed. He hadn’t seen me yet. I turned to Steve and said,

“Hey, that was Skippy … they must be early … we should go have drink with him.”

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

(more…)

As the next Amsterdam trip draws ever nearer I feel it is my obligation to talk about my first trip to this holy place.

It was 1993 and I was but a lad of 24. I had made some very interesting international friends during my travels with Infinite Technologies, but none more interesting than Lance. Lance, or the “World’s Horniest Oompa Loompa” as we are fond of recalling him, was a chirpy British fellow of demure stature with an intense voyeuristic urge.

We discovered early on that we both shared of love of music. As it turns out, his parent’s lived in Redding, a mere stones throw from where the Redding Music Festival is held each year. It was agreed that my first trip to Europe should be to see this festival and to spend some quality time hanging out in England. Well, Redding Festival was great fun. I saw Green Day when no one cared about them, Soundgarden when people were just starting to care, and even Neil Young with Pearl Jam as his back-up band. I also saw local bands like CUSM (Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine) who I have a fondness for, and the now Drinking Team favorite Reef who you should go check out RIGHT NOW. Ah, but this tale isn’t about rock n roll … at least, not anymore.

During this ten day trip we had exhausted London, seen all of Redding, and still had a long weekend to kill. Lance suggested we take a drive over to Amsterdam for a few days or relaxation and recreation. “Amsterdam?” I said, naively. “Where the Hell is Amsterdam?” and he quickly pointed out that this historic city in Holland was quite the tourist destination. Being eager and pretty much open to anything not involving prison rape, I agreed and we were off.

I don’t remember much about that first trip other than I now dream of the place and wish to return there every chance I get. All I know is that we parked the car, walked into the center of town, and I immediately went into party overload. I felt like the brothers from Night At The Roxbury when they are first allowed into Mr. Zadir’s nightclub. “Pace yourself!” I cried inside … but to no avail. We arrived at 5pm and I was flat on my back, at the hotel, staring at the ceiling and trying to “make it stop” by 8pm.

The next day I awoke at the crack of noon and Lance, ever the goer, was ready to start fresh. I felt like the inside of a bus station urinal, but Lance knowingly suggested that a delicious Belgian beer would set everything “right as rain”, as he put it. There was wisdom in that little fella. I don’t remember the rest of the evening, but I remember that next beer … it was Duvel, and I love it to this day. The first sip was hell and the next forty were heaven. I was BACK!

Our two day trip ended up lasting four, and we slept on two inch foam pads in the scariest youth hostel on earth. We drank all day, smoked all night, and even explored Lance’s fondness for “Watchin’ a bloke shag some bird” … a quote that would later define him.

I’ve had more fun in Amsterdam since … it’s always more fun once you are a seasoned vet … and I’ve forgotten a good many trips there. Ah, but I’ll never forget that first trip. Like entering Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory for the first time, or what it must’ve felt like to step onto the moon. Yes, I took a good many years off my life that weekend, but hell, I wasn’t using them anyway.

Yeah, the Belgian beer is pretty good. But right now, I’m hungry, and I’m jonesin’ for a McKroket.

No trip to Amsterdam is complete without a late night visit to McDonald’s for a McKroket.

Of course, the die hards prefer the Krokets at FEBO, as they’re open all night.

Mmm … the cheesy goodness … the minced pieces of mystery meat ….

September can’t come too soon …