Fridays have always held a special allure.
The last workday of the week comes with it a feeling of impending freedom, albeit short-lived, from mindless routine, and the promise of a rare luxury – a few more hours’ sleep. It’s even more alluring if it’s capped off with a night out in a beautiful restaurant, in of all places a windmill. After over a decade here and this being the land of adaptive reuse, De Jonge Dikkert shouldn’t really be much of a surprise, except that my inner FOB still finds such things as pure treats. So after a fairly busy workday in Rembrandt Square, the time had come for a trip to nearby Amstelveen to see if this beauty displayed online was beyond skin-deep.
It ended up being another three-hour dinner, which in retrospect probably wasn’t the best idea after a long work day – I was occasionally zoning out midway of our meal and could only force a smile every so often just to appear visibly conscious. We both maybe unwisely went with the four-course menu given a few alterations here and there, saw lovely food that didn’t entirely hit all the right notes, with service wavering from overly-familiar, to inconsistent, to just right.
While I’m still juggling whether the cost was worth it, all in all, De Jonge Dikkert – ‘the young fatty’ – was nice enough I didn’t mind the experience at all. Given my wandering appetite though it would be a long while before I’ll think of going back for a second try. In the meantime, the novel idea of fine dining inside a windmill falls way back to this weekend’s exciting potential – and see what promises if any come to light.