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May. 3rd, 2006 12:48 amI wrote about my family's immigration history on my other LJ. But that reminded me of a shopping trip we took this weekend. I found a store called Holland's Best online, and it turned out to be in San Jose, really close to the freeway. So we stopped there on our way to work in Santa Cruz. I got some stamppot mix, some windmill cookies, some chocolade melk hagelslag (sprinkles to put on toast), some almond and molasses lace, and oooooooh, two little tubs of smeerkaas (spreadable cheese.) Let me tell you. Smeerkaas is the BEST. Just spreading a wedge of Laughing Cow on a piece of toast, as I've been doing in a vain attempt to approximate the magic, is but a distant, pale and faded wish next to the savory glory of authentic smeerkaas. I tried to pace myself, since I only got two tubs, but one is already gone. I might have to order a case.
The last time I had smeerkaas before this was in Amsterdam in April 2002. Evan and I went for Queen's Day weekend. We had a lovely short visit, and made it to Keukenhof as well. It was the peak of the tulip season and it was fantastic. It was so weird to feel a sort of nationalistic pride. I hadn't realized how much Dutch culture had been passed on by my grandparents, and how much I identified with the Dutch. I have to say that I *am* proud of their social policies and their engineering prowess, and their way with a tulip. My grandfather was a phenomenal gardener to his dying day. He was also an incredible grouch. He used to scare me a lot when I was little. Here he is with my Dad sometime in the late 60's:
And with my grandma on the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary in 1974... this was a few months before my Dad died in a plane crash. They are standing with a blown-up picture of their wedding announcement in the newspaper; I guess they got married in 1924. Notice how thrilled they both look.
Here I am feeling proud of my Dutchness at Keukenhof:
I love all the Dutch sounds my grandpa taught me to say when I was a kid. The guttural "kh" sound in acht (eight.) I love to say "smeerkaas" or any other Dutch word with "s" in it. The Dutch s has a bit of whistle in it, halfway between a snaky sibilant s and a shhh. Make your s whistle like Roger Miller, with the tip of your tongue set back to the bumpy outcropping of your maxilla a finger's width behind your upper front teeth and you have it.
The last time I had smeerkaas before this was in Amsterdam in April 2002. Evan and I went for Queen's Day weekend. We had a lovely short visit, and made it to Keukenhof as well. It was the peak of the tulip season and it was fantastic. It was so weird to feel a sort of nationalistic pride. I hadn't realized how much Dutch culture had been passed on by my grandparents, and how much I identified with the Dutch. I have to say that I *am* proud of their social policies and their engineering prowess, and their way with a tulip. My grandfather was a phenomenal gardener to his dying day. He was also an incredible grouch. He used to scare me a lot when I was little. Here he is with my Dad sometime in the late 60's:
And with my grandma on the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary in 1974... this was a few months before my Dad died in a plane crash. They are standing with a blown-up picture of their wedding announcement in the newspaper; I guess they got married in 1924. Notice how thrilled they both look.
Here I am feeling proud of my Dutchness at Keukenhof:
I love all the Dutch sounds my grandpa taught me to say when I was a kid. The guttural "kh" sound in acht (eight.) I love to say "smeerkaas" or any other Dutch word with "s" in it. The Dutch s has a bit of whistle in it, halfway between a snaky sibilant s and a shhh. Make your s whistle like Roger Miller, with the tip of your tongue set back to the bumpy outcropping of your maxilla a finger's width behind your upper front teeth and you have it.
