Castell to the carnivore's rescue again

To beef me up

I got off the train after a long hour's journey from Apeldoorn at Amsterdam and wondered if I wanted to return home to the kitchen or eat out of another kitchen.

The latter appealed to me between having a decent Italian which was not easy to get to, maybe returning to Castell where I am a carnivore par excellence, so it was Castell.

A restaurant where the ambience is mellow, the lights are low, the seating is bar-cum-living room and the music is easy. Just at the door, like any decent restaurant should, my coat was taken, my hat to the stand and my cane kept but there was no seating at the bar.

I plumb for a corner where I found I could either be facing the wall or facing the crowd, sometimes, even though I love my own company, it is not a love to be cherished when you are out – I felt both alone and lonely at one time – new discovery, I am a social animal, I feed off the company of people even if I do not interact with them.

Slow down the snails

My entrée was slow food, escargots when alive were slow, awash with garlic butter and herbs with the callipers to hold the shells as you prised out the snails with a special fork – it was interesting to see another patron later on switching the roles of the callipers and the fork, amusing, I thought.

Usually, I have the Dutch fat arse steak but I was persuaded to try the Black Angus variety with the choice of sirloin or prime, went for the sirloin medium rare – my appetite was in over-drive as I sipped from a glass of the house deep red.

Soon afterwards, there was a free space at the bar and I took residence within a social setting waiting for le plat principal to appear – it did and should have arrived with a jacket potato when the waiter realised I might have been served the wrong end, I would not have noticed but before I stuck my knife in it my Black Angus was served.

Et tu Brute?

I half gulped it down, I was that famished, but I think it is a classic piece of dining to have an 8” Sabatier to stab and cut the meat as I listened to Sam Cooke, Anita Baker, Oleta Adams, Micheal Jackson, Dolly Parton – the list of mellow that segued into easy listening just made it all the more worthwhile.

Now, a knife that threatening could do much damage in the wrong hands, it should be kept low and close to the meat as some other patron had it high in a most uncouth manner, I had to deign from the character role of Julius Caesar as Brutus allowed for the first cut to be the deepest – some people are in need of kindergarten refresher courses on how to handle cutlery at the table.

The dessert was butterscotch ice cream which only confirmed to me that my dream of having a six-pack late spring in Gran Canaria might well remain a dream.

See through teas

It was close to 10 and I could not be having coffee at that time of the day, I asked for tea. Serving tea in the Netherlands is nothing like the English would like. Ideally, one should be asked if one takes milk in the tea which should be served in chinaware because one really cannot have milky tea in a clear glass as one would have with other kinds of non-lactate infusions.

In short, I had my Earl Grey tea without milk even as one person tried to persuade me that I could do whatever I liked, well, one might be given to bouts of private lasciviousness but there is still place for proper conduct – my Englishness does at times constrain me.

It was another good evening at Castells until an insatiable craving compels me to make a beeline to a place so well appointed to the eating of the cow, the bull, the sheep, the pig and sometimes the chicken – chicken? Oven on 175 degrees and clock to 45 minutes – surely, I can roast my own chicken. Bliss!

The cravings of an omnivore - Castell Amsterdam

A life beefed up

The weather was nice enough to persuade me to go out for a walk of sorts. As I got into town, I suddenly had a craving for some meat, a steak, something succulent, juicy and palatable.

Oh! The omnivore in me was tending to the carnivorous than the herbivorous. I just cannot comprehend veganism or the tendency to ignore our predisposition for meat and vegetables for a life of trying to chew the cud unsuccessfully, we are neither bovine nor canine – I know what I want and our bodies are crafted by creation, nature, nurture or evolution, if you may, to handle meat well.

The craving had to be satisfied well away from all the Amsterdam tourist fare; so, none of those restaurant chains of conveyor-belt food pretending to serve Argentinean steaks or some other fancifully named stuff.

For our delectable pleasure

I needed a place where the ceremony of sacrificing a member of the bovine species on the altar of the satisfaction of the homo sapiens sapiens' palate was fulfilled from the sacred cow in the right condition to when it landed on the plate.

Probably only 2 places in Amsterdam offer that quality of service with an attention to presentation that is so different and quite authentic.

Cafe de Klos on Kerkstraat near the junction with Leidsestraat, reputed to serve the best spare ribs in the land and Castell on Lijnbaansgracht not too far from Leidseplein.

Not all my dentition is mine, so I am not so much a fan of spare ribs because it carries great buccal cavity risks that I have already succumbed to, too many times already.

At Castell

So, I walked further down to Castell where I was warmly greeted and set in my seat at the bar where there was ample table space for a meal.

Castell exudes a rustic atmosphere, dark as if lit by a log fire, the setting is cosy and the music is mellow.

It is unpretentious as the lobster soup gets served with splashes of Courvoisier without the uncouth hedonism of bling-laden hip-hop genuflection, it is not a case of trying to arrive but a simple question of good taste.

Medium is not rare

As far as my tastes are concerned, I have come a long way from West African cooked beef that was nigh on leather to when I demanded that my steak be cremated and brought back as ashes through when I sent my steak back 5 times in a French restaurant in Paris because it was still pink on the inside.

I can never have it blue but medium rare is just right for my tastes, the flavour of beef is just right when the juices are not completely cooked out of the meat as if one were autoclaving food.

A knife to the plank

I chose the Dutch fat arse steak (see menu); I suppose that means rump steak whilst I downed a glass of the house red nibbling on white bread with garlic butter. I was not keen on a jacket potato and opted for a salad.

The steak arrived on a wooden cutting board and for cutlery, I had a fork and definitely not a sissy serrated steak knife but a decent French Sabatier 8” chef’s knife – it could well have killed the cow if it were Halal-prepared.

My craving was fully satisfied as I carved into the steak and having cut off the excess fat, diced portions to chew, sometimes interspersing that would mouthfuls of salad, preferring the garlic and herbs sauce to the curry thing.

With the most appreciative approval

Every other omnivore in sight just nodded in approval after their first bite and were effusive with praise at the end – new-comers were persuaded of anything the connoisseurs said was good. One could say there were more regulars there than first-timers, but once you've had a steak at Castell, you probably would be back with friends.

At the end, after the tips and the pleasantries, if only there was a way to thank the cow or the bull for being so delicious, we are yet to genetically modify beef for life and death – not in my lifetime.