I Just Discovered Stroopwafels
At least fifty percent of Amsterdam’s appeal was all of the cycling. I’m no cycle fanatic (well, I wasn’t one before I got here) but I just loved the idea of a really healthy lifestyle. I envisioned myself cycling and walking everywhere, eating really healthy food and getting that bikini bod I have so long dreamed of! Hell, even the whole mouse thing initially worked for me (I sort of thought I’d just live on rice cakes and apples out of fear that a mouse had scurried across a counter top.) This notion however was very short lived. After day two I simply realised that I loved food far too much to care about little creepy creatures on countertops.
None the less, I was doing pretty well. I bought the most deliciously fresh fruit and veggies at the ‘Albert Cuyp’ market and was totally getting into the whole organic, healthy-living thing. Apart from all the beer I had consumed on the fateful evening of my bicycle crash (on that note, I must inform you that Rhonda is once again rattling!) I was feeling pretty chuffed with my dedication to this health kick & I knew that my beach bottom was well on its way to bootyville.
This was of course until I tried a ‘Stroopwafel’ this afternoon (and by “a” I mean four of them!) A Stroopwafel is a traditional Dutch treat that consists of two thin layers of baked batter with caramel syrup filling inside. They were first made in Gouda in 1784 and I think the fact that they have been around for well over two-hundred years is testimony to how scrumptious these stroopies really are!
When my fellow flatmate Kathryn informed me of her addiction to these sweet little demons (which entailed her awakening at one o’clock in the morning for her next sugary fix) I couldn’t quite understand it. Sure, I love me a bit of chocolate and other sweet treats but never before had they turned me into a fructose fiend.
…but now I understand her predicament – I find myself fantasizing about my next little ‘stroopy-waf’ (it somehow sounds cuter and less evil when given a little pet name) and wonder if I too will awake at some ungodly hour, haunted by this devilish desire.
The ‘Stroopwafels’ one can buy at the local supermarket are small in size, perfectly round and fit quite wonderfully on top of one’s coffee mug whilst they heat up. I now fear that they will magically find their way into my trolley and on top of every cup of coffee I drink.
Let’s hope tomorrows “Booty Blastin’ Bodyshake” class at gym undoes a little of this delicious damage (and my early morning visit to Mr Stroopwafel man at ‘Albert Cuyp’ market!)