Date-worthy Happy Hours

In case you haven't noticed, I like a good deal. Portland has so many restaurants, trying them all for full evenings out would be a financial undertaking akin to a downpayment on our first house. So I have become a self-proclaimed expert on Portland's abundant happy hour scene, a scene that has allowed us to sample restaurants that would otherwise be outside our normal dining budget. After 18 months of exploration, here are my six favorites, from the casual to the upscale:

Dig a Pony: This is where the 20-something hipsters come to play like it's 1899. Huge windows fill this lovely open space with natural light; the artisanal lightbulbs and plentiful candles means attractive lighting for all once the sun sets. Exposed brick walls, an old-fashioned horseshoe bar, and a smattering of old books class up the joint, while the thumping (but always hip) music keeps it young, and the moody bartenders with their suspenders and bowties keeps it attitudinal. Happy hour runs until 7, with local beers, well drinks, and plates of food all $3. Best bet: the Cubano. The fries are good, too.

Hubers (411 SW Third): For something completely different - think 1890s without the irony - get to Huber's early to snag a booth in its dark-wood bar before it fills up with happy hour regulars. The menu is not particularly noteworthy other than its incredible cheapness: a long list of meal-sized dishes for $3 or $4. Since the food's such a deal, splurge on a Spanish coffee, the making of which Huber's has turned into performance art.

Clyde Common (1014 SW Stark): A new classic on the Portland scene, Clyde Common combines the woodsy/light industrial look with well-executed dishes that typify Portland's trendiest food trends (e.g., nettles, terrines, obscure pasta shapes, various forms of pig). The happy hour food menu is limited - you're here primarily for the $5 cocktail specials, most of which involve bourbon. Sitting around the communal table as the open kitchen behind you gets on with dinner prep, you will feel jazzed and maybe even a little hip; you might even feel inspired to stay for dinner, but be forewarned that the dinner menus aren't even printed until happy hour ends at 6.

Heathman (1001 SW Broadway): On the other side of downtown, and at the other end of the new school/old school spectrum, is the Heathman Hotel. Portland doesn't go for grand or ostentatious; it likes understated and comfortable elegance, which pretty much sums up this traditional lodging and dining establishment. The Heathman's reliably excellent restaurant is a popular lunch spot for lawyers and business types, and its bar is a classy choice for an afterwork drink. A cheaper food menu is available all night long in the bar and in the tea court lounge, where you can sip with sophistication on chaise lounges and love seats underneath the grand chandelier. Even better, the tea court lounge hosts live jazz Wednesday through Saturday.

ClarkLewis (1001 SE Water Ave.): For a classy but modern ambiance, head over the Hawthorne Bridge to the cluster of trendy establishments in the inner east side's warehouse district. ClarkLewis was a hot restaurant five or seven years ago; the buzz has died off, which just translates to "same great space, more chill vibe." I love that their happy hour drinks include real martinis and gimlets - and more-than-just-house wines - for $5. As for the food, expect a scaled-down version of their regular fare, not as good or as intricate but a decent value: a deliciously fatty burger is $6, a plate of house-made spaghetti bolognese (properly cooked al dente and not overladen with sauce) is $4, and a large green salad with seasonal toppings is $3. They also keep a dessert option on the happy hour menu (usually around $3, too), so you could have a full three-course meal for $12-$15 per person. Particularly on a nice day, with the garage-door windows rolled up, this lovely space feels positively date-like, or at least more New York than new Portland. Happy hour runs daily until 6:30 (6:00 on Fridays).

Lincoln (3808 N. Williams): Like Clyde Common, Lincoln focuses on what I think of as new Portland cuisine - house-made mousses and terrines; perfectly prepared local vegetables; well-seasoned game ragus. Like comfort food, but cooked with the precision of a French-trained chef (and speaking of chefs, chef-owner Jenn Louis is one of the best in town). Even the space feels like an upscale pub, with big windows and comfortable booths and a small bar flooded with light as the sun sets. Service is friendly and attentive; the happy hour menu is ample and constantly changing to keep pace with seasonal ingredients. This is a perfect end to the day: mellowing over plate after plate of perfectly executed fare while watching the bike commuters on N. Williams whizz by. Happy hour runs until 7 on weekdays. 

New Portland Comfort Food

Old Portland is alive and well when it comes to food: from the Heathman to Huber's, Portland's culinary institutions soldier on unfazed by the vegan/pork belly/itzakaya/food cart fads that might be sweeping the rest of the city. More on these stalwarts later.

The East Side: Home of New Portland

Then there is New Portland, the Portland of Portlandia, of hipsters and mavens and prematurely retired young people of a creative and entrepreneurial bent who seem unfazed by their limited economic prospects. In the extreme, this Portland can be tiresome - but it also provides great benefits. Like the following: my favorite destinations for New Portland-style comfort food, all with distinctive ambiance, good food, and weeknight-friendly prices.

Sweet Hereafter (3326 SE Belmont): Vegan comfort food served in a dark and hip bar - and it doesn't even have a website. You can't get more Portland than that. The dishes are rich and not particularly healthy (other than the lack of meat and cheese), just the way pub food should be. The beer list is decent, particularly given that all the beers are vegan, too (though I'm not particularly clear on what differentiates a vegan from a non-vegan beer). But while we really like the food at the Sweet Hereafter, the reason we keep coming back is its date-worthy atmosphere. Hint: Order before 7 p.m. for a $1 off entrees and a $1 off most beers.

Bollywood Theater, before the dinner rush.

Bollywood Theater (2039 NE Alberta): Indian street food, served casually in a bustling cafe of mismatched tables and silent screenings of the cheesiest of old Bollywood movies. The flavor of each dish is multilayered; the paneer is housemade. Excellent vegetarian options abound. The paneer kati roll, our favorite item on the menu, is a full dinner for just $7. Other winners include the shrimp curry (light on the coconut, balanced use of cardamon, a noticeable kick of spice) and, for those looking for less rich and more mild comfort food, the aloo tiki - fried potato cakes with peas, served with a chickpea stew.

Grain & Gristle (1473 NE Prescott): We might be particularly partial to G&G because it's right down the street from our house, but this cosy pub of rough-hewn wood tables and a welcoming bar is our winter-time favorite. The menu is meat-focused, classic bistro food but with fresh flavors and local ingredients. Best of all, most dishes land in the moderate $10 range. The cheeseburger is a perennial favorite, as are whole pan-roasted fish and freshly made pastas. I particularly appreciate the bar's excellent draft list of local beers, as well as their per-ounce pricing (there's no shame here in ordering just a glass, and no volume discount for ordering a pint). Also popular: the "two-fer," a daily meat special large enough to share, served with vegetables, a couple beers, and a dessert for just $20.

Broder (2508 SE Clinton): Brunch done right. Scandinavian-style, with aebleskiver, lefse, and mixed bords of delectable treats. On weekends, expect a wait, but at least you can sit around inside the Savoy Tavern next door with some Stumptown coffee to keep you company. I love the bright ambiance and the very good food (unusual for a brunch spot), plus it reminds me sweetly of our time in Copenhagen.

Snuggling up at Biwa.

Biwa (SE 9th & Ash): Portland has an abundance of good Japanese restaurants, and we're not talking just sushi here. Biwa is our favorite among the city's many itzakaya (drinking pubs), a snug underground gathering place with a long menu of ramen, yakitori, and drinking snacks and an even longer menu of shochu and sake. This is where we often take friends from out of town, both for the good food and for the hip but comfortable atmosphere. Also, their logo is an adorable chick. Best deal: After 9 p.m., at the bar, giant bowls of ramen are only $5.

Kennedy School (5736 NE 33rd Ave.): OK, so this isn't technically New Portland - the McMenamin's franchise is about as Old Portland as you can get. But it has a great set-up: they converted an old elementary school into an adult amusement park with multiple funky bars ("The Boiler Room," "The Honors Bar"), a restaurant that includes a lovely courtyard, a hotel (complete with "soaking pool"), and a second-run movie theater with $3 tickets. This is our preferred movie venue in Portland - not great on the technological front, but the seats are vintage sofas with homey end tables in between for your food and beer, and did I mention the tickets are $3?? (Fair warning: weekend movies can sell out - get there early.) Granted, the food is mediocre, but Jeff is particularly fond of their soft pretzel.

Not-so-cheap-eats Japan

Though we survived primarily on noodles, fried food, and department store takeout while in Japan, we did step out on select occasions.  My favorite not-so-cheap eats in Japan, roughly in ascending order:

1. Teppanyaki

The preparation of our third course.

OK, so it's Benihana (not that anyone under the age of 40 has ever been to Benihana, including me) - except, as with most things Japanese, the Japanese version is way classier.  Our teppanyaki experience came with fancy cotton aprons (much more Martha Stewart than plastic bibs) and a server-to-patron ratio of about three to one. 

Our personal chef grilled our premium Japanese beef at our table as we munched salad and sipped delicate broth; he used the rendered fat to cook a third course of Japanese vegetables, accompanied by miso soup. I have rarely eaten a plate of steak so quickly or with so much pleasure.  A personal motto of mine: if you're going to eat a mammal, make it count.

2. Izakaya 

Japanese drinking establishments are not, it turns out, just for drinking. It is expected that you order food - ideally amply, though I think exceptions are made for foreigners - which, combined with the generally overpriced beer, makes izakaya a not-so-budget option. 

Our most traditional izakaya experience was in Takayama, a quaint town high up in the Japanese Alps. A local had recommended Kinoene to me, and whenever we asked someone else for directions, they would get a wistful look in their eyes and say, "Ooohhh, Kinoene!" We took this as a good sign.

Cheap Eats Japan, Part II

Where was I? Ah, yes: noodles.  Plentiful, delicious, cheap -- but also just the tip of the Japanese convenience food iceberg. And so we move on to that second major Japanese food group, fried.

Fried food on sticks:  

Kushiage (which I think literally translates to "fried food on sticks") is exactly what it sounds like.  Any kind of vegetable and almost any kind of animal product is panko-crusted and deep fried to order, served with shredded cabbage and a sweet dipping sauce (in which you should never double dip).  As the Japanese know well, fried food goes best with beer, and it's the beer that will run up your tab in such places - each skewer on its own costs less than $2.  Greatest novelty: frying quail eggs turns them into squishy eye balls with the most amazing gooey yolk when you bite into them.

Lotus root has a most distinctive shape.

Okonomiyaki: 

Though kushiage could give it a run for its money, I would have to say Japan's premier drunk food is okonomiyaki.  Seriously, I don't understand why every college town doesn't have an okonomiyaki hole-in-the-wall diner, or why Portland appears still to be lacking an okonomiyaki food cart (Note to Portland: Get on it).

Okonomi-mura

One of the best cities for okononomiyaki is Hiroshima, where there is an entire building downtown (Okonomi-mura) made up of tiny okonomiyaki stalls. It's a little tricky to find the internal staircase that winds up through five or six floors of okonomiyaki paradise, and once you do, it's hard to differentiate one from another.  

We picked one on the fourth floor that seemed like it had been around for a while, was hosting three middle-aged Japanese business men, and was staffed by an older man with a yellow towel tied around his head who looked entirely displeased to see us sit down before his grill.

Cheap Eats Japan

Not gonna lie: Traveling in Japan is expensive. It's a wealthy country, goods and services are priced surprisingly consistently (so don't go holding your breath for bargain basement deals), and the exchange rate is most definitely NOT in your favor. Don't get me started on the exchange rate.

But eating in Japan: not expensive.  At least, not if you can content yourself with the Japanese equivalent of fast food.  

Now, I don't want to mislead you - we're still talking about spending $8-$15 a person here.  But there is a surprising diversity of options at that price point.  In fact, our love of street food and cheap eats while traveling reflects not so much our Yankee frugality (OK, maybe it does) as the thrill of cultural exploration.  

Breakfast noodles in a Tokyo back alley.

Noodles: Noodles are king. In Japan, one could eat noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner and still respect oneself in the morning. Noodles are ubiquitous, and they are diverse: both in type (udon, soba, ramen, somen) and in context - from the somewhat upscale to the very back alley.  

At the higher end are the soba and udon shops that make their own noodles.  These places tend to lay claim to historical pedigree and have extensive menus with an overwhelming set of options for what to have on, in or with your noodles.  

Take, for example, Ebistu, a noodle shop that has been around for 150 years, give or take, in the alpine town of Takayama:  

Culinary Curiosity and the Truth about Kobe Beef

It is a truth near-universally acknowledged that a yuppie on vacation must be in want of a cooking class. Cooking classes provide precisely the sort of cocktail party anecdotes beloved by the typical yuppie.  For example: "When we took our cooking class in Sicily, our instructor  insisted we try raw cow jaw at the local market. Raw cow jaw, carved right off the head!  Even the flies and the strays wouldn't eat our scraps!"

(True story.)

Inside Taro's home.

If you travel much around Japan, you will soon learn how rare an achievement it is to be invited inside a Japanese home. Our Kyoto cooking class snagged us just such an invitation, though I have not yet turned it into a full-fledged cocktail party anecdote.

Like most Japanese homes, Taro's uses space efficiently and elegantly.  The kitchen is not much larger than those found in American studio apartments, but with thoughtful planning and his wife's mis en place, Taro can accommodate up to three couples at a time.  Indeed, from the recipes to the lesson design, Taro's was the most organized tourist cooking class we've yet taken.

Elegant efficiency.

But recipes are generally of secondary importance for yuppie-appropriate cooking classes in foreign locales. The primary purpose is a sort of cultural immersion, with perhaps the side effect of picking up a new technique or two along the way.

To illustrate, a sampling of my take-aways from Taro's class:

Koyasan: The Legendary Stuff of Legend

Before we left for our two-week trip to Japan, a friend gifted us David Mitchell's The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, a novel about Dutch people in Japan in the late 1700s (so basically, it was perfect for us). Half way through the book, the story takes a gothic turn when a main character is spirited away to a remote Shinto shrine hidden in the mountains, run by an evil abbot who hides his salacious and murderous plots behind a veneer of religious ritual. I was just reaching the dramatic climax the night we slept at a remote Buddhist temple high in the mountains, surrounded by towering cedars, a sprawling graveyard, and the nocturnal sounds of the forest.

Spending the night on Mt. Koya (Koyasan) was my favorite of favorite experiences in Japan precisely because it was the legendary stuff of legend - the stuff you read about in books but don't expect to experience for yourself. And in turn, every part of our 24 hours in Koyasan was my favorite part, which, when you think about it, is an exceedingly impressive return on travel investment.

Favorite Part #1: Getting to Koyasan.  Osaka, the closest major city to Koyasan, is huge, sprawling, and disorientating to newcomers - the Houston of Japan. Somewhere within the metropolis of Osaka, you switch to Koyasan's private rail line: just two diminutive cars on narrow gage track that winds through increasingly remote farmland (trees weighed down by bright orange persimmons) and then up into the mountains (verdant forests of bamboo and cedar green, filtering the sunlight to a gentle dimness).  In between isolated one-room stations losing their battle with the forest moss, there are sudden vistas of the rolling folds of the mountains, green fading to gray with distance.

Playing chicken on the funicular.

When the train can climb no higher, you switch to a funicular.  The mountainside is so steep here that the rows of seats inside the cable car are nearly vertical.  The short ride tests your faith in the reliability of Japanese engineering.

But that's not all.  After you safely disembark, there is still a bus ride into the heart of Koyasan, down a narrow curving road kept in perpetual darkness by the surrounding forest.  The road opens up into the central intersection of Koyasan, and suddenly everything is white walls and sunshine.

Our Hague

Now this makes me nostalgic: a map I started while we were still living in the Hague of all our favorite Haagsche places. It's pretty awesome! I just hope some of these cafes are still in business, nine months later...

View Our Hague in a larger map

A Polish Week: Feasting on a Farthing

Turns out I like Polish food. Like, a lot.

First, there's the pierogi, which even in its most basic form combines four of my favorite food groups (noodles, mashies, cheese, and bacon fat). Of course, the humble pierogi can be fancified, as the menu of this pierogateria attests to: 

 

Then there are gołąbki (pronounced "go-wabki"), cabbage rolls stuffed with minced beef and onions and rice and often topped with tomato or mushroom sauce. These are hearty comfort food, savory and flavorful and with a texture that melts away (what those in the food industry might call a good "mouth feel").

There's a lot of hunks of meat, like the kotlet schabowy (basically wienerschniztel). While in the mountains, we had a fantastic dish of potato pancakes (akin to latkes) topped with a smoky beef goulash. 

Kotlet Schabowy and bigos (stew), with the ubiquitous potatoes and beer.

And the best part is, you can eat well in Poland for about $5 a day.

A Polish Week: We climbed a mountain

A Polish friend recommended we spend some time in Zakopane, a resort town deep in the Tatra Mountains along Poland's southern border. From Krakow, Zakopane is two hours south via one of Poland's ubiquitous "mini-buses" (also known as over-sized vans) -- of which I unfortunately lack a picture.

The main drag of Zakopane is like the Jersey Shore of Poland, a snapshot of domestic Polish tourism. A Polish expat we met over dinner explained that Zakopane is part of the country's cultural heart, a once-idyllic mountain town that inspired poets and musicians and is the gateway to the country's best skiing in the winter and the entire region's best hiking in the summer. Now the town is a mess of cheesy tourist restaurants and toy shops selling local souvenirs made in China.

With one full day in Zakopane, we wanted the prototypical Tatra hiking experience: to climb Kasprowy Wierch.  Most people take the cable car up and hike back down.  This is what the morning line for the cable car looked like:

Of course, being young and fit, we would hike up.

The path at the bottom of the mountain was wide and well-groomed, and meandered through a pine forest of babbling brooks that reminded me of Oregon. "This," I said to Jeff, "this is nothing."

Munich and the Biergarten Time Warp

Thinking about Munich makes me hungry. I suspect this is because all I did with my three days in Munich was eat (and drink).

Sausage. Pretzels. Beer. Repeat. Oh, Munich! How I miss you!

Virtualeinmarkt in August

Trust me, it could happen to you. You think you're going to explore Munich's old town, tour a palace or two - but you never make it past the Viktualeinmarkt. It's a warm August afternoon, the communal tables under the chestnut trees are packed with ruddy-faced men in lederhosen and friends catching up over a shared pretzel, the cold beer makes time slow down and imparts an instant nostalgic glow: next thing you know, it's dusk.

In the midst of the English Garden

You think you're just going to check out Munich's giant English Garden (think Central Park), with its naked sunbathers and babbling brooks, but instead you wile away another afternoon at one of the park's renowned beer gardens. August midday, the famous Chinesischer Turm seems painfully hot and dusty; much more pleasant is the Seehaus, with shaded tables directly on the shore of the Kleinhesseloher See. 

You have every intent of taking a day trip from Munich, but on your way to the train station, you're side-tracked by Augustiner, the largest beer garden in Munich. 

In the courtyard of the Ratshaus

You plan to watch the daily dance of the glockenspiel at the Neues Rathaus (the "new" town hall), but the sea of packed tourists in the Marienplatz rattles you - and instead you veer left, into the courtyard of the town hall for a beer at the Ratskellar. 

You mean to step inside the giant red Frauenkirche cathedral, but the terrace seating of Andechser am Dom is just too dreamy. 

(OK, so these last two are not technically beer gardens - you can't opt to bring in your own food, and it's not self-serve - but MAN. We liked Andescher am Dom so much, we had dinner there twice. Plus I really like Andechs beer.)

Yes, there are museums and palaces in Munich that one might visit. We did spend a morning in the neighborhood just east of the river, poking through shops on Sedanstrasse - but my memory of this is pretty hazy, probably due to sausage-and-pretzel withdrawal. 

Yet despite my unbalanced approach to site-seeing in Munich, I do not think I went wrong. Beer gardens have it all: superior people watching; quality beer; self-serve sausages, sauerkraut, and big doughy pretzels; some sun, some shade, some gentle communing with nature; and absolutely no pretension. What's not to love?

(I recently came across this site, a wiki of Munich beer gardens, which seems worthy of a plug. So many gartens, so little time.)

Three Views of Salzburg

I have learned something from all my travels with Jeff: the value of a good city view. Except that while Jeff insists on climbing things (typically church towers), I prefer to take my views with ice cream or a celebratory beverage.

Luckily I was accompanied to Salzburg with a friend similarly inclined to food, drink and leisure.  Thanks to Rick Steves' Germany (yes, Salzburg is in Austria), we spent most of our one day in Salzburg staring out at three remarkable views.

View #1: If you take the train to Salzburg (as we did), you approach the city from the east side of the river. Before crossing over to the heart of the old town, we paused at the rooftop terrace of the Hotel Stein.  Lounging on wicker couches and shaded by giant umbrellas, we worked our way through multiple rounds of champagne and Italian antipasto while gazing out over a postcard of the city.

View #2: Salzburg does not take long to explore (it's not all that big, after all). After some ornate churches, pretty graveyards, and quaint streets in the midday sun, we knew what we really needed: ice cream. Enter Cafe Tomaselli, a classic ice cream parlor fronting one of Salzburg's main pedestrianized plazas. The ice cream itself was nothing to write home about (nor were the prices), but it was served in fabulous old fashioned sundae glasses, and it came with a fabulous balcony view. The ensuing hour was spent in the blessed shade, nursing our sundaes while watching other tourists struggle through the August heat.

View #3: Salzburg is ringed by rugged, forested hills. On other days, I might have insisted on hiking around the Monchsburg ridge to the old fortress. But not this day. This day, we took the municipal elevator up and wandered for about 10 minutes along the ridge until we reached the hostel Die Stadt Alm, where large, roughly hewed picnic tables were arranged right on the edge of a cliff overlooking the city. Heaven is a giant plate of wienerschnitzel, a cold beer, and Salzburg in the golden hour before sunset. Trust me. It's spectacular.

Land of Cuisine-ary Opportunities

Back in Europe, many of our friends insisted that the U.S. has no food culture, no cuisine.  I beg to differ.  In fact, there is only one sense in which I will concede they were right: America doesn't have a cuisine, it has cuisines.

From the crab cakes of the Chesapeake to the unparalleled flavor of wild NW salmon, our cross-country drive last October was in large part a culinary sampling of the United States. Often we relied on the advice of our local foodie friends, like Alithea in Austin and Jason in San Francisco. In the vast in-between parts of the country, however, our primary map was Roadfood, a down-home food guide compiled by Jane & Michael Stern.

Calling it out at the Beacon Drive-In

Roadfood took us to the Beacon Drive-In in Spartansburg, South Carolina, with orange formica booths, pulled-pork sandwiches, gallons of sweet tea, and colorful order "callers" ("And make that hot, hot, hot ... like me.").  There were stops at Marvin's for fried chicken in Montgomery and the Wheel Inn outside of Los Angeles for real roast turkey and mashed potatoes.  And of course, while in California, we made the mandatory pilgrimage to In & Out Burgers (slightly disappointing, but then again it was 10:30 in the morning).

The Chiles of New Mexico

Several of our food adventures merit special mention.  The biggest eye-opener of the trip: New Mexican cuisine. Neither Jeff nor I had previously understood that New Mexico has its own unique style of cooking, based heavily on New Mexican red and green chilies. Unfortunately, we only had one real meal in New Mexico, at Nopalito's in Las Cruces (310 S. Mesquite St.).  I also unfortunately lack the vocabulary to describe what made this so good. Think Tex-Mex for the general contours, but with fresh house-made ingredients, intense and complex flavors, and the gentle heat of the smoked chilies permeating throughout.

Why the Rhine Valley Rocked

Over the course of August and September, I ended up in Germany for three different trips - to Berlin, to Munich, and to the Rhine Valley (I know, life is hard, but bear with me). Of the three, I most want to go back to Berlin - but I have to admit, contrary to my expectations, that of the three, the Rhine Valley made the best trip.

Specifically, I'm talking about the stretch of the Rhine between Cologne and Mainz, with the addition of Baden Baden at the southern end.  Perhaps it was just the change of pace from our typical city destinations, perhaps it was just the sheer variety of experiences to be had, but this is the trip I'd recommend for other first-time visitors to Germany.  Our own perfect Rhine Valley itinerary went something like this:

Step 1: Lunch at a beer hall in Cologne.  Excellent German food, excellent local Kolsch.  We also revisited Cologne's massive cathedral.

Step 2: Castles.  The hills of the Rhine Valley are covered with them, like the rocky ruins of the massive Rheinfels castle perched above St. Goar. Our favorite, though, was on the nearby Mosel River: Burg Eltz, a fairytale castle nestled in a green valley in excellent (still inhabitable) condition - although unfortunately covered in scaffolding, and therefore temporarily unphotogenic.  

Schloss Rheinfels

Step 3: Vertical diversity. Coming from the flatness of the Netherlands, the rolling ridges of the Rhine Valley are breathtaking (like a green version of the Columbia River Gorge).  Doesn't hurt that every ridge is topped with a castle, and every hollow is home to a miniature village of half-timbered houses.  Which brings us to...

Step 4: Half-timbered houses.  I didn't think places like this existed outside of Epcot Center. We stayed in Bacharach, a tiny town of narrow cobblestone streets, half-timbered houses tilting slightly with age, window boxes full of geraniums, and vineyards stretching up the hillsides.  Perhaps because the weather was not fantastic, the town was surprisingly empty - except for the national petanque tournament down along the riverfront. 

Top 10 Den Haag Experiences

For a friend's visit earlier this summer, I compiled a list of our favorite Den Haag experiences.  As we leave The Hague for more American pastures, it seems a fitting adieu to our year of going Dutch*:

1. Classic tourism, Hague-style

By which I mean, an hour in the Mauritshuis (The Hague's world-class museum), followed by a walk around the Binnenhof (the Dutch parliament buildings).

The Binnenhof. Photo Credit: Lyza D. Gardner

2. An afternoon in Delft 

Take the tram, or better yet, ride a bike down to Delft, a condensed version of all that is charming about Dutch towns: canals with narrow streets and white-railed bridges, churches with tilting towers, big squares and little squares and a thriving market on Saturdays. If the weather's nice, have a beer in the Beestenmarkt, a smaller square lined with cafes and full of Dutch people hanging out under leafy trees. No matter what, have a meal at Rossio - our most favorite restaurant in all of the Netherlands.

Beer on the Beestenmarkt

3. Scheveningen in the summer

Dozens of these temporary cafes line the beach during summer.

 The  Hague's beach along the North Sea, Scheveningen is a surprisingly popular destination for German tourists, who like to dig holes in the sand.  (Not only is this in fact a stereotype that Dutch people harbor against Germans, it also appears, based on our limited observations, to be true.) The most fun aspect of the beach scene - even more fun than watching Germans dig holes - is the seasonal bars and cafes that pop up along the sand during the summer months.  These are neither permanent structures nor make-shift encampments, but full-on restaurants with stylish outdoor lounge seating that magically appear sometime in May and then magically disappear - entirely - sometime in September.  You have to see it to believe it.

Feeling peaceful yet?

4. A tour of the Peace Palace

Andrew Carnegie's gift to the world, the Vredespalais is stunning on the outside and full of equally stunning treasures on the inside, presents from grateful countries around the world. The Palace is the seat of the UN's court, the International Court of Justice, which peacefully resolves border disputes, fishery fights, and other heated arguments between countries.  We take it for granted these days, but it if weren't for the ICJ, countries would still be going to war every year over the shifting courses of river boundaries and over-depletion of cod stocks.  Unfortunately, the Peace Palace is largely closed to the public, but if you plan in advance (or know someone who knows someone), you can schedule a tour.

5. Biking in the Wassenaar dunes

This activity combines two ultimate Dutch experiences: bikes and the sea.  An awesome bike path leads north from Scheveningen; at the top of the tallest dunes, you can look back at The Hague in the hazy distance.

(Already missing our Dutch bikes...)

6. Coffee at Zebedeus and/or ice cream at Florencia 

Florencia is an institution in The Hague, serving cheap coffee and cheaper ice cream to pensioners, motorcycle gangs, children, and everyone in between for something like 40 years.  It has the interior decoration of a smoke-filled Italian cafeteria from the 1980s, but any aesthetic doubts are quickly soothed by the 70-cent icecream cones. Based on a significant sample set ;-), I can strongly recommend the caneel (cinnamon), gember (ginger) and stroopwafel.  

Hanging out like Dutch pensioners at Florencia. 
Photo Credit: Lyza D. Gardner

As for their coffee, you're much better off going down the street to Zebedeus, which serves - we have officially concluded - the best coffee in town. Plus it's built into the side of The Hague's Grote Kerk (literally, "Big Church"), which is kind of cool. Zebedeus also has very good food - indeed, it's my favorite restaurant in The Hague.

7. Beer in the Grote Markt 

Particularly recommended for a sunny afternoon, when the square is packed with people sunning themselves.  We are particularly fond of De Zwarte Ruiter, which has an atmospheric interior for those colder, darker days of winter.

At the height of summer, the tables are twice as thick. 
Photo Credit: Lyza D. Gardner

8. An off-beat museum

If you've made it this far down the list, it's probably time for some more cultural amusements. Among The Hague's more unusual museums, I particularly like the Panorama Mesdag and the Museum Meermanno (a.k.a., the Museum of the Book). (I've previously described both here.) 

9. Shopping at the Turkish Market 

A massive open-air market that runs Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, De Haagse Markt (it's actual name) is what we call "a slice of life."  (See also my brief description here.)

10. Lunch or dinner at Simonis

Hit up the main branch of this local institution, amongst the unromantic docks of the Scheveningen port, for the freshest seafood in a no-frills setting and at surprisingly reasonable prices.  (The Dutch like a good value.)  In fact, their raw herring is so good, I had to revise my initial opinion of that ultimate Dutch delicacy.

Photo Credit: Lyza D. Gardner

 * Yes, Dutch couples really do split the bill on dates.

Looking for more Hague ideas? Check out my map of all our favorite places: Our Hague.