THE UTTER DUTCHNESS OF THINGS

One of the people in a social media realm who has been a friend for several years as well as someone whose points of view I share asked me "Mijneer... Okay, I'm officially confused. Do you originally come from the Netherlands or just know the language? Or somewhere in between? Or just tell me to f**k off and mind my own business..."

To which I answered: "My father's family is Anglo and Dutch from New York, heavy on the Dutch. Because Calvinists didn't marry outside the fold for several centuries, my mother was a very distant relative, which I didn't find out till doing genealogical research. We moved from southern California to the Netherlands when I was two, I came back for college when I was eighteen, and consequently speak and read Dutch fluently, and because of my reading interests also read several mediaeval and dialect versions of Dutch. Thanks to my social environment when I was growing up in Holland, Indonesian language, food, and chilipaste are like mother's milk to me. Hot, buttered, lumpy, mother's milk."

The most common version of post-mediaeval but not yet modern standard Dutch many people know is the language of the Staten Bijbel translation, often coupled with the lovely versions of our language as employed by Peter Datheen and Marnix van Sint Aldegonde in theology and literature during the sixteenth century. Of course nowadays, most of us Dutch-fluent people are Jack-Calvinists at best. We are familiar with our ancestral practices, but we've run away from religion and the only part we still practice is severe disapproval, often random, of nearly every one else. Coupled with giggling and sneering "tolerance". Basically, we had high hopes for you lot, you saw the splendid example we set, and yet you do not strive in any way to be like us. How sad.

Chilipaste (sambal) is the one great glue that no Dutch larder or dinner table should be without. As well a building block for subsequent more complex sambal. From simple inclusions of just fishpaste, garlic, lime juice, or tomato, to complex thick-simmered concoctions with coconut milk, curry spices, and odd vegetable bits or dry fish, as well as stirfried side dishes made rubicund with fresh hot chilies. The Dutch jarred versions, though immensely varied, are fairly simple.

Uncle Janeiko went through three-quarters of jar of green chili sambal over two or three visits to my father's house during my visit a few years ago. Casually, dumped over some left-overs on which he was snacking. It was extremely hot. He had been born in Java.


By the way: we are also an argumentative bunch, disagreeing with stated opinions by other people is something that comes naturally to us. So if there are any comments by Dutch readers underneath this essay, I fully expect them to be contrary.

For instance: "Sambal? Absurd! No Dutchman can survive without Mayo (or mustard). You NEVER put sambal on 'broodje shwarma' (or the NRC Handelsblad, whatever). You, Mijnheer, are an idiot!" Then they'll refuse to comment any further.
They've had their say and 'proven' their point.
Punt uit.



Mayo? Mayo?!?!?! Gatsamenoe! Malloot!




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