Dutch love affair in Kemang 'Tea Room'

Dutch love affair in Kemang 'Tea Room'

Have I ever told you about my mother? No, I don't think so.
First, why should I? Second, you probably think Epicurus can't
possibly have a mother. While the soundness of Epicurus' judgment
may be debatable, the concept of a mother just seems so out of
place in the floating, quasi-ethereal world of the Food Critic.

But let's just say that my need for mom surfaced when I was
assigned to unleash all the power of my judgment on one "Tea
Room", a somewhat misleading synonym to an unequivocally Dutch
patisserie called Huize van Wely Sinz 1922 (House of Wely Since
1922). Seventy-five years since its establishment in Amsterdam,
it has managed to find a slot in the cross-culinary highway of
Jl. Kemang Raya, South Jakarta, tucked away in a somewhat obscure
office building between Rio Brazil Churrascaria and the crowd-
drawing Cafi Jimbani.

But my first successful visit (after two abortive ones)
drummed the message in -- run, Epicurus, run. While the radiant
interior looked like the Occidentalist's fantasy come-to-life,
with its mouth-watering array of designer chocolates, liquor-
filled truffles, Dutch cakes, ice cakes, jams, marmalades, and
prettily-wrapped Dutch snacks positively aglow in the fluorescent
warmth of strategically-placed halogen lights, my claim to
expertise stops right here.

Okay, so Epicurus doesn't know everything. Epicurus should
just go back home, and wallow in self-pity. Or Epicurus should
just admit that, without mother, Epicurus is nothing.

But the so-called "Dutch" taste, perhaps more than other
Continental fares, oddly requires a certain degree of
familiarity. Which is, of course, astoundingly good news for
Jakarta's Hollandophiles (meaning, generally, a few members of my
mother's and my grandmother's generation who have been exposed to
Dutch cuisine).

The proof? "A Dutch patisserie, here in Jakarta?" gasped mom,
when I proposed to drag her along on my fourth visit. Although I
couldn't tell whether her unconcealed delight stemmed more from
nostalgic enthusiasm for the fare or from witnessing my humility,
one thing was certain. She was a goner.

What's more, she is as culinarily exacting as she is well-
steeped in most matters colonial. Twitching her forehead and
wriggling her nose as if she were Epicurus, she entered the
premises with the cozy confidence of a seasoned critic. In fact,
I could see the restaurant attendants quivering as she zeroed in
on each and every item on display as if any minute she was about
to shriek, "Oooch! What an abysmal selection!"

Remembering only occasionally that she was not allowed to blow
up our cover, she resorted to conspiring whispers: "A selection
that passes muster -- but only just". Translated into plain
English, it meant a good selection of Boterkoekjes (butter
cookies); almond-based delicacies such as Gevulde Amandelkoek
(almond cake) and Amandel Speculaasstaf (almond log); Brix (soft-
textured rectangle fruit bavarois with such different ingredients
as rum, orange and Tiramisu); and fruit vlaais (Belgian-Dutch
fruit tartlets).

After our full scrutiny of the patisserie, we entered an
elevated, elegantly upholstered "Tea Room" tailored to the taste
of the lunching ladies of Kemang with its classic Continental
ambience. Tending it was a dignified maitre d' of sorts who
imbued his speech with a curious potpourri of old-world
Indonesian, broken Dutch and what must be intended as the Queen's
English, as though the clientele's journey to the colonized past
fully depended upon his exertions.

Soon, our orders arrived -- a Moorkop (a round chocolate
eclair filled with whipped cream) and Earl Grey tea for mom, and
a Gevulde Amandelkoek (almond cake) and an excellent, three-
tiered, Grand Marnier iced coffee for me. But, being the
diffident Epicurus of the day, I had no idea whether my
Amandelkoek was any good. So mum did the assessing: "not
outstanding, just passable, and slightly dry". Her Moorkop seemed
to fare better, with the slagroom (whipped cream) deemed
beautifully fresh and "true to form". In case you don't know what
this means, it translates as the cream was as sweet as anything,
as Dutch cream is eminently sweeter than other Continental
creams.

Mum was in full swing. Lamenting the conspicuous absence of
such Dutch favorites as Dutch croquettes, Goudse Stroopwafels
(thin, flat wafers with a syrup filling), Bitterballen (ragout
balls) and Poffertjes, she stabbed her fork into a Pompommetje (a
kind of apple strudel), relished the thick taste of marzipan, and
proclaimed it "good". She quickly added a qualifier. "This is
pretty nouvelle. The real Dutch stuff is the appelpunt" (which
was also available).

The somewhat expensive luncheon specials include Quiche
Lorraine (Rp 20,000), shrimp cocktail with yoghurt (Rp 24,000),
and smoked salmon with spicy carrot sauce (Rp 25,000). The
alternative would be the high tea or high coffee set menu for Rp
11,000 and Rp 13,500 respectively -- both dainty samplers
comprising selected pralines, petit fours, and other sweet
delectables guaranteed to delight the royal watchers among us.

Unsatisfied, I decided to do the unthinkable, which was to --
I know, I know -- order ragout with veal and mushroom sauce.
Barbarism aside, it reminded me of numerous other ragouts I've
tasted in Europe, the pastry oozing the finest butter, the
mushroom sauce tasting like ... well ... mushroom sauce.

But there's always a downside. With my mother, what was
intended to be mere sampling turned out to be a grinding ordeal
since she couldn't stand people who "don't finish their food". To
put it very mildly, Epicurus had a beastly time.

But here, in the heartland of hipsterdom, Huize van Wely is
likely to remain a triumph of nostalgic whimsy. Grown-up,
courteous, an affair of the well-heeled, it draws its clientele
from the European-bred, Mercedes Benz-driving upper-crust, idle
Japanese ladies, moms and grandmoms longing for vestiges of their
childhood and expatriates yearning for a momentary taste of home.

That said, they should have played Albinoni or Mendelssohn
instead of that amusical electronic music that sounded more like
Clayderman gone berserk.

-- Epicurus