Thorin Oakenshield enjoys a Stroopwafel
One of my friends who survived the exodus from the jobs we had in 2010 left and found a job in — of all places — the Netherlands. She was in a nearby city in the U.S. recently to do research so I drove down to visit her. She was a different person — happier, more relaxed, calm, healthier in every way. Since her move she’s gotten tenure and found a partner, for whom her new job actually allows her enough time, and developed hobbies. She rides her bike everywhere she goes and has lost weight. Her blood pressure has fallen. Apart from a few things that bug her here and there, she totally loves the country. She’ll probably be a Dutch citizen in a few years.
She brought me a little present and I decided to share with Thorin. It’s a rainy afternoon, the time of year when I switch my “normal” drink to tea. Perfect weather for a Stroopwafel. I haven’t had one in years.
A Stroopwafel is a cookie that has two extremely thin, wafer layers on the outside, which are made on a griddle. Between the wafers, one finds a similarly thin, syrupy center with a sort of caramel flavor. You can buy them fresh from the
drug dealer baker, or you can buy a canister of them. These came from Gouda (where they were invented) and they are made “met echte roomboter,” or with pure cream butter.
I’ve only ever had a fresh one once or twice, but even in their export form, they are really addictive. Rumors exist that marriages have ended over them, and people have bankrupted themselves because they were unable to stop buying and eating them.
Thorin was excited to try one, but I was a little worried. The gold sickness is over but he does have an addictive personality and needs to be careful. He was challenged by the fact that he and the Stroopwafel are about the same height.
So I broke one down to size for him, seeing as how Orcrist appears to be stuck to his body. Happy Stroopwafel-ing, everyone!