Time we looked at some windows. These are on the Nieuwezijds Kolk:

Since almost all food shops were closed yesterday, Rina and I have to do the shopping for tonight's dinner this morning. We set out in a drizzle on an expedition down Haarlemmerweg. We are on bicycles, and oh, am I ever glad I peddled my butt off for a month in the gym before coming here, because I'm better at keeping up with Rina than I was last year. Not only that, this year I can actually walk immediately after dismounting.

Food shopping begins at the Marokkaanse shop, where we pick up a tub of that 10% fat Turkish yogurt for the dessert. To supply my own kitchen, I pick up another tub plus various odds and ends like the fine Egyptian version of the mango nectar that I don't let myself buy in SF because it's so rich.

Then we hit the butcher, and I build some vocabulary while the butcher is cubing a couple of kilos of frikanedau, which is what they call "fresh ham," the upper part of a pig's hind leg that has not been cured into a ham. For Chile con Carne Texas style I use pork shoulder, but for Chile Verde, I'll pay for the good stuff. The butcher throws in a generous slab of the fat for me to render myself after I've inquired about buying some lard.

Then it's back home and I start cooking while Rina hits Albert Heijn for more ingredients.

At dinner tonight it's Hans, Rina, Otto (introduced in last year's tale), Rafaël, Elly & Leo (from Queen's Day), and me.

For voorgeriche (appetizers): South American toasted corn nuts, cashews, and some dainty fried pork rinds I generate while rendering out the lard for browning the pork cubes.

Then a salad of lettuce, arugula, green onions, and tomato with squeezed avocado as a dressing. I introduced this last year, and the Dutch love it. A little puréed garlic, some salt & pepper, and a few spoons of lime juice are all it needs.

Then the Chile Verde with black-eyed peas and cornbread. I use dried black-eyes because I couldn't find pinto beans this year, but since it's been decades since I'd cooked dried black-eyes, I forgot that they get done a lot faster than pintos. Alas, by the time I do the first taste, they are already overcooked. Reheating them at dinnertime turns them to mush, and I don't think fast enough to try to convert them to a variant of frijoles refritos. The cornbread, on the other hand, turns out fine even though it sticks very badly in the pan we tried.

For dessert: Turkish yogurt with California dried strawberries and apricots, accompanied by a little pitcher of dark agave nectar that can be drizzled on to taste.

Rina has the sense to ask me to save one whole tomatillo to display since the Dutch have never seen them. For that matter, none of the guests has ever heard of agave nectar, and most of them have never eaten cornbread...or corn nuts. North America takes Dutch taste buds by storm.

And since I'm not going to start writing more recipes until after I've finished Feeding Amsterdam, I'll include a rough version of the Chile Verde recipe here. I built this recipe by reading a couple dozen recipes online and then talking with some Chicanos from LA I know.

Cut 4 pounds (1,8 kilos) of trimmed fresh ham into approximately 1-1½ inch cubes (3 cm.). Dry them and lightly brown them in lard or oil a few at a time in a large, heavy-bottomed pot. (Lard is better as long as your doctor doesn't catch you.) Drain off the remaining fat and return the browned cubes to the pot.

Add a mixture of the following that you have chopped fine in a food processor but not pureéd: 2 pounds (0,9 kilo) husked and stemmed tomatillos, a pound or more (½ kilo) of mild seeded and deveined green chiles (I especially like Pasillas or Anaheims. What you do NOT want to use is bell peppers), a bunch of fresh coriander (large stems discarded), a bunch of green onions, and, if available, a stalk of fresh green garlic. Otherwise, the peeled cloves of a head of garlic.

How big is a bunch? Well, I've noticed that in supermarkets (say, Albert Heijn here and Safeway in San Francisco) the bunches are pretty damn dinky whereas in farmers' markets they tend to be much larger. "Bunch" in this recipe means a farmers' market bunch.

The only additional seasoning this needs is salt and, depending on how hot your mild green chiles are, some hotter chiles. Ideally, you'd use fresh green jalapeños or another fresh hot green chile. Here, I cheat and use a bit of the habañero powder I brought since Pasillas are very mild.

To get it going, you will need to add some stock or water, but not too much because the vegetables and meat will yield some liquid as they cook. Adjust the heat to maintain a simmer, and cook until the meat is almost falling apart and the vegetables cooked down into a thick green sauce. You may have to add a little more liquid, but remember that you want the sauce to be quite thick at the end. When the sauce gets thick enough, it will start to stick and burn if left unattended, so just before it burns is a good time to call it done. Well, assuming that the pork is fork-tender. Cooking time varies according to the pork, how well you browned the pork, and the altitude - around three hours.

As the dish cooks down, I decide it could be a little hotter. I give Rina a taste, and she says the hotness level is perfect. I back off since my purpose is not to tear out their tonsils but rather to give them a dish they enjoy.

Tolerance for pepper varies enormously. Rafaël eats by the spoonful sambal that to me has no taste but is just bottled fire. Andrew, on the other hand, starts whimpering before I can even detect hotness. It's not easy being perfect in the middle.

And finally, to exhaust the cooking fumes, how 'bout some Amsterdam flues...for those who don't have enough of my San Francisco flues: