It was a brisk, chilly morning in Amsterdam. I had awakened much too early and after a solitary jaunt along the Prinsengracht Canal past Anne Frank’s house, an exquisite old church and plenty of interesting people, I was positively ravenous!

Thankfully my friend Amy, brother Ryan and his girlfriend Melissa were plenty hungry too. We bundled up against icy winds and an impending storm and strolled over a bridge to Ry’s favorite breakfast place: Hein.

It’s a thin little restaurant, but deep, governed by a wizened woman dressed all in black with bleached blond hair and a voice husky from smoking. Smiling does not seem to come naturally to her, but it’s so delightful to see it creep up into her eyes and soften her rather flinty visage. She adores Ryan and loves to cater to his every whim.

On warm days we would sit outside at diminutive wrought-iron tables and watch humanity stream past along cobbled streets, but today we chose a table waaaay in the back. We walked through the kitchen and sat down, grateful for the warmth and ordered what I’d been dreaming of ever since my first trip to Amsterdam: French toast.

There is something incandescent about Hein’s French toast. Crisp on the outside it is meltingly soft inside, dressed simply with molasses-y Dutch syrup and powdered sugar.
brunch in Amsterdam

After oohing and aahing over our fabulous breakfast, we realized we were still hungry and ordered another round of lovelies: more French toast, stuffed crepes and Dutch pea soup. Delish!

Thus fortified we pulled on coats and scarves and headed off to do some exploring.