Balls, Not so Bitter
Bitterballs as they’re commonly found: on a plate. Source: Wikimedia via Creative Commons
Recently, a friend of mine passed through the Netherlands on his travels – the fourth or so friend of mine to have done so in a year and a half – and we met up in Amsterdam. While milling, malingering, and generally cavorting around town we got onto the topic of food and he mentioned that he’d tried “Dutch soup balls” in the city. “Soup balls?” I replied. “What the fuck is a soup ball? How can you get soup in a ball shape?” Thus began the discussion of what he meant by “soup balls” and how they’re apparently made from some kind of gooey gruel rolled around a hot pan or something? I don’t know. And then tossed in a fryer, pulled out and put on a plate. Somewhere along the way I realized he was talking about an example of Dutch cuisine as popular within the nation as it is infamously cited by outsiders as being kind of shit: bitterballs.
To be sure: Bitterballs – “bitterballen” in the Dutch plural – don’t exactly make a potent first impression. They’re universally drably brown, about the size of small meatballs, come usually six to an order and unadorned on plates aside condiments like mustard (and sometimes placed on doilies), are somewhat bready on the outside and oozy on the inside, and overall are kind of like firmed up, unimpressive mush. So … soup balls. If the soup was more like peasant gruel circa the Carolingian empire 1250 years ago, that is. Also, I don’t know how accurate my friend’s description was of how they’re made or if anyone else besides him refers to them as “soup balls.” But I do know that his description possibly made them less appetizing than I’d found them until then. Although it’s interesting to think about how someone likely accidentally made bitterballs the first time after forgetting about some food on the fire, maybe.
Ok, ok. Yes, bitterballs are an easy example of Dutch cuisine to trash for being trash. Folks who like poking fun at apparently crap traditional Dutch food like to point to bitterballs, sandwiches, maybe salted herring, and, uh … What is Dutch cuisine again? Yes, that’s exactly their point. And I tried my best to stave off similar opinions after moving to the Netherlands, proclaiming things like, “Well, you can get any world food here, can’t you?” That’s true, yes. I’m guessing maybe it’s less true in bumblefuck, Netherlands. Lucky for me I’m a big fan of sandwiches, either the cold or hot and toasted variety, and enjoy how simple and easy they are to both make and eat. And that’s our first clue about the relevance, function, and popularity of bitterballs.
And as a side, related, and unexpectedly pertinent note: I once saw a father and son combo in Utrecht station presumably waiting for their train while sitting on a bench and passing a pack of sliced, grocery store cheese back and forth as the one, single ingredient in a “sandwich” that otherwise consisted of nothing but a soft, uncrusty baguette pried open specifically for the insertion of said slices of cheese. So I love sandwiches, right? But I’m not that much of a heathen. For Christ’s sake at least include some hummus or something. But, there’s our second clue about bitterballs that also handily relates to sandwiches. Also people eat a lot of sandwiches here, I’m secondarily saying.
But back to bitterballs. Here’s the thing: Bitterballs aren’t a food unto themselves. They’re not meant to be a big, elaborate, wowing dish. They’re pub grub. They’re the quintessential centerpiece of this whole “vrijmibo” – vrijdag middag borrel (Friday midday snack) – set of customs in the country. They’re simple, and that’s fine. They’re easy to deal with and don’t require much labor and thought. They’ve got meat in them, and there are veggie versions everywhere. You pick one up with your fingers, or a fork, or a toothpick, do a little dip in some sauce, eat one whole, maybe bite off half, chew a bit, make some quips and remarks to your tablemate(s) about life or whatever, take a drink of some beer, wine or something else you prefer, lean back in your chair, and chill. That’s the bitterball experience. They’re unpretentious, pared-back food shareable by the plateful with a bunch of folks in a social experience. It doesn’t have to be Friday or midday – that’s just a helpful way to frame their enjoyment.
When I’ve put the bitterball question to others – i.e., “Why these things?” – I’ve usually gotten a shrug and a “whatever.” Or I’ve gotten a “It’s just what folks eat” kind of answer. These are true points. They’re no big deal – either bitterballs or the lack of anything more elaborate to grace a table. Wouldn’t some fancy French desert miss the point that bitterballs encapsulate, anyway?
Ultimately, bitterballs reflect the Netherlands, a chill place where folks don’t truck with ostentatiousness or bullshit, and take pleasure in simple things. Some chalk this general attitude up to a Calvanist history, the same history that leads people to not mind leaving their curtains drawn (if they even have curtains) because interiors are modest, there’s nothing to hide, and so forth. And these little fried soup balls? Just pop them in your mouth and accept them for what they are. Plus, people in the Netherlands have grown up with these things and expect them to be on menus in every single restaurant. They see them, recognize them, think that they’re fine, order them, and continue thinking that they’re fine after eating them. And the next time folks find themselves at restaurants the same thing happens. That’s it.
Whatever way you cut it, bitterballs are just about as un-bitter of a food as possible, just like the spirit of the Netherlands. And that’s fine, just like bitterballs.