The Big Bell

It's another beautiful day, with Scheveningen bathing in the pale blue and yellow of a sunny winter day at the beach. It's early Saturday morning and the boulevard is still very quiet while we walk towards the Kurhaus. At the feet of the Kurhaus, there's a cluster of beachside restaurants, including Westewind and today's destination: The Big Bell. Along the boulevard, there are ice statues and winter trees with lamps and frost covers the road and the beach. The statues are recreations of famous art works - Dali, Da Vinci, Vermeer - and have slightly crumbled by now, but it still looks quite festive.

To enter The Big Bell, one first has to cross the smoker's section, which is a covered terrace around the actual restaurant. This doesn't only mean that smokers get the best view, but also that there is a constant whiff of smoke throughout the entire restaurant that gets renewed everytime somebody walks through the door of the main restaurant. The Big Bell is decorated as an English pub - including fake books lining the walls and real fire places - but at the same time has elements of a night club: neon signs, red lamps lining the ceilings. These two aesthetics fit ill together and the place has an air of being halfway here and there.

We sit down at one of the smaller tables in the front of the restaurant and order the Big Bell breakfast: a selection of scrambled eggs, bread and coverings, with coffee and an orange juice (€11,50). Rihanna Gaga has an apple juice as well. While we wait for our breakfast, she needs to go to the bathroom. I take her with me, even though she often prefers to go alone these days. Last week, at Lemongrass, she locked herself in the bathroom (which was a strange situation, as I frantically tried to unlock the door from outside while she remained pretty calm inside and did her but to turn the lock, in which she succeeded in the end), so I'm not taking any chances and keep an eye on her while she does what she needs to do. Soon after we return, our breakfast is brought to the table. Rihanna Gaga immedially claims the large piece of smoked salmon and the croissant, and also eats quite  a large part of the scrambled eggs. That leaves the bread, cheese and slices of roast beef, ham and sausage for me. The food is adequate for its price, although not particularly fresh (the tomato that lies on the plate among some lettuce is all wrinkled), but we have a good time. Of everything on our plate, Rihanna Gaga asks where it comes from - her favourite question. Pointing, for example, at the roast beef, she will ask: 'where is it from?' and I answer 'from the cow'. She nods and points at her lettuce: 'where is it from?' I explain that it grows out of little seeds. And where do the seeds come from, she asks. 'They're planted by the farmer'. She thinks a little and then asks: 'why?' Well, I tell, her, the farmer plants the lettuce because we are hungry. She nods and points at her tomato to ask the same series of questions. Behind her, a friendly waitress who seems very charmed by Rihanna Gaga smiles at her inquiries.

A little later, my girlfriend arrives and orders a coffee. Rihanna Gaga is done eating by now and wants to go outside, to play with her umbrella. It's a nice little umbrella that her mother bought for her yesterday and she's very fond of it, but I told her she couldn't open it inside the restaurant, so now she wants to go out. I put on her coat, her scarve, her gloves, jacket and hat and she picks up her umbrella and goes outside. It's a cute sight: the little three year old, with curly blond hair underneath her hat, standing in front of the restaurant holding up an umbrella with a cheerful flower pattern, looking around her but not going anywhere. When a van arrives to deliver food at the Big Bell, she follows the driver into the restaurant again and tells us proudly that she's been outside on her own. Then she tries to shoo my girlfriend away from the chair that she sits in - which is, according to Rihanna Gaga, 'my chair!' but we manage to make a compromise: she can sit on my girlfriend's lap in the chair that she sat in before she went out. Soon, we're done and I pay while my girlfriend puts Rihanna Gaga's coat, gloves, scarfe and hat back on. Then we go out to have a closer look at the ice statues on our way to the supermarket.