El Bully

Close to De Pier lies El Bully - it's difficult to miss from the boulevard because of the life sized statue of a black bull on its roof. Offering 'the spirit of Spain' in Scheveningen, it's a beach club that clearly aims for a distinct niche among its 'much of the same' neighbours. Advertising its tapas and grill, it feels like almost a shame that we are quite likely to be eating French fries here. 

After all, that's what I promised my daughter this morning, and she, in turn, promised her friend when she asked her to come along. The original idea was that we would be visiting De Pier again, where apart from last week's Par Hasard, there are quite a few other places that have French fries on the menu, too. However, the sky is a cloudless blue today, and although it is still very chilly, a beautiful day like today should not be spent indoors. In the sun, it is actually very pleasant today at the sea. 

Billie Stormzy is in a rebellious mood today. He doesn't want to do anything, and doesn't want to go anywhere - at least nothing and nowhere I propose. When I told him we were going to pick up his sister from school and then would go to a restaurant, he made a scene because he wanted to go straight to the restaurant. And later, he refused to walk by himself but wanted to be carried. He's getting decidedly heavy these days, so I wasn't too happy about it, especially since we first headed to the northern beaches, only to discover that no beach clubs were open there yet - at least none we haven't visited before for this blog. The only thing that can persuade him to stop whining (he doesn't want to go anywhere else than De Pier first, and then he doesn't want to leave the northern beaches) is the promise that we will go to a red beach club - why he is so persuaded by this particular colour, I don't know, but I roll with it, inwardly praying that El Bully - which is red - will be open today. 

It is. The next thing Billie Stormzy decides to be angry about is that we sit down outside, rather than inside. This leads to much screaming and crying, but I refuse to go inside. First of all, I don't want to be pushed into doing something by his theatrics, and second of all - it's just too nice and sunny. I tell him that if he doesn't cut it out, we will leave the place altogether and that calms him down. He even becomes enthusiastic when I tell him there will be fries, after checking the menu. I order two portions of fries (€2,90 each) and the girls want a kroket with it (€9,50 for two plus bread). I inwardly cringe when I have to order this, and to make up for it, I take two very Spanish tapas myself: Serrano ham (€7,95) and calamares pil pil (€7,65).

The girls run off to play on the beach while Billie Stormzy samples the drinks we ordered. There's the orange juice for himself, which he drinks through a straw and approves of. There's the ice tea his sister ordered, which he drinks through a straw and he approves of it even more. Then there's the ice tea his sister's friend ordered, which is sparkling and which, after drinking some through a straw, he immediately spits out again. His mood is improving. He's standing on the couch now, picking up stuff from the table - pepper, salt, coasters - to play with or to give to me. Every once in a while, he impatiently asks where the fries are. 

They're brought soon enough by the efficient waitress. I call the girls and they come to devour their fries and kroketten. Billie Stormzy has his own share of the fries, too, and when they'r finished he starts begging for bits of his sister's kroket. She kindly feeds him pieces, much to his delight. I'm enjoying the Serrano ham - it's good and served nicely with drops of Spanish olive oil on top of it and some olives. The squid, I am less convinced of. The pieces don't taste particularly fresh and the oil with Spanish pepper and garlic it is served in could have been more outspoken in its taste.

Billie Stormzy turns to me and asks: 'what about those things?' His sister sighs dramatically. He adds: 'those things that were broken!' She rolls her eyes. He will ask this question several times a day and it's a phrase with which he hopes to prompt us to start talking about several things in our house that broke down recently (our doorbell, the shower) and a trip to IKEA we took recently when I accidentily broke a cup I had just bought. I have no idea why he wants us to narrate these events time and again. As a narratologist, I have written about how we use storytelling to make sense of our life experiences: by turning them into a story, we imbue them with meaning. I'm not sure whether that means that these events are particularly meaningful for Billie Stormzy, or whether he is still trying to make sense of them - but it sure is becoming somewhat tedious to have to keep repeating them. It is also, however, quite funny. And maybe that's the point: by sharing these stories, Billie Stormzy enjoys having a shared past with us, something to bond over. Or maybe he just likes repetition. 

The girls are off to the beach again and I finish the last bits of the lunch. On the sound system, a nice mix of jazzy, loungy beats is playing. The sun is still shining bright and Billie Stormzy is still jumping on the couch, asking me whether he should eat the salt and paper from the shakers he continuously picks up from the table. I have told him several times now that it's probably not a good idea, but he still seems fully convinced of that. Instead, I give him some of my fresh mint tea. I ask him if he wants the leaves too, but he shakes his head: certainly not. His sister, who developed a taste for these leaves in Tunisia, nodded enthusiastically instead when I ask her if she wants them, so I keep them for her when the waitress clears the table. I also ask for the bill and once I've paid, I call the girls. I give the mint leaves to my daughter and then we're off.

Also on Breakfast at the Beach: Jump back in time to when I visited this place with Rihanna Gaga in 2017