De Kibbelking

It’s Friday, and noon is approaching. Billie Stormzy and I have spent the morning walking through the streets of Scheveningen. For some reason, Billie Storzmy has developed a fascination – obsession is maybe a better description – for two streets close to his sister’s school. Out of the blue, he can say: “Shall we go to the Messtraat and the Haringstraat?” – always in that order, which is also the order in which he wants to visit them. He knows the names of most of the streets in our quarter, but these are the two he really enjoys cycling or walking through, of course calling aloud the numbers on the houses. It’s a strange hobby.

Anyway, that’s what we did this morning, with Billie Stormzy on his kick scooter, which he can drive really well, and me walking alongside him. Sometimes, he left his kick scooter behind to climb the stairs to porch houses and check out the house numbers next to the doors. He also took his time circling a large courtyard behind one of the streets, also to check out the numbers there. At a certain moment, I told him we were going to be late for his music class, but he remained unfazed: counting all the numbers of the Haringstraat and the Messtraat – and of every other street as well – was clearly more important than going to music class. We arrived 15 minutes late.

After music class, we went shopping. Tomorrow, we’re leaving for Tunisia and there was still stuff we needed to buy. It’s going to be an interesting trip, the first one back there since we left the country where we lived for two years. Billie Stormzy’s sister, who was three when we left, doesn’t really remember much, but things might come back to her when we’re there. And I’m interested to see whether things changed much, and how I feel being back in a country I have both fond memories of, but also where life wasn’t always easy, to the point I was quite exhausted by the time we returned to the Netherlands. But maybe I cannot really blame Tunisia for that, given that I’ve been pretty exhausted for the past year or so too. In fact, I applied for another job last week, as I feel somewhat underappreciated at my current one, where I am basically running an entire department, and have done so through highly tumultuous times, with constant staff changeover – not to mention the pandemic. But all I hear during my annual feedback is that I should have applied for research funding. I almost got that other job, but unfortunately it went to an internal candidate. They were impressed enough to want to continue the conversation, though, so who knows what will come of it.

Anyway, after our shopping, we cycled to the Pier. It’s still quiet there, although most of the eateries have opened by now. We settle for the Kibbelking. Its punny name refers to the Dutch specialty of chunks of battered fish, which is also the main dish on the menu, although they serve other items as well, such as fried calamary and fish and chips. However, what’s the point of eating at a place called the Kibbelking if one is not going to eat kibbeling? So obviously, I order that dish. For Billie Stormzy, I order French fries.

We sit down at the right side of the Pier, where we look out over the sea, a few beach clubs, the Carlton Hotel and, beyond that, the northern beaches. It’s a very sunny day – there’s hardly a cloud in the sky and not too much wind either. From behind the windows of De Pier, it looks quite idyllic, although there is the empty shell of the building that was once supposed to become Hardrock Café Schevening – until the Hardrock Café franchise pulled out of that, and it turned out nobody else was interested either, leaving the white modernist building that looks like a gargantuan jelly fish stranded on the beach. I cannot make up my mind whether I find it appealing or an eyesore. I can’t say I think it's a pity the Hardrock Café never materialised – it’s an utterly pointless franchise as far as I’m concerned. But it’s amazing they built a building like this without making sure it is actually going to be used.

Billie Stormzy is walking up and down a broad beam alongside the windows. The part of the Pier where the Kibbelking has its tables and chairs is decorated with fishing stuff: nets, drawings of cod and shells. Billie Stormzy is fascinated by the nets, trying to feel it and figure out what it’s for. On the Pier’s sound system, Madonna is playing, and a while later Culture Club’s “Karma Chameleon”. As usual, De Pier is a wormhole in time, back to the eighties as far as music is concerned. Billie Stormzy shows interest in my kibbeling. “Can I have some?” he asks, and I tell him he surely can, breaking off a bit and offering it to him. He turns as if I am trying to force him to eat it and says: “I don’t want any!” The fries can count on a less mixed response: he’s eager to start eating them, but knows from experience they might be too hot. For this reason, he’s developed the habit of only eating the smaller fries, which I pick out from his plate and lay on the edge. Soon, these have cooled off and he starts munching on them.

I’m not a fan of kibbeling at all, but I must say this one is good. Clearly made of quality fish and battered in a way that isn’t too greasy (although of course, it is greasy), with a homemade sauce that is very nice as well, I quite enjoy it – although this kind of food will never be my favourite. Billie Stormzy wants to know what the slice of lemon with which it is served is.
“Lemon,” I tell him.
“Is that nice?” he asks.
“Well, a bit sour, but nice with fish,” I reply. He nods. Suddenly, he says he wants to continue counting in Indonesian. This takes me by surprise, although it’s not the first time he does it. A few hours ago, when we were walking the streets of Scheveningen, we were indeed counting in Indonesian – it is one of the languages in which he can now count up to a hundred – but we broke off. He knows exactly where we left and continues with empat pulu tiga (43). He says the number, then as a confirmation, I have to repeat it. We reach 65 this time. By then, he’s also done eating his fries and drinking the apple juice he ordered. As I finish my kibbeling, he starts walking up and down the beam alongside the windows again.

At a certain moment, he spots a hole some people dug in the sand somewhere in the beach alongside the Pier. “I want to go inside that hole,” he tells me. I nod, and drink what is left of the apple juice. Then he suddenly says he needs to go to the toilet. We hurry to the nearest public toilet and he sits down to pee, very proud he made it this time. We wash his hands and walk back to the Kibbelking, where we pick up our jackets. Billie Stormzy has forgotten he wants to go to the beach, but now wants icecream, which we pick up at …. and eat on the stone steps in front of the Pier before going home.