I would be remiss if I didn't recount this short story. On our way back to the hotel in Amsterdam, Bart brought up trying herring from a street food cart.
Carol immediately declined, as bad tasting memories of eating herring as a youth at a German folk festival in Queens, New York came back to her.
Based on her negative reaction, I declined too. Bart didn't just lay down and take the loss. He started giving me grief, challenging my manhood.
At the same time, I thought about the vow I had made to be more adventurous when (I am pretty adventurous as it is, but could be even better).
I changed my mind and agreed to try it. Carol agreed as well, thinking that her tastes may have changed after 40+ years. (Editor: Careful, you might be giving away your wife's age. Writer: Ah, there is a enough fuzziness in that number. It's not like I point out she graduated high school in 1981 for interested people to do the math!)
Anyhow, the herring was delicious. Much better than it sounds. So, if you are on the streets of Amsterdam, definitely have a Stroopwaffle and some herring. In fact, we're going to get some more of both when we are back in a few days.
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