Dutch Language Blog

The hosts of the Dutch talk show “Proefkonijnen,” which translates literally to “test rabbits,” but means something more like what we mean when we use the phrase “guinea pigs,” say that the concept of their show is to “answer easy questions.”  But the question they’re answering this week is inarguably complicated.

Today, an episode airs in which the two hosts will taste one another’s cooked flesh.  One of them chose to sacrifice butt-flesh (bilvlees), another, belly-flesh (buikvlees?).  One wonders how this was all decided, and how the surgical operations were performed.

In the preceding clip, there are any number of remarkable moments.  The way that these dudes look into each others’ eyes as they watch little bits of themselves bubble in sunflower oil on the stove (the chef keeps his poker-face–probably for the best), and then, just before fork meets mouth, is pretty deep.

Would you taste human flesh, given the opportunity?  And furthermore, is this legal?

Delft pottery, sometimes referred to casually as “Delft blue,” gets its signature look from a particular kind of white glaze, which “master painters” then cover with those well-known intricate blue designs.  It’s been around since 1653, which is why its newest strain is called “Blue D1653.”

The space age-y name had me expecting some ultra-modern Dutch fare, but the new designs–by Arian Brekveld, Damian O’Sullivan, and Chris Koens–retain the brand’s delicate aesthetic, while playing with typical functionality.  These “Blue Rings,” designed by Chris Koens, are meant to be used as fruit bowls, or organizers, but unlike most vessels, they are bottomless.

What do you think of this update?  I particularly like the “Blue Collar Bottles,” which would not be recognizable as Delft products, except for their, you know, blue collars.  And I’m a big fan of the classic Delft tiles; I’d love one of these wide new serving tiles for Christmas.

I love that Delft plates, vases and tiles sometimes depict maritime themes–ships, in the case of these vintage tiles, or whales, as seen on this new “versatile serving plate.”  Can any of you understand how this one is supposed to work?  I’m at a loss.

In any case, these blue creations seem like expressions of the historic link between the Dutch and the sea–sometimes too close for comfort, but always intimate.

When I asked my father which Dutch filmmakers I should look into, he immediately thought of Bert Haanstra.  ”There are some really good ones,” he said, “with no sound.”  I expressed surprise, and my dad made a joke about cheap Dutchmen.

But I don’t think it was parsimony that motivated Haanstra’s choices, and in most of the work that I’ve found, there is sound being used–there just isn’t much dialogue.  Haanstra made many documentaries and documentary shorts.  I’m posting two for you to check out, here:  one is called Glas (1958), and the other, Zoo (1961).  Both titles are self-explanatory:  Glas shows us glass-blowers inside a Dutch factory; Zoo watches people and animals walk around a zoo.  Or, if you like, a dierentuin.

This is Glas:

It reminds me of the sequences that used to air on “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood” when I was younger–do you know which ones I mean?  They would take the viewer inside a peanut butter factory, for instance.  Haanstra’s version is, of course, much more sophisticated.  I love the way the glass blowers are made to seem like jazz musicians, inflating their cheeks like trumpeters.

And Zoo is special, too:

The jazz soundtracks in both of these shorts lend a very pleasant feeling to all the “characters,” beast and human alike.  And you’ll notice that in the little intro to Zoo, Haanstra mentions that this was one of his first–and, perhaps, one of the first–hidden camera documentaries.  He says that he used a hidden camera in order to “observe people in their contact with animals.”  Animals continued to be at the center of Haanstra’s work, particularly during his later career.