As I have so often explained, the winters in Amsterdam are tough. Day after day of damp grey days, punctuated by downpours that seem to coincide with the times I decide it's safe to hop on my bike. We are always scheming about ways to beat the winter blues here. For some, that means dashing off to places with blue skies to either sun or ski with names I have slightly heard of, but could never point to on a map (Mauritius and Lech, to name two that people I know have been to. I smile and pretend I know just how beautiful those spots are, then run home and google them). For me, that means finding Amsterdam places that serve a heart-warming brunch.

Brunch is a relatively new phenomenon in a country that thinks chocolate sprinkles on bread, or a roll eaten while biking is a good breakfast. Here is the breakfast that Rachel's friend Liz brought back to the U.S. after her visit here.

I love this video of American kids trying out breakfasts from around the world. Notice what happens at minute 3 when they discover a proper Netherlands breakfast. The highlight for me is when a little girl asks, "People have this for breakfast?" with such a gleam in her eyes. Yes, they do!

Brunch - or even better - any-time-of-the-day breakfast has always served an important role in my life. In fact, on a recent trip back to the U.S., I cut short a conversation with someone I hadn't seen in months just to get to the local bagel shop before they stopped serving egg sandwiches. A gal has to have her priorities straight, right? Maybe that breakfast love harkens all the way back to sleepover days, when the morning-after, my mom (or the mom of whoever was that night's hostess) would crank out pancakes for the sleepy crew huddled around the kitchen table. I would always seem to be declared the winner when the final count was in as to who ate the most pancakes. In those days, that was a real source of pride. In high school, we often stopped by the Princetonian Diner for breakfast after a party. The absorbent qualities of eggs, toast, and hash browns were no doubt much appreciated by my bloodstream. Then there was the Sunflower Café in Cambridge, Mass. where I think we ate brunch, but is better remembered as the place we often lugged a gallon jug of BYOB white wine to drink with our dinner. This was in an era before boxed wine, or we would have brought that with us, too, no doubt. I can't say I moved to San Francisco after college just because of all the amazing breakfast places, but I do know that those places helped me get through some lousy weather and a difficult in-between stage of life. I have long dreamed of opening an all-day breakfast spot that doubles (triples?) as a bookstore and a place to hear live music. It will be called Suzanne's. So it only made sense that when I moved to Amsterdam, I would begin to build new memories by developing a connection to the food. And what better place to start than with breakfast?

I'm not alone in my tendency to link food with memories. One scholar has written a book about how our brains link food to memories, making it easier for us to unearth them. So while I can't remember a blessed thing about the Contracts class from my first year of law school, I can tell you by chapter and verse about the meal Peter and I ate in Rome over 25 years ago. Or about the many swoon-inducing breakfast items at Mama's Royal Café in Oakland, California. O.K., maybe swoon-inducing seems exaggerated. I do know that I had to nap after many of those breakfasts, when the carbs wore off and a bone-numbing fatigue (which we coined the "pancake coma") set in.

Someone should write a book about how you can pass on important qualities to your children like the love of a good breakfast. Both Rachel and Ben have inherited this crucial gene. This was actually the coffee/tea reading hour Rachel and I found ours… — Someone should write a book about how you can pass on important qualities to your children like the love of a good breakfast. Both Rachel and Ben have inherited this crucial gene. This was actually the coffee/tea reading hour Rachel and I found ourselves needing at *CT Coffee and Coconuts* after our brunch at yet a different spot in the neighborhood called *de Pijp*. Eating a good brunch can be exhausting, can't it? *CT Coffee and Coconuts* is a giant coffee and breakfast/lunch place (three stories high) housed in a former movie theater. It's a hip and happenin' place, and one that makes you wonder if anyone in this city has a full time job.

Brunch is perfectly suited to the lifestyle of a visiting twenty year old, for whom noon is an early wake-up call. It's also perfect for jet-lagged visitors of any age, for whom noon is really 6 a.m. according to their U.S.-timed bodies. And finally, it's the ideal meal for a person who is not working full time, or most of the time. In other words...me.

This was taken at the mother of all Amsterdam brunch places: Bakers and Roasters. A New Zealander and a Brazilian share the helm, and turn out some amazing and gorgeous brunches. Some of the waiters are from Down Under, which I found out only after … — This was taken at the mother of all Amsterdam brunch places: *Bakers and Roasters*. A New Zealander and a Brazilian share the helm, and turn out some amazing and gorgeous brunches. Some of the waiters are from Down Under, which I found out only after I tried to practice my Dutch and was met with an even more perplexed stare than usual.

There are actually quite a few brunch and coffee places run by folks from Down Under. Another gem, this one run by an Aussie, is Drovers Dog. It's a cozy (or as they say in Dutch, gezellig spot), filled with a friendly wait staff and colorful, delicious food. In fact, the brunch at Drovers Dog is the cover photo for this blog post. That may not be quite as sexy or prestigious as scoring the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, but in my book it's close. Afterwards, you can hop right on the #2 tram and head to the Rijksmuseum, just like Rachel and I did. We had been trying to fit a trip to the library (housed inside the museum) into our "busy" schedule.

Imagine how inspiring it is to study inside this library. Plus we needed some proof that I do something here in Amsterdam besides just eat.

Not to be outdone by the the Down Under contingent, the Brits have their own star in the brunch firmament. Actually, there are two of them. Greenwoods has twin locations In Amsterdam, both alongside canals. I have eaten at each of them several times. They are perfect places to meet your own children, or their friends, for brunch, since they are so centrally located. Plus they serve a darn good proper English breakfast. I have remarked in other posts how surprised and delighted we were that so many of our kids' friends have looked us up while frolicking in Amsterdam for a weekend. They, too, just like I did in days of old, understand the role of a good breakfast in soaking up alcohol in the bloodstream. This place has a great selection of teas, for those who are not in the hangover recovery program. I do know that there is a list of best boozy brunches in Amsterdam, and I have a friend who has started to work her way down that list. Unlike many breakfast places in the U.S., almost all of the ones mentioned here serve booze. I don't like to mix my breakfast with alcohol, but if you do, just say the word. You'll be served with a smile.

There are a few other spots that require a mention. I can only conclude that I have no photos of our breakfasts at these spots because we were just too hungry to pose our food before devouring it. One is called Omelegg (again, two locations) where the signs boast that you can, "Get your egg on". Yet again, Ben Drucker was way ahead of his time when it comes to the subject of eggs, blithely downing five eggs a day when many of us still worried about cholesterol. With the recent findings by the experts about how dietary cholesterol is no cause for concern, we can all visit Omelegg as often as our little hearts desire, and not worry a bit about hurting those hearts in the process. Another one of my favorites is Staring at Jacob, which is the hands-down winner in the best name contest. The cafe overlooks the Jacob van Lennep canal in the Oud West (Old West) section of the city. There are no cowboys there, but a ton of great spots to eat. The brunch at Staring at Jacob is as wonderful as its name. I need to schedule another trip there soon to test out the brioche french toast. For research purposes, of course.

My latest discovery in the Amsterdam brunch world is Dignita. I love it for so many reasons. Let me count the ways: 1. It's within walking distance of our house; 2. 100% of the profits go to supporting an international organization called Not For Sale, which fights against human trafficking; 3. They serve brunch all day in a gorgeous place with a view of their garden and absolutely outstanding food.

Anytime I have been served something for brunch that comes in a cast iron pan I have never been disappointed. And that little number in the background is a potato hash pillow, topped with poached eggs and a lemon hollandaise sauce. Yes, you need to book a flight soon if you don't already live here.

My friend Don arrived here on four hours of sleep, and promptly downed two cups of coffee at our place before killing off two double espressos with his brunch. No one loves a good brunch more than my dear friend Don, believe you me, and he gave the seal of approval to this one. Don and I went to both high school and college together. That's a lot of shared history, much of which involves food.

While this post may mostly appeal to Amsterdam friends who can make use of this list, I hope the rest of you will read along and get a vicarious thrill, or be motivated to book a flight here. However, I don't want you to get your hopes up and think a luxurious spread is the norm when it comes to an Amsterdam breakfast. In fact, breakfast in Amsterdam isn't always a many splendored thing. It's often a simple sandwich, a broodje (roll) or if you want to get fancy, a krentenbol (raisin roll). All of those choices can be eaten while you ride your bike, which a plate of eggs cannot. Or, at least, I haven't seen that yet. For those who are wondering, I do not eat and ride. I need to "keep my wits about me" (as my mom always warned me to do when I went into New York City). This caution-while-bike-riding comes from a gal who often ate her lunch behind the wheel of a car. I am just not up to the task of multitasking while riding my bike...yet.

Brunch here isn't exactly like its U.S. counterpart They do serve eggs, or course, which are delicious and often have a feather lurking in the carton, so you know they're fresh. There is bacon (spek) and pancakes, but Dutch pancakes or poffertjes aren't like our big, fat American pancakes. They are tiny, silver-dollar sized, not just dusted, but drowned in powdered sugar. In a country that places rolls and sandwiches on a very high pedestal, it's odd that the bread isn't outstanding. There is a French bakery, Le Fournil de Sébastien, where you can often find a line snaking out the door, so clearly I'm not the only one who finds the native bread a little lacking. And we are still waiting patiently for a New Yorker to move here and bring a proper bagel to Amsterdam. Apparently, there is a "bagel diaspora" going on elsewhere in the world, but alas, no one with that expertise has resettled here. Whenever I eat a bagel, it makes me homesick. Recently, I came across this line in Colum McCann's Transatlantic, my International Women's Club book group choice this month: "It was not at all what Lily had wanted the city to be." Exactly! Those bagels are not at all what I want them to be. By the way, I loved the book.

The sign above the bread means, "Bread, a tradition." I'm hoping that that tradition finds its way into more Dutch bread. I took this quick photo right before the young woman said, "Geen photos." ("No photos."). Maybe she realizes that their bread r… — The sign above the bread means, "Bread, a tradition." I'm hoping that that tradition finds its way into more Dutch bread. I took this quick photo right before the young woman said, "*Geen photos.*" ("No photos."). Maybe she realizes that their bread recipe is just too valuable to share.

Here's the krentenbol I brought for breakfast when I subbed at the International School. Stay tuned for more news about that new adventure in my next post. — Here's the *krentenbol* I brought for breakfast when I subbed at the International School. Stay tuned for more news about that new adventure in my next post.

My final two entries don't really count as brunch destinations, but I need to mention them. The first is Kapitein Zeppos which is the definition of both cozy and eclectic. I was introduced to it when I had been here less than a week, by Emma, the sparkling daughter of a teacher friend in New Jersey. It is so tucked away that Peter and I couldn't find it at first. And it took me awhile to go back, because I couldn't find it again. It's a local hangout filled with plants and interesting knick-knacks where you can eat delicious soups and sandwiches, so it goes against my breakfast religion. But it's worth crossing over to the lunch side of the tracks for this place. I may have to do a separate post on lunch in Amsterdam, but for now I'll just say that with all of the colorful choices on the menu, it always looks to me like at least 50% of the clientele at Kapitein Zeppos orders the croquette sandwich. It's basically fried dough cylinders with what tastes suspiciously like molten-hot cream of mushroom soup inside, served on a roll. It's a beloved Dutch treat. I'll stick to the grilled sandwich with goat cheese, walnuts, arugula, red peppers, and honey, thank you.

When my friend Cristina saw this "Lunch at Kapitein Zeppos" picture, which Rachel posted on FB, she immediately insisted I take her there.

And so we met there last week. On a cold and rainy day, it made us feel sunny inside.

And finally, we have a excellent place to have dim sum, thanks to my friend Vera. All of our expat friends here are so generous about sharing their tips for where to find the best food in town. Vera steered us to Oriental City on a Sunday at noon. Based on the number of Chinese families there, I'd say this is the place to be in Amsterdam when it comes to dim sum. I'm also basing that on the groaning table of food we managed to pack away. I loved how you have to bite into each little pillow to discover exactly what is inside, since by the time they arrived, I had forgotten what we ordered. Even then, many of them were mysteries. We had to go home and nap after this outing.

Vera, on the right, is the driving force behind our Dutch "Babbel" group:  a group of American expats who eat, drink, and try to chat in Dutch. We are gently guided by Vera, who is German but married to a Dutchman. I think we were sup… — Vera, on the right, is the driving force behind our Dutch "Babbel" group: a group of American expats who eat, drink, and try to chat in Dutch. We are gently guided by Vera, who is German but married to a Dutchman. I think we were supposed to speak Dutch on this outing, but the dim sum took precedence. Lauren, left, wins the award for most likely to say "YES!" when you ask her to go anywhere to do anything, especially if food is involved. I love that! Then again, she would probably say the exact same thing about me.

As you may have inferred if you have been reading my blog for awhile, I have a special fondness for the musical hodgepodge of R&B/soul/funk/disco/pop. So the news that Maurice White - the heart of Earth, Wind & Fire - died earlier this month brought back so many memories of his songs and exactly where I was when I listened to them. There were a flurry of emails that went back and forth between my high school friends, all set in motion by the loss of this man whose music was so important to us. That made me think about how music, just like food, can both trigger memories and help reinforce them in your brain. For example, when I hear I Heard it Through the Grapevine, I am instantly transported back to a day when my friend Laura serenaded me with her version: I Heard it Through Suzanne Vine. If those theories about the connection between food and memory hold true for music and memory, then my memories should be strongest when they involve both food and music. Maybe that's why I can so clearly remember my dad playing the cello at the crack of dawn, and his simple post-cello breakfast of orange marmalade and butter on crackers. I will always remember when my friend Sue told me that her son's school near Buffalo, N.Y. allowed the kids to eat during class. I was so impressed, and wished I could have gone to school there. Had I been able to eat brunch and listen to Parliament Funkadelic during law school classes, things could have turned out quite differently for me in life.

The song September is a double trigger: a link to both high school days, and also the beginning of the school year, when I would blast it on my iPod as I set up my classroom at the end of the summer. And that accounts for why I know every note and every syllable. Thank you Maurice White and Earth, Wind & Fire, for making a white girl from New Jersey feel like she was full of soul.

You may think that this post was a lot of ado about food. After all, breakfast is just a meal, right? That's where I think you are mistaken. This brunch search, which I began soon after arriving here, helped me get to know the city. My Amsterdam friends often remark that I seem to know more tucked away places to eat than the average bear. During my many wandering walks and bike rides, I like to peek in windows and look at menus. It's an old-fashioned way to find new places, but I like it better then just doing a Google search while siting on my rear.

Along with discovering all of these breakfast places, I have also been making new music memories. I love my old songs and the friends and family associated with them, but this move has been all about making new friends and lasting memories to sit side-by-side with the old. In that spirit, last week, I saw the Israeli singer-songwriter and "musical ambassador" Idan Raichel play to a packed crowd with a new friend. Raichel believes that through musical collaboration, he can help break down the barriers between people of different backgrounds and religious beliefs. I loved how he told stories in between songs, including one about a young Dutch woman who posted a video on YouTube of herself singing one of his songs. What impressed him was that she had to learn the song phonetically, because she spoke not a word of Hebrew. He was so touched that he found a way to get in touch with her, invited her to the concert, and brought her up on stage to sing with him. I hope I'll never forget this new memory about the power of music to bring folks together. I took a short video so you could hear what I mean.

So, you see, this post wasn't really only about breakfast. It was also about memories, and music, at least secondarily. I'll end with a new song (to me) which I associate with the "cooling down" at the end of the Zumba classes I took with Rachel when she was here. Nothing like a singer's name with a missing vowel to make you feel hip. I don't care if the lyrics are about drug addiction, as some say. "I can't feel my face when I'm with you," makes me think about how hard I laugh sometimes when I'm with my daughter. And this week, I also had it in my head when I was out on my bike, and a sudden hailstorm started pelting my face. The point is, I'm still making those memories, here in Amsterdam.

P.S. At the risk of sounding like my parents, I think the music from my past is - simply put - better than what I hear today. Here's the last word from one of the links to my past. It's one of the greatest food-related songs, although I'm pretty sure they aren't really talking about cutting cake.