is you who look with disdain and sufficiency (often justified) the food coming from outside the border, his majesty the kapsalon. Despite its name in Dutch means a hairdresser, what I'm going to present is none other than the typical dish of Rotterdam, by chance less than ten years ago by an unknown culinary genius, who had the audacity to create a container filled with chips, kebab meat, salad and cheese, in addition to any other business sauces, typical in Turkish cuisine. After this brief description sure many of you are picturing a meal of exaggerated fat calories and fats, manufactured by some kind of ruddy hands sewage in a shack on the edge of the road, tinsel indistinguishable sauce, and served in a tank in the cleaning if the battery with the carburetor of a panda 89. Well, the kapsalon is just that, and the beauty is that it is also quite good. Like his cousin
kebab, the kapsalon is fast becoming the meal the night par excellence of the inhabitants of Rotterdam, because as everyone knows, after a night spent around local, with over a beer on the stomach, about two in the morning you begin to experience a craving for food as possible unhealthy, processed and indigestible, accepting without thinking that their future will see us coming to grips with a digestion tormentatissima in a fight to the regurgitation. On the other hand, the digestion of kapsalon should not make a lot of fear to anyone, because to win one of these wonders of ethnic cuisine you must join a crowd of hungry onlookers, and wait a good ten minutes with the five euro in hand, an eye to the bicycle unattended, striving for careless paninaio turkish.
Personally, I think I can consider the kapsalon rightly the symbol of this city, with its seemingly irreconcilable mixtures, its multicolored faces, the intersections of race, its flavors and its unexpected ability to mix everything and does not produce knows how, a result that more enjoyable. I'd like to bring a kapsalon in Italy on my return, but apart from the appearance and texture image becomes after he cooled down, I'm sure he would never eat the same flavor on the steps of Piazza Duomo instead Eendrachtsplein at four in the morning ...
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