My hopes are high already given the chef’s name on the door. Erik van Loo belongs to an upper echelon of culinary stars in the country, as the chef-owner of the two Michelin-starred Parkheuvel in Rotterdam. We’re not often treated to exciting restaurants in The Hague, so I was delighted when EVE by Erik van Loo ended up here.

The restaurant is located in a beautiful cloudy blue building from the 18th century. It’s split into two dining rooms and I’m glad we’re led to one with a view of Noordeinde Palace. It’s gorgeous in here. The natural light streams through the tall windows and into the stylishly decorated restaurant, accentuating the calming golden hues and clean lines. It looks refined and yet open. Chic and casual. At this point, I’m already looking forward to coming back.

The cuisine is Dutch — modern Dutch, that is, which highlights local ingredients and imbues them with influences from France, Italy, and parts of Asia. Ceviche, burratas, and tartars for appetizers; cod and vegetables and a lobster ravioli for the mains, and an interesting take on tiramisu for dessert — I know no other place that exemplifies so well what modern Dutch cuisine is.

We’re led to a table in the middle of a half-empty dining room, seated next to a German couple. Their physical bodies are two feet away from ours, but they could just as well be our table mates. I hear every word of their conversation — what he orders for dessert, the last conversation she had with her father. When we start our dinner at 6:00, I’m already cognizant that the tables nearby can hear what I’m saying. This isn’t the place to have a private conversation or a business dinner.

The crowd is an interesting mix of diners. Some dress casually in jeans and wool sweaters and some in sharper workwear. The middle-aged Dutch ladies on my left dress fit for a club in sequins and sheer, and the young man on my right in skinny ripped jeans. It’s a delight to see the restaurant welcomes a varied crowd, not something you see in every restaurant in The Hague.

The menu is small with a handful of appetizers, mains, and two desserts. The wine list is confusing, differentiating “house wines” from “EVE wines” from “spicy wines” from “fruity and supple reds” from “classic and oak-aged reds” and so on. I’d prefer simpler categorization by region or red/white. There’s emphasis on Old World and South African wines, ranging from 30-140 euros with most bottles in the 60 range.

I opt for an Austrian Grüner Veltliner as it’s by the glass and ordering a bottle doesn’t seem so fun while my dining partner abstains from alcohol. When the waitress comes to my table, she appears to hide the fact that it’s a screw top bottle, but you hear the metal cap scraping against the glass anyway. I’m expecting a fresh and floral scent to emit from the glass, but it smells sharply like acetone. My dining partner, who is more versed in wine than I, agrees. I’ve never sent wine away before, but they were gracious and soon enough a sommelier comes and replacement South African wine is chosen. One sniff and I’m at ease again.

My starter of ceviche arrives before my first wine does. It’s kingfish two ways: thinly sliced and perfectly diced. Great technique shines here. The fish is beautifully presented and carries a lovely balance with the sharp radish, green allium oil, and a touch of creaminess from a verdant mayo. It’s more crudo than ceviche, but I can’t complain — it suits me better. I’d order it again.

The beef tartar is more mush than the hand-cut jewels of meat I expect. The cheese on top dances delicately like bonito flakes and threatens to overpower, but it’s not too old of a Parmigiano, so the delicate balance between the flavours holds. A scattering of quinoa is spread atop and quickly lost in the beef and cheese. It’s still a solid dish.

Fortunately, the main dishes are more tempting. The cod is excellently cooked, particularly as it’s skrei, which I struggle to cook well. There is a salsa verde on top, sweet fennel under the fish, but it’s a crispy seaweed cracker atop that stands out. The fish swims is a bit too much of a strong cream sauce that threatens to overpower but overall, it’s cohesive.

I hear the angels sing when I take a bite of the lobster ravioli. The filling shines with a strong lobster aroma that is both complex and deliciously accessible. The edamame provides an al dente contrast, but I’m then distracted by the browned bean sprouts ends which haven’t been taken off. The accompanying bouillon the waiter pours for me doesn’t taste like the advertised tom yum, and rather a standard bouillon, but it suits the dish fine.

Despite the quick show I’m treated to when the bouillon is poured, there are no explanations of the dishes when they arrive at the table. No froufrou of where the produce or fish come from, what the chef did to it, and I’m a bit puzzled at first because it seems like a nice enough setting. But even the large portion of lobster ravioli is 28 euros, not 38. And perhaps there is little to say about the edamame that maybe came from the freezer. This is where I’m reminded that although the interior is rather elegant, EVE remains a casual, rather than a luxurious, spot.

By 7:45 when all the tables are full, the noise from each table increases as voices rise to be able to be heard by dining partners. The chatter fills the room and the high ceilings, hard light fixtures, and hard walls bounce the sound waves endlessly. The only respite being the soft couch in the middle of the room. There’s nothing else to absorb the sound, and you can tell. Although I cherish a lively atmosphere, I shouldn’t be able to clearly hear the conversation of the couple two tables over. Nor do I wish to raise my voice to such an extent for my dining companions. It is really too loud.

My dining companion gets impatient from the noise and refuses dessert. A shame because the hopjes tiramisu is a highlight. Here, EVE has understood the assignment: modern Dutch cuisine with a spin. It’s executed well with coffee, caramel, and vanilla balancing each other out. I’m relieved that the ladyfingers have long been soaked, leading to a tender bite. The spoon is almost comically large, threatening to tip over the martini glass, but it holds. Despite this awkwardness, the tiramisu is one of the better bites I’ve had all year. I’m impressed.

The Hague Review: 7/10

Stylish interior and well-executed modern Dutch cuisine but falls short on comfort

EVE by Erik van Loo is exactly what The Hague missed — modern Dutch classics in a stylish and accessible setting for a reasonable price. It is primed to be a place for a comfortable dinner. There are options for vegetarians, pescatarians, and omnivores and the food is good.

I’d be more interested if they played with fermented elements, specialty ingredients, or if they told me they grow their own produce. But the dining scene in The Hague does tend to reward the conservative, so I’m not surprised.

What makes me hesitate to come back are elements that fortunately are easily fixable. First, there is a water charge of 5 euros per person that I find rather annoying, especially as it isn’t communicated. And secondly, the aforementioned noise levels that let down our experience. With these and a few forgivable service missteps here and there, it feels a bit clunky.

I wish to heartily recommend this to my friends when they have international guests over, but ultimately, it falls short for comfort.

When we’re brought to the counter to settle the bill (120 euros for 2 people), my dining partner remarks to the server how loud it is in the room. She nods her head, “yeah,” she says, then chuckles, “and the other room is even worse.”

EVE by Erik van Loo
Paleisstraat 2
2514 JA Den Haag
https://eve-paleisstraat.nl

It’s not that I believe good food can’t be found past Anna Paulownaplein — just that there’s a wealth of diversity and terrific options in the centre that fit the bill. So, in reality, my footfalls land squarely in the centre between the Peace Palace to Holland Spoor and Westeinde hospital to Theresiastraat. So I’m not often at the Weimarstraat. But Julia & Oma Miet may just change that.

Julia is located on Weimarstraat alongside other independent, beloved, and disappearing family-run places. It’s a small shop, takeaway only, shaded by the four-story 1930s apartment complex across the street and protruding stacked balconies from above. The facade is darkened, unassuming, and clean.

Upon entering, you’ll find Indonesian knickknacks, a spread of Indonesian snacks and meals within a glowing display, and an infectious warmth that reverberates throughout. Spoiler alert: Julia & Oma Miet is the definition of a hidden gem.

I had a bit of keuze stress looking at the snacks perfectly arranged in the glowing display case. From sweet to savoury, all options looked tempting. Luckily, I was helped by a lovely employee who guided me through the selection with patience and warmth that is hard to find these days. With chit chat, a few laughs, and a bountiful assortment, Julia impresses immediately within.

This is lemper on steroids

Now, I’ve long loved lempers so I’m critical about these. Simple ingredients but laboriously made with steamed rice and a shredded protein filling rolled into a neat log. They’re commonly found in the Asian supermarkets where I find them a cheap and filling snack but with dry fillings and no aromatic notes. They’re nothing like the lempers I’ve had in Indonesia.

And honestly, the lempers at Julia weren’t like the lempers I’ve had in Indonesia either. There are no banana leaves wrapped around the log but there’s also no dry filling.

And it made me go ‘whoa’. It was exactly the sensation you get when tasting a crazy combination at a nice dinner. The rice is delectable — perfectly moist, perfumed with lemongrass and coconut, and a perfect base to accompany the richly spiced protein fillings. It was like fireworks exploded in my mouth. Both the mackerel and chicken versions were excellent. It is the best lemper I’ve ever had — leagues beyond the dry supermarket versions.

And to be frank, I had the lempers after 3 glasses of wine and a wobbly bike ride home. So my first judgement…eh….even I couldn’t truly trust it. So I went back to Julia to procure more, and guys — the fireworks still exploded in my mouth. What an excellent snack. I’m coming back to Weimarstraat just for this.

9.5/10

The dadar gulung is a highlight

There’s a long list of pastries I unjustifiably avoid because they have coconut. (See how appalled I was when a bakery passed off a strong coconut croissaint as a plain one.) The offensive part to me is the chewy texture, the way it makes your mouth feel dry, and this flavour that is nutty, floral, and earthy but none fully. I’m fully on team coconut-belongs-in-savory-applications but to my chagrin, many Indonesian desserts utilize coconut. Understandably then, I wasn’t too eager to try the dadar gulung but the bright green pandan colour called my name.

I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the dadar gulung at Julia. The green crepe is thin, delicate and floral. Despite the neon colour, it doesn’t taste like it has artificial food colouring. The pandan aroma is just gorgeous with subtle hints of vanilla and jasmine. Surprisingly, it has great mouthfeel. And this is because the coconut is so finely incorporated, so instead of a heavy and dense coconut and palm sugar filling, it ends up tasting delicate. It’s not dry at all. I’m serving it at my next brunch.

9.0/10

The King’s crown and kue lapis were very good

In the assortment I took home, two others stood out.

A new-to-me cake, the King’s crown (Koningskroon) is a rich three-layered cake that’s filled with raspberry jam and soaked in rum. One whiff and I know I’m going to have a good time. It feels like an old-fashioned Oma-style cake, sans buttercream, sans froufrou, and rich in eggs. The raspberry balances beautifully. It’s moist and compact in all the right ways.

7.5/10

The kue lapis is a multilayered cake made from coconut milk and gluten-free flour. Think baumkuchen meets a less chewy mochi. The vibrant hue is pleasing to the eye and the texture makes it fun to jiggle. The cake carries a lovely coconut milk and pandan aroma. Nitpicking, I most enjoy eating lapis one layer at a time, by peeling back each layer, but the layers stick to one another here. Regardless, the flavour is very very good — mild, sweet, and floral. I’d recommend it to those who are less familiar with Indonesian sweets. Overall, a very good treat.

8.5/10

McDonaldization and the disappearing characters in dining

The corporate takeover of dining has redefined the playbook on how to be the “cool” restaurant. Big brands sell you cozy atmospheres and good food, backed by skilled marketers, large social media budgets, and influencer campaigns. Let’s be clear, they’re trendy not because your friends are eating there every night, but because they appear on your feed more often than independent joints do.

Meanwhile, genuine soul is getting harder to find. Faux artisanship gets commoditised, sloppy handwriting becomes a branded font. That stylish bistro down the block is one of five owned by the same restaurant group, staffed by people who probably don’t care about your experience. Offering modern takes on cuisines, interchangeable concepts that could slot seamlessly in Paris, Stockholm, or The Hague. It’s McDonaldization with comfortable chairs and a rigorous posting schedule.

In this day and age of cold rugged individualism, endless digitisation, and mind-numbing AI co-pilots, I increasingly cherish character. I cherish a warmth that runs through the interior, service, and food. A je ne sais quoi that only comes from restriction, passion, and someone’s acquired taste.

And Julia…Julia is the antithesis of the McDonaldization phenomenon. It’s a fully-fledged character. It’s authentic, it’s different, it’s warm, and it’s a wonderful addition to the city’s food scene. It’s uniquely Julia. And this is a place worth cherishing.

The Hague Review: 9.0/10 for high-quality quality snacks and sweets

Hidden away on Weimarstraat, serving top-tier snacks with warmth, Julia & Oma Miet is a gem in The Hague. So it looks like I’ll be heading past the Westeinde hospital, and heading back to Weimarstraat more often to stop by Julia. Because for all the good snacks to be found in the centre, none of them come close to the quality and satisfaction I get from Julia & Oma Miet. It’s just that good.

Come to pick up a solo dinner. Come to pick up your weekly snacks. Bring these for tea, air-fry some for lunch, or make it part of your borrel plank. Be sure to save some lempers for yourself. They’re magnificent and some of the best you’ll find anywhere.

Julia & Oma Miet
Weimarstraat 169-A
2562 HE Den Haag

This isn’t city centre, but an area more populated with more affordable, more cozy, more volks eateries. Here, Pompernikkel is one of few eateries that stand out for their offerings that pique interest and make you go ‘oooohh’.

For this review, I tried a myriad of pastries: plain croissant, cinnamon bun, their bread, and seasonal bakes. What I found in Pompernikkel was a solid win for the neighbourhood — a solid bakery that offers sourdough and original flavour combinations that won’t be found elsewhere in the city.

The cinnamon bun is a highlight

Wow, what a pastry! This isn’t your average cinnamon bun made from croissant dough, nor is it the most delicate pastry you’ll try. But what stands out is the flavour profile. The cinnamon (from Ceylon is my guess) itself is perfectly soft and round. Whether that’s the quality of cinnamon, the miso, or black pepper contributing to the excellent flavour profile, I couldn’t tell you. All I can say is that it is very well-balanced. An excellent treat.

9/10

The kaasknaller is a banger

The kaasknaller — a croissant with gruyere, caramelized shallots, and pepper — is indeed a banger. One whiff and I’m back in my childhood touring a mineral cave in France. The strong gruyere smells intoxicating and it draws me like a moth to a flame. The cooked shallots contribute needed sweetness and the large quantity of pepper counterbalances both with surprising spice.

The croissant doesn’t rise to an attractive full height, and reads on the dense and bready side. Overall, it’s a very solid filled croissant where the fillings, rather than the croissant, take the lead. I’d order it again.

8.5/10

The seasonal pastries are not to be missed

The seasonal croissants changes quite often, so I hesitate to recommend wholeheartedly, but I was very pleasantly surprised by the pastry I had this week — a pistachio kumquat danish with a fennel custard. The heavy attributes of Pompernikkel’s croissant dough are well-suited here as the pastry holds up to the weighty custard. The kumquat provides a surprising bit of sunshine in the otherwise fennel-forward pastry. Although the three elements never complete the circle, as in, they’re not perfectly balanced, the elements toward perfection are 90% there. It surprises and delights.

8.5/10

The other bakes I found were solid

The plain croissant I loved to smell

The pumpernickel-coloured croissant smelled intoxicating — like sweet, sweet caramel owing to the daring rich hue. One whiff and I was enamored. The butter is wildly prominent and fortunately, it tastes great — a fresh milky butter immediately engulfs your mouth. But the butter is both a boon and bane here. Although itself splendid, it overpowers and I miss a bit of salt and sugar to balance the butter and caramel notes. The croissant also leans on the dense and bready side. Overall, a solid croissant.

7/10

The cardamom bun is beautifully shaped

It’s a hefty one and the layers wrap around itself pleasingly. It’s a good bun with great cardamom smell, but quite dry and there isn’t enough cardamom for my liking. It’s alright.

7/10

The sourdough bread is fine

Despite their name, Pompernikkel doesn’t sell pumpernickel. Rather, whichever shape and size of loaf you get, it’s made from the same dough of 15% whole grains and 85% a softer white flour.

I chose the smaller of the batards with seeds folded into the dough. It smells like hearth and warmth, just as something from a bakery should smell. The crust is thin and it makes for an easy-to-slice loaf, even on the first day. The uniformly small bubbles embedded in the dough are pleasing to the eye. It makes for a perfectly good bread base for toppings. Overall, it doesn’t make me go ‘whoa’ but it’s certainly an above average sourdough loaf with good execution.

7/10

The Hague Review: 7.5/10 for solid bakes and well-executed flavour combinations

Pompernikkel is certainly a win for the neighbourhood. Their daring flavoured croissants should not be missed and their talent in flavour combinations should be lauded.

I appreciate the emphasis on seasonality, robust quality bakes, and the daringness to open an interesting bakery in the neighbourhood. There’s clearly a lot of effort, creativity, and thought, which I also appreciate.

I’m not convinced it’s one of the best bakeries, but it’s among the few good ones in The Hague. Come when you’re in the neighbourhood. Come for their cinnamon bun and daring seasonal treats. Pompernikkel is a rare jewel around here.

Pompernikkel
Beeklaan 370
2562 BG Den Haag

Using various mediums across history, BIRDS tells a poignant story about our storied history with birds, captivating audiences with wonder and a telling of our own cruelty. For a museum that seemingly often curates for niches, the Mauritshuis delights widely with this extraordinary exhibition, doing justice to the very animals that inspired it in the first place.

The Goldfinch

Front and centre of the exhibition is The Goldfinch (1654) by Carel Fabritius. A mainstay in the permanent collection of the Mauritshuis, the exhibition calls viewers to look even closer at the painting and examine our relationship with birds.

Fabritius paints but a simple goldfinch shackled by a delicate chain to its feeding trough. The bird is a beauty, painted with simple brushstrokes that give an air of etherealness even 370 years later.

The bird looks past the viewer with intricately painted eyes, alert but calm. His wings are folded against his tender chestnut body. A gold streak catches the eye against the darkened feathers.

We find amazement in birds with their ability to reach other realms with their wings, so it is a cruel twist that he is chained for our amusement as we deprive him of what he is fundamentally meant to do — fly. It makes for a somber painting. One that speaks to the bird’s beauty, our own cruelty, and the sadness of a captured soul.

Here at the exhibition, the goldfinch’s typical meanings of fertility and good health are eschewed for two others. Firstly, our consumption of animals. And secondly, the longing for freedom — our desire to transcend the ordinary with wings that lift us beyond our own realities.

Small Gallery of Wonders

The Goldfinch makes a good starting point for the rest of the exhibition that highlights how we have used birds in various manners — as objects of worship, as components to adorn ourselves with, as targets and facilitators of hunts, as sustenance for nourishment.

Despite the small gallery hall, the breadth of mediums and time periods of objects on display are notable. Egyptian mummies are displayed here, as are Golden Age favourites, and contemporary sculptures. Each piece carries a story that differentiates it from others.

The Goldfinch is in good company. Fabritius’s work hangs alongside heavyweights from the permanent collection and loaned works. The ability to procure works by various artists with such pedigrees must be lauded here. It is not often that works by Rembrandt, Leonardo da Vinci, and Henri Matisse are in the same room.

As The Goldfinch begins the exhibition, Constantin Brâncuși’s modern Bird in Space (1932-1940) sculpture ends it. Grounded by a concrete block, the highly polished brass tapers towards the sky. It impresses the feeling of transcending the constraints of the material world — escaping to unchained freedom where The Goldfinch could not.

Art for Art vs. Art for You

The Mauritshuis holds an exceptional and niche collection of Golden Age art that perhaps often constrains their exhibition subjects. I find many of their previous temporary exhibitions aesthetically lovely, but perhaps more accessible to art history majors who have insider knowledge on a painting’s relevance.

This is where BIRDS differs. The exhibition explores more socially relevant themes, displays a diversity of mediums across history, and lays bare narrations about these objects. Ergo, it is easy to find connection and intrigue within the exhibition hall.

Great art is productive. It shines light on everyday phenomena. It makes you feel something. It makes your mind wander in the days after. And BIRDS does just that.

It makes you pay attention to the chirps you hear in the morning. It pulls your awareness to the soaring silhouettes in the sky. It creates a starting point to explore ordinary curiosities.

Because when you are finally aware, it is easy to see the everyday cruelties, wonders, and beauties we live with.

BIRDS: Curated by ‘The Goldfinch’ and Simon Schama runs from February 12th, 2026 through June 7th, 2026.

The Hague Review: 5/5 stars

“We don’t know if the models are conscious,” says Amodei. In a broad interview, Anthropic’s CEO Dario Amodei talks about AI’s future in accelerating scientific progress, the potential to positively impact democracy and enhance individual liberties. Plus more the potential for AI to go rogue.

It’s an excellent interview where NYT journalist Ross Douthat doesn’t go easy on Amodei. This is journalism — profoundly interesting and disturbing. I encourage you to read it in its’ entirety.

Podcast & Interview: ‘Anthropic’s Chief on A.I.: ‘We Don’t Know if the Models Are Conscious’’ is in The New York Times.

Light literature that calms

“The coke factory represented for me, with overwhelming force, an embrace of darkness and shadows. Everything I could see around me when I was there was blacker than the night, until suddenly, coming around the corner, there would be a raging ball of fire and smoke, flickering shadows everywhere, and then, a few moments later, a thick, expanding mass of steam levitating into the sky in a convoluted, glowing mushroom shape.”

With no shortage of news that upsets in the daily landscape, I found refuge in pieces like ‘The Coke Factory’ that read like well-written moving meditations. Pieces like these are akin to Transcendentalist works I’ve long loved — pieces that make you stop, pay attention to what’s happening around you, and be present in the moment.

Short excerpt: ‘The Coke Factory’ by Turner Brooks is in The Paris Review.

A succinct and humourous commentary on European luxury

Once upon a time, the church sold indulgences to shorten purgatory. While America exports F-35s and Korea exports K-Pop, Europe exports self-worth, aspirations of a European lifestyle — one largely imagined by wealthy foreigners.

This is a comical take on the European luxury houses and their ability to prop the European economy and ideas of aspiration.

Article: ‘Luxury goods are Europe’s global tax on vanity’ is in The Economist.

A thought-provoking book on the intersection of society and culture and beauty

In a phenomenal book, NPR’s Hu explores the Korean beauty industry with a fresh pair of American eyes. Hu points out the prominence of these industries (culture, beauty, plastic surgery) were not accidents, but nurtured by the state.

In Korea, there was already an abundance of cosmetic surgery and minimally invasive procedures 15 years ago. These practices have now become commonplace locally. This book made me ponder about our own beauty standards, how our culture is already changing as a result of social media’s emphasis on the visual, and it made me question my own fraught relationship with self-optimisation.

Hu publishes an easy-to-read book on an appearance obsessed society and that will make you reexamine your own relationship to aesthetics, self-improvement, and empowerment.

Book: Flawless by Elise Hu is available online on Bol, Bruna, and Amazon.

A short piece on why nudge policies failed

A new book argues nudge policies (a key foundation of behaviroural economics) have been ineffective as they too heavily emphasise personal responsibility. Writing a book review in The Atlantic, Rob Wolfe adds individual demonstrations of new social norms are not enough to change the world — rather, collective action and policies are.

As someone interested in, but not fluent in behavioural economics, this piqued my interest. It once again emphasised that social sciences don’t work in a vacuum, rather they are profoundly shaped by political and economic forces and discourses of their time. Behavioural economics here being influenced by trends of optimism, self-optimisation culture, and a shifting responsibility from governments and multinational corporates to individuals. This piece gave me an ‘aha’ moment.

Book review: ‘Why Nudge Policies Failed’ by Rob Wolfe is in The Atlantic.

Now listen, I was vegan for many years, way back when. To this day, the majority of my home cooking remains vegan and I carry a soft spot for vegan products. That all to say that I have nothing against plant-based eateries on principle — on the contrary, I’m more excited by it.

Here, I review a selection of signature goods: Brew & Bake’s shokupan, shio pan (salt bread), and croissant. What I found was a bakery fit more for social media and financial slide decks than it was for me.

The 10 euro loaf of bread

I have long loved shokupan (Japanese milk bread) as it keeps exceptionally well for lunches at the office so I was thrilled to see it at Brew & Bake.

The top looked gnarly and the golden sides reveal an attractive swirl. The smell is faint but the tight crumb is soft and attractive. The inside looks quite good.

At first, the bread doesn’t taste of much. It’s not as sweet as I would expect from a shokupan. Rather I get nothing, then at the end, a hint of something bitter like stale donut frying oil followed by a whisper of something rancid. I hypothesize that this is caused by the plant-based butter. I was perplexed and honestly quite shocked.

Eventually, I discover that the crusts are the culprit. Specifically, the white insides are perfectly fine, but where there is brown there is the taste of stale donut frying oil.

I almost want to apologize for having this experience, but ya’ll — this bread was 10 euros. I would expect it to be almost perfect. At least the white insides are edible.

6.8/10 when you cut the crusts

ASMR-worthy salt bread

Hailing from Japan, popularized in Korea yesteryear, the salt bread (aka shio pan) is a viral sensation. The kind worker at Brew & Bake explained it was a Japanese version of a croissant. And a good salt bread is oh-so-satisfying. The crowning jewel being the bottom of the pastry where it fries in butter in the oven.

Brew & Bake serve an enticing looking salt bread with a golden brown crust adorned with salt crystals. Just as I’d hoped, the crispy bottom crackles satisfyingly, shattering like a crème brûlée does when you tear it apart. Inside is meant to be hollow from where the butter sits, but Brew & Bake are (ahem…) generous with the dough and there is but a tiny hole where the salted butter once lay.

Unfortunately, like the shokupan, the bake is marred by the plant-based butter, which is really quite a shame. As the first salt bread in The Hague, it has much potential, but as the pastry is meant to be basically fried in butter, it is the offending plant-based butter that shouts quite loudly here, dominating the taste. I just wish they used another butter.

5.5/10

The plain croissant is for …coconut lovers?

Let down by the milk bread and salt bread, I was more hopeful for Brew & Bake’s croissant as I’ve previously had good vegan croissants.

Truth be told, my first croissant was perhaps a lemon because it tasted like coconut. The top was sticky with a sparse sweetened glaze which caught me off-guard. And I could tell you about how nice it looked, but what I really want to impress without haste is that this croissant, to me, smelled and tasted strongly of coconut. Now, I don’t prefer coconut, per se, and later after I inquire, I’m told there is no coconut at all (perhaps flax?). This first croissant had a crisp outside and ate like a Costco croissant. So long story short, it wasn’t for me. 3.8/10

My second croissant the following day fared remarkably better. Notably, the hue leaned more sunshine than deep brown and the sparse sticky glaze was more sparse. It was laminated better and tasted (and smelled) less like coconut. The layers are laminated nicely and the inside reveals a nice honeycomb structure, telling you this was made by talented hands. And this time, it was also flakey with an ideal squidgy bite. Quite nice. Yes, it still tasted to me like coconut (*even though there is no coconut!) but it was at least edible.

6.2/10

*UPDATE 2/27: Initially in an in-person visit, I was told there was no coconut in the croissant. After posting my review, the bakery DMed me walking back their previous insistence that there was no coconut. There is indeed coconut within the plant-based butter they use.

The Hague Review: 6/10 Brew & Bake is not for me, perhaps great for the two-dimensional world

As the bakery scene crowds, Brew & Bake have found themselves a niche concept that mirrors contemporary viral food trends. With a minimalistic interior, lime wash walls, and white lighting, this spot makes it easy to take pictures in. In fact, from the interior to the assortment of bakes on offer, it almost seems like this place was primarily created to exist on social media.

Undoubtedly, Brew & Bake looks good on camera and I’d bet it looks good on a slide deck too. And for this, I laud the entrepreneurs. It seems like a hyper-optimised investor-friendly concept: high-traffic location near the new university building, plant-based components to cut variable butter costs, white lighting for better pictures, and salt bread and scandi buns because they’re currently trending. On paper, all great ideas. But food is much more than what it looks like — it’s taste, it’s narrative, it’s a way we nurture our souls.

I was warmed to see Japanese milk bread and the viral salt bread on offer here — the first time I’ve seen either of them on offer in The Hague. I was also warmed by the kindness of the staff during my multiple visits. It is clear the bakery has ideas but ultimately, the plant-based butter they use doesn’t suit me. I should hope their matchas and coffees fare better.

As for right now, I ate and left crumbs.

Brew & Bake
Spuistraat 63
2511 BC Den Haag

Ladies and gentlemen, this is Bakery Li&U, an old-school Hong Kong style bakery that’s long served the local community with affordable cakes and baked goods.

In this review of Bakery Li&U, I try the roasted pork bun, the roasted pork puff, the chicken curry puff and a melange of their sweet offerings.

As the bakery segment heats up and the price of a croissant pushes 4 euros, Li&U stands out as a bakery accessible to everyone. When each baked good is €1.80 and two make a lunch — that’s a meal on the go for less than a price of a croissant.

Get the roasted pork bun, the best in the city

For the uninitiated, Li&U undoubtedly serves The Hague’s best roasted pork bun (cha sieuw bao). A voluptuous bun filled with slowly roasted pork, tender sweet onions, and beautifully burnished on top — this is what you come to Li&U for. The bun is soft all around, exactly how it should be. The teeth sink easily into the slightly sweetened bread making way to the bite of the unctuous roasted pork seasoned with hoisin sauce and oyster sauce. Is it the best roasted pork bun ever? No, this isn’t Asia but nonetheless, it’s sweet, savoury, and just delicious. Grab two for a filling lunch when you’re on the go. You can’t beat this value.

8.0/10

For a more decadent bite, try the roasted pork puff

For a more decadent bite, try the roasted pork puff (cha sieuw pastei). It’s generously stuffed with the same unctuous pork filling, this time encased in a flakey and light crisp dough. It crumbles beautifully, rather than flaking as a croissant would, giving a delightful textural contrast of crumbly pastry and tender pork. Nitpicking here, I wish the pastry was larger to get more filling per portion of dough, but in terms of price-quality ratio, I cannot complain much.

This baked good exemplifies how Cantonese baked goods straddle the line between sweet and savory, falling into both territories at once. Have this with a cup of tea as a mid-morning or afternoon snack.

7.0/10

Try the chicken curry puff, a unique experience

For a unique pastry, try the chicken curry puff (kip kerrie pastei). Immediately, you’ll get a whiff of what smells like the inside of a Surinamese eethuis. Shaped like a triangle, small pieces of cooked chicken are enveloped in a rich turmeric stained curry sauce. Is it perfectly laminated? — no — but it’s also not a croissant. Quite odd to say, but it has a hint of sourness that lifts the pastry. And it’s delicious. Give it a try. It’s a well-balanced treat that may just surprise you.

7.8/10

The sweet assortment is alright, suffers from artificial flavours

The red bean pineapple bun (rode bonenpasta broodje) is a sweet bread dough filled with unsweetened earthy red adzuki beans and topped with a pineapple crust. The bread dough rises nicely despite the heavy crust on top. While the beans give a nice contrast to the sweet bread, the pineapple crust tastes like artificial vanilla and the whole thing is almost too cloyingly sweet.

6.5/10

Li&U serves a decent egg tart (ei taart) that will scratch the itch if you’re craving one. The filling is silky smooth with a flan-like texture. However, again, it is too sweet with an artificial vanilla taste that turns me off to it.

5.8/10

As soon as you enter, a pandan green glows from the display case, beckoning visitors to look. It’s hard to resist looking at it. And fortunately, it’s pretty good. This is the pandan coconut roll (pandan eirol), a light and soft Swiss roll filled with whipped cream and hints of coconut. Although the pandan flavour is most likely artificial, the cake is nonetheless floral and aromatic and makes for an easy light snack.

6.7/10

The Hague Review: 7.1/10 for fantastic savoury baked goods at an affordable price

The new wave of modern bakeries at once serve multihyphenate baked goods (blueberry-matcha-yuzu croissant anyone?) and fodder for an instagram story. And old-school bakeries like Bakery Li&U serve neither. But they don’t need to — they’re gems in their own right.

These are the types of bakeries that have long served communities without any froufrou. Visit and you’ll find a melange of guests from students, builders, shoppers, entrepreneurs, and workers from diverse backgrounds. And for good reason. It’s authentic, affordable, and the type of place you find yourself coming back to throughout the years.

Come for an affordable snack between shopping, come when you miss Cantonese style baked goods, come to pick up afternoon tea treats, or come to try a different type of bakery. Get one, get six, or twelve — they go down easy.

Bakery Li&U
Gedempte Gracht 263
2512 AM Den Haag

It may seem like dizzying juxtapositions, but this is dining at restaurant ñ – a cozy Spanish-inspired shared dining restaurant, and the most romantic dinner you will get in The Hague.

Nothing about restaurant ñ is normal

In a conservative city such as The Hague, particularly in the city centre, restaurant ñ stands out for its’ unorthodox approach to food, atmosphere, and wine.

Chef Thomas Vandenhecke executes an inspiring seasonal menu that keeps diners on their toes. An artist from KABK by training, Vandenhecke and team focus on experimental cooking featuring fermentation, vegetables, seafood, and wild game. The unusual combination of flavors will intrigue curious epicureans.

Like most restaurants of its’ calibre, the menu at ñ reads like a list of ingredients so the plate served is always a surprise. Throughout, each dish remains light and carries an air of refinement.

Case in point: on their menu recently, wild deer with dark chocolate, leek, and mussel jus. These ingredients can’t possibly come together in a cohesive dish, could they? For diners in The Hague, restaurant ñ keeps on surprising…and thankfully, delighting.

Here’s what to order

Skip the classic Spanish appetizers and head straight to the main dishes. These are where the team’s creativity really shine.

Start with the razor clams, the only dish that stays on the menu year-round. Fresh tender clams are paired with with chervil, caraway, Pernod, kumquat and a mignonette. It’s punchy, well-balanced, and sets the tone for a delightful experience ahead.

The small menu changes frequently, but do try a vegetable dish or two alongside the seafood and wild game proteins. The harmony of textures and tastes of the vegetables might just surprise you.

On drinks, the wine list is extensive and impressive with a good range of terroirs for white, red, and orange wines. Bottle prices are affordable, ranging from 30 to 150 per bottle, with most in the 40 to 60 range. With helpful staff for guidance, you will find something you like.

The vibes are high

Dine at ñ, and you’ll see a diverse group of diners, from young couples on first dates, seasoned couples, good friends hanging out, and the few tourists. From the preppy chic to elderly moneyed to arty younger crowd, restaurant ñ stands out in creating a welcoming place. This is refined dining for everyone.

The atmosphere is cozy and comfortable, but don’t expect cushy chairs, polished extravagant decor, or a quiet atmosphere. You’ll sit on vintage dark wooden Parisian bistro chairs, with a table lined with starchy white linen, while the soft glow of a white candlestick melts away, dripping wax on to the table.

Notably, it’s loud. You’ll have to raise your voice slightly to be heard on your table. There’s house music that plays later on in the night. There’s a high probability you might bump into the neighboring table or exchange a few lines as the tables are placed in such close proximity of each other. And it sounds like a dizzying nightmare, but it makes for a chaotic, fun, and distinctly warm atmosphere.

Colloquially, the vibes are high in here.

The Hague Review: 8.8/10 Come for a cozy and intimate experience with people you love

Come with a date or people you know well. The atmosphere is cozy, chaotic, and alluring. The food is fresh, memorable, and daring. In a city full of boring and conservative dining experiences, ñ stands out for its’ artistry, creativity, innovation, and warmth.

There are many more elegant restaurants in The Hague, but restaurant ñ is the one I keep on coming back to.

Restaurant ñ
Nobelstraat 22
2513 BD Den Haag

In this piece, I review a selection of their top sellers: the white farmers loaf, their famous cardamom buns, the hyped buckwheat chocolate cookie and the canelé.

The white farmers loaf is the ideal bread to get creative

The best-selling loaf at Leffers is a white farmers loaf that looks beautiful and probably would offend no one.

The appearance is beautiful with wonderfully even bubbles dotting the inside like a symphony. The crust is thin and upon slicing, you get a hint of tang with the smell of flour.

Personally, I miss more tang and salt in the dough. It tastes like flour. Therefore, as a standalone product, it is quite boring to eat. This is the bread you use when you want to get creative with the toppings, for yourself or for a get-together.

6.5/10

The cardamom buns are good

The competition for cardamom buns has been heating up recently and Leffers delivers a good contender.

The bun smells divine, of freshly ground organic cardamom with a deep earthy and peppery bite. It is a good bun with a smell so addictive you keep on coming back for more.

Although it is moist enough, it never achieves the somewhat gooey moistness that the best cardamom buns all achieve. Regardless, a good contender worth going back to if you’re in the area.

7/10

A hyped cookie and a difficult canelé

Asides from bread and buns, Leffers offers an assortment of smaller pastries and cookies.

Unfortunately, the buckwheat chocolate cookie with salt was a bit of a miss. It tastes like a brownie cookie with fudge-like centre and chewy edges, which was unexpected. The salt was a welcome addition. More nuanced chocolate would have been welcome too.

6/10

I will give Leffers praise for offering a canelé — a small pastry from Bordeaux with beautifully fluted edges that is notoriously difficult to get right. A good canelé is an exceptional texture and taste sensation with a crackling browned crust giving way to a moist custardy rum interior.

The canelé from Leffers has a beautifully burnished exterior with a velvety inside that hints at vanilla. The canelé I received on the day, however, tasted too burnt and the flavors of the pastry (honey, vanilla, caramelized milk) were out of balance. This is quite a pity as the city misses a really good canelé.

6/10

It is the people and location that make Leffers remarkable

What makes this bakery so special is the atmosphere they’ve created. The ladies at the counter are lovely, patient, and kind. You get the impression that they are genuine and happy to chat with you while the busy city rushes past. And the consistency that you get this friendly feeling is remarkable.

The shop itself too is marvelous in its’ own right. The monumental building dates back to 1823 with an intricately carved wooden facade in a Neo-Renaissance style. The interior itself dates back to 1897 when it was used as a fine delicatessen. The bread wall too, all the more visually appealing when backed by historic green glazed tiles. The bakery has certainly done well to open up the space and make it feel lighter during their renovation. With modern lighting and fun branded elements juxtaposing the historic ceiling and walls, the interior and exterior make this a noteworthy bakery come to.

The Hague Review: 6.9/10 Leffers is good

I had high hopes for Leffers when they arrived in The Hague. Overall, the variety and quality of the assortment is quite good. They are a welcome addition to the neighbourhood and undeniably better than an average Dutch bakery. The baked goods too are all very attractive. Take your tourists here — the location is accessible and the design makes for a memorable experience.

Although I’m not wow-ed by the taste of the goods, they are good enough to be served at a brunch. For a sourdough bakery, Leffers is also certainly more affordable than other counterpart bakeries in the city. But when the difference is 2 euros, I’d rather have my weekly bread elsewhere.

Go when you’re in the area and craving a snack and get the cardamom or cinnamon buns. The ladies at the counter will certainly make the trip more enjoyable.

Meneer Leffers
Herengracht 16
2511 EH Den Haag

Fortunately or unfortunately, I now live in The Netherlands where, despite the centrality of bread in everyday cuisine, rather unfortunately, most of that bread is what I call “Dutch bread”.

The poster child of Dutch bread is a squishy Wonderbread-like bread made with cheap flour, preservatives, and dough conditioners. Made in a central factory to be baked off at each neighborhood bakery, it gets points for being a great vessel for chocolate sprinkles. It gets points for efficiency. It gets points for….sitting in your cupboard for a week without deterioration. But most of it doesn’t resemble quality bread.

Fortunately, in The Hague, there have long been a few good artisan bakeries, mostly in the French tradition located along De Fred. There are a few decent bakeries in the city centre, but nothing extraordinary. Certainly nothing comparable to the bakeries in Paris.

That was, until Brood van Bro opened up shop.

This review highlights the best of the assortment, including the very best sourdough breads and the best croissants you can get in The Hague. Noteworthy too are the escalated croissants that cement the bakery as innovative and modern.

The best sourdough in The Hague

“Whoa,” was my first reaction to Brood van Bro’s white sourdough. It was at a restaurant a few years ago, back when Bro exclusively sold to restaurants. It was the smell that first caught me by surprise.

One sniff and I was transported an ocean away to the market. On a cold and windy fall day, there I was at the chowder shop holding a red tray with a sourdough bread bowl atop. Inside the bread bowl, warm velvety New England clam chowder. And outside the bread bowl, the inner guts of the bread they’d carved out to make room for the chowder. It was tangy, warm, comforting, and the smell of just really good bread.

And this, at Brood van Bro, is also just really good bread.

The white sourdough loaf is a magnificent hunk of bread with a beautiful ear and golden brown burnish. It’s a daring sourdough that delivers on the classic tangy flavor. It’s what a sourdough loaf is supposed to be.

9.8/10

The baguette is moreish

The baguette is equally as good as the other loaves. It’s addictive, chewy, and carries a wonderful saltiness that makes you keep on eating. The crust is thick enough to get a satisfying chew and thin enough that it doesn’t kill the roof of your mouth.

Once I bought the baguette to serve to at a dinner party. Then unashamedly, ate half the loaf before the party arrived. Without butter. Just plain torn up chunks of baguette ripped off. Shoved into the gob like a raccoon over the trashcan. The sardines on toast canapé served sans toast that night. If you’re buying, get an extra one, just in case.

9.7/10

The spelt is for regular consumption

The spelt boule is my daily bread of choice. It’s a heartier loaf made with wholemeal and white spelt. Whereas the white loaf delivers on the sourdough punch, the spelt is better balanced due to the grain’s characteristic nuttiness and sweetness. Best eaten with good quality butter.

9.5/10

The croissant that makes you do a happy dance

The croissant is a beautifully burnished caramel colour and rises attractively to a full height. The smell of brown butter and fresh butter impress immediately. One small nudge and the crisp outside layers begin to flake away. Protected by crisp flakiness, the inside is airy and tender, with thin layers forming a wonderfully even structure of air and dough.

In taste, it’s a balanced croissant. The notes of brown butter and caramel come through wonderfully. Balanced with just the right amount of salt and sugar, the croissant is hard to resist.

With a perfect honeycomb structure, a superbly golden caramel hue, and an addictive taste of caramel and butter, the croissant is textbook perfection. Perfectly made and baked, the croissant rivals those of the best bakeries in Paris.

In The Hague, there is no better croissant than one from Brood van Bro. *cue happy dance*

9.7/10

The escalated croissants that will make you smile

Along with the classic croissants (plain, pain au chocolat, and almond), Bro offers an interesting selection of modern viennoiseries they call ‘escalated croissants’ with seasonal sweet and savoury flavours. In this review, I briefly highlight the cinnamon swirl, goat cheese kimchi, and worst kaas scenario pastries.

These escalated croissants best highlight the creativity that cements Bro as a top bakery in The Hague. While it is their classics that shine brightest in the assortment, the escalated croissants prove that they are well-versed in innovative flavour combinations. Personally, I also find them to be excellent conversation starters — that is, if you’re sharing.

The cinnamon swirls are a texture sensation

As for the cinnamon swirl, this isn’t your average cinnamon roll.

Made of croissant dough, the swirl is a melange of textures. The outer edge offers a crackly and short crisp juxtaposed with its’ inner heart which has a chewy bite. The smell of caramelised brown sugar mixed with cinnamon and brown butter is intoxicating and gorgeous.

This isn’t the cinnamon roll you’d make at home, but it’s well worth it.

8.1/10

The goat cheese kimchi croissant is a highlight

The first few times I saw the goat cheese kimchi croissant, I passed on it. Although the name made me laugh, I assumed it was a gimmick to latch on to the kimchi craze. Well, maybe, but it doesn’t take away how great it is.

The salty rich goat cheese pairs wonderfully with the caramelised notes of croissant and the kimchi juice counterbalances the two with umami and the tiniest hint of spice. It’s creative, modern, and well-suited for an epicurean.

8.7/10

The worst kaas scenario has my heart

Relatively new on the menu, the cheekily named worst kaas scenario is the pastry I crave most. The homemade sausage inside is seasoned well and the cheese melts into the dough. It leans on a touch salty and soggy with the lack of breadcrumbs in the sausage, but I’d rather have a higher quality pure meat mixture than one with fillers. I hope they never take it off the menu.

8.4/10

The Hague Review: 9.8/10 Brood van Bro is everything I've wanted in a neighbourhood bakery

Brood van Bro is a very welcome addition to The Hague’s city centre. Their sourdough bread elevates everyday meals into something special. Their croissants compare to those of the best in Paris. The escalated croissants are innovative, creative, and will make you smile. Get one or get them all — they’re all fabulous.

With textbook perfection tastes and textures paired with unapologetic fermentation and daring flavour combinations, Brood van Bro stands in a league of its’ own in the Hague’s bakery scene.

This is the best bakery in The Hague and one of the best neighborhood bakeries you’ll find anywhere.

Brood van Bro
Wagenstraat 182
2512 BB Den Haag

‘We Don’t Live Here Anymore’ is the latest play by the Jakob Ahlbom Company that speaks to the complexity of intimacy expressed with dynamic dance. The show succeeds in merging elements of dance within a play to provocatively ask questions about trust, connection, and family life.

The show features two married couples living in the suburbs. Set in the living rooms of both couples, the play begins with the two women drinking wine around a dining table.

One woman turns to the other and confides that she thinks her husband is having an affair because he’s more distant than usual. The two women ponder over it. The other woman then reveals that she is also struggling with her relationship to her husband. She is consistently dismayed by his apparent lack of creativity and wonders too if he’s having an affair with one of his students.

When the foursome are brought together for a dinner, they are merry, drink wine, and sing ‘So Happy Together’. However, larger cracks start to show in their respective relationships, bringing forth the discomforts of speaking about intimacy, trust, and desire.

Fundamentally, the play asks: how well do you know a partner’s inner life?

The mesh of dance within the play is seamless. It is dance that reveals much of the characters’ expressions, although sometimes overtly so. They dance around each other, around tables and chairs, expressing their big feelings with large movements or crouching, comforting each other when in need. Indeed, the physical motor skills of the actors must be lauded here and their excellence provides another hook for viewer engagement.

Overall, We Don’t Live Here Anymore is suspenseful and exciting. It speaks to a disappointment in love and long-term partnership with fluidity in dance that reveal the true emotions of the characters. Although the storyline is not particularly moving, it leaves one to ponder if it’s possible to spend a life together with someone and still be unknowable to one another.

We Don’t Live Here Anymore plays until January 4th, 2026 in various cities in The Netherlands.

The Hague Review: 8/10

Seen at Koninklijke Schouwburg (The Royal Theatre), Het National Theatre, The Hague, December 13th, 2025.

Norfolk nails the atmosphere

If you can, sit by the windowsill. Norfolk overlooks the Scheveningen marina, providing an interesting scenery — newer stout brick buildings and docks crammed with boats. It’s perfect after you dock and can’t be bothered with the overly polished restaurants on the other side. It has fantastic light that’s bright even when the grey skies loom overhead.

On the walls, kitschy plates and portraits of the Swedish royal family provide decoration. Gazing up along the popcorn walls to the inner roof, you will see illustrations in bright pastels of birds which seems a bit elementary, but that’s the whole point. Despite it being a Tuesday morning, it was quite full with people working on their journals by the windowsill, parents with small kids on playdates, dogs whining sweetly underneath tables. It’s gezellig.

Let’s talk croissant

Starting with the good, the croissant has a lovely golden brown hue. The taste of butter is present (apparently it’s organic) and they use a good bit of salt. The effort and thought to make their own croissants is also commendable. Too often in this country, croissants are bought externally, frozen and pre-formed, to be baked off at location. These were certainly homemade.

However, the croissant is unbalanced in texture and taste. The lamination is lost with flour and butter layers merging into a bread-y dough. It’s denser than I’d expected, which overwhelms the few outer crispy layers. Further, I taste butter and salt separately but somehow they don’t meld together. Despite the good colour, I didn’t taste beurre noisette.

They’re certainly tastier than a croissant you’d get at a typical breakfast at Grote Markt or Anne&Max, but I wouldn’t order the croissant at Norfolk again. Not when there are a plethora of good French bakeries just on De Fred, not when there are better items on the Norfolk menu.

6/10

Get the cardamom buns

This is a Swedish bakery and ergo, they must have good cardamom buns. Norfolk doesn’t disappoint here. There’s a good robust flavour of the cardamom buns — they’re wonderfully addictive with a very present cardamom flavour, just enough without becoming overwhelming. Norfolk nails the taste of what a cardamom bun should be.

These buns are beautifully coloured. The large grains of sugar crystals on top and the hardened exterior make a satisfying crunch.

Nitpicking here: the dough could be more fluffy and juicy. Otherwise, a solid option to come back to after arriving at the haven.

7.5/10

The gorgeous cinnamon buns

These are okay. They’re gorgeous once again with a burnished colour topped with large pieces of pearl sugar. They’re fluffier than the cardamom buns, but still could use a bit more moisture in the filling and dough. The cardamom in the dough overwhelms the rest of the cinnamon in the pastry. And I’m almost left craving for more sugar as the cinnamon taste is a touch too delicate for my liking.

6.8/10

The Hague Review: 7/10 with distinction for ambiance and prime location

Through the years, I’ve frequented Norfolk a few times and I’d certainly come back again. With the enough great options on De Fred, I’d hesitate to come here specifically for the baked goods. Where Norfolk shines is creating a warm and cozy atmosphere to shelter you from the wind. Come when you’re in the area.

For a world that is increasingly materialistic, the exhibition uses Van Heemskerck’s art to highlight how rich our own lives can be when we embrace great abstract values.

Early Foundations

Van Heemskerck was born in 1876, at the cusp of modernity to an aristocratic family in The Hague. Her father, Jacob Eduard van Heemskerck, was a naval officer who painted and taught her how to paint. At age 21, Van Heemskerck was further educated at The Royal Academy of Arts (KABK) in The Hague.

During Van Heemskerck’s active years, the first wave of feminism had begun to take shape. Middle-class Dutch women began gaining paid employment in the mid 1800s, KABK had began to accept female students in 1872, and the first birth control clinic opened in 1882. However, women were still beset by misogynistic norms and institutions. Throughout her life, Van Heemskerck would defy norms in painting, creating avant-garde art and within her life with her relationship with Marie Tak van Poortvliet.

Relationship with Marie Tak van Poortvliet

Essential to understanding Van Heemskerck is Marie Tak van Poortvliet, a friend, art collector, and later, life-long companion. They both hailed from wealthy families in The Hague and attempted to place themselves in the world of Dutch avant-garde — Van Heemskerck using her painting talents and Tak Van Poortvliet by using her capital to purchase art and fund the scene.

Armed with a considerable inheritance, Tak Van Poortvliet built an artist colony in Domberg, Texel, where she invited avant-garde artists to work. Known visitors included influential living artists Piet Mondrian and Jan Toorop. By inviting Van Heemskerck to reside at Domberg, Van Heemskerck became well-connected and increasingly known in the Dutch avant-garde scene.

Luminism & Cubism

In her early career, Van Heemskerck’s style echos these aforementioned prominent painters and their post-impressionist styles. Notably, she created Luminist depictions of trees. Inspired by French pointillism. she paid particular attention to the effects of light using the juxtaposition of colours.

A standout is Two Trees (1910). In amongst the pale yellow walls of the exhibition hall, the colour of the red tree trunks shine, painted from mixed maroons and lilac restrained brushstrokes of uncertainty. Set against the horizontal strokes of distinct pale pinks, soft yellows, and baby blues, the red trunks pulsate with life, doubt, amidst the etherial hues. A crown of cornflower and sapphire blues and earthy greens sit above the trunks, their colours, strokes, and energy emanating from trees of life. It’s a symbol that she would ofter refer back to in her work — the trees of life.

In 1911, Van Heemskerck was exposed to Cubism at an exhibition in Amsterdam. Later at Domberg, she takes lessons with prominent Cubist artist of the time, Lodewijk Schelfhout. Subsequently, her style shifts and she experiments with limited palettes and emphasized geometric forms. Hues of grays and browns begin to take over her canvases, displacing the previous bright hues. The change is striking and Schelfhout would later accuse Van Heemskerck of plagiarizing his style.

Relationship with Piet Mondrian

Contemporary art historians claim Van Heemskerck’s work cannot be viewed in isolation from the work of Piet Mondrian. Indeed, their artistic styles evolve similarly. Before settling on De Stijl and expressionism, both artists show themselves to be restless stylistically as they oft incorporated innovative painting trends before their great departure into creating their unique styles.

Mondrian and Van Heemskerck move quickly from Luminism to Cubism between 1908 to 1913, shifting from bright hues to muted earthy tones. Afterwards, taking inspiration from Impressionism and Fauvism, paired with their common interest in new spiritual movements, their art becomes increasingly abstract. Stifled by the conservative Dutch scene, both artists eventually recognise their artistic development would need to occur outside of the Netherlands — Mondrian in Paris, and Van Heemskerck in Berlin.

We know Mondrian and Van Heemskerck were well acquainted. According to Tak Van Poortvliet, Mondrian and Van Heemskerck would sketch together at Domberg, often drawing trees. In 1910, Mondrian would also include Van Heemskerck’s work alongside his own in an avant-garde exhibition at the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, placing her work alongside his own and well-known artists Jan Toorop and Jan Sluijters.

The inclusion of Van Heemskerck in the exhibition, was not without criticism, however. Sluijters went as far as to refuse that his work be shown in the same hall as Van Heemskerck’s, on the basis that she was a woman, and therefore, her work was amateurish and not serious enough.

Further, Mondrian and Van Heemskerck were interested in the new spiritual movements in the early to mid-twentieth century. As Van Heemskerck, Mondrian saw his art tied to larger spiritual forces. In his notebook, Mondrian writes, “one sees in art the slow growth towards the spiritual, while the creators are unaware of it. The conscious way of teaching suffers most from its corruption in art. If these two paths go together, i.e. the creator is on the step of evolution where the conscious spiritually direct work activity is possible, then one has the ideal art.”

Coming Into Her Own

During her greatest artistic years, Van Heemskerck strived towards creating “a study of all that which nature contains spiritual worth, of all that life can teach us of its deep meaning and of the way in which these two factors have an influence on each other.”

And it is in the late 1910s with increasingly abstract art that Van Heemskerck comes into her own. With spirituality at the forefront of her mind, she creates paintings and glasswork with deeply rich colours interweaving amongst each other. These colours and forms become a force displaying powerful emotional turbulence and serene flows and with it she creates her own nameless style of expressionism.

The exhibition displays the artist’s first foray into abstract art, Composition (1914). A cloudy image displaying restrained short brushstrokes reminiscent of Fauvist techniques. Hung next to Kadinsky’s work from an earlier year, her work echos his (as does the title) with soft contours where shape and colour meet. Here, early on, you can see the beginnings of what would eventually make up Van Heemskerck’s signature style with her chosen color palette and thin black lines flowing serenely throughout the canvas.

Two Notable Paintings

Bild No. 87 (1918) depicts a purple tree with meandering branches at the foreground. The purple branches fill the canvas, nudging the top and while remaining connected to its’ roots at the base. Around the tree, meandering playful lines of mossy greens, burnt oranges, gold, and blacks interplay, suggesting dynamic movement. A hemisphere of marine blues fill the bottom half of the canvas, balanced by lighter golden hues atop. It is a painting of a tree and it is also far from it.

With distinct colours, shapes, and lines, the painting inherently solicits a response — is it an uneasiness? Or does it portray discomfort? Is it primal? What of harmony and spiritual-inclination? It is up to the viewer to decide.

In Color Composition No. 106 (1919), set against a dark purple backdrop, Van Heemskerck paints two trees, painted with billowing dark lines curving upwards stemming from darker thicker lines down below. These dark lines at the foreground juxtapose three smaller towers, enlightened with glowing yellow hues in the centre of the work. The light emanates clearly from a distance, like light at the end of the tunnel, probably representing the divine origins of life — a symbol she would often make use of.

It struck me profoundly. Van Heemskerck perhaps meant it to be reference to nature and spirituality and God. But as Barthes points out, the author is dead.

In my perspective, the message was clear: there was terrible beauty and death on earth. But yonder, just yonder, there is magnificent hope.

How We Talk About Van Heemskerck, Then and Now

The Kunstmuseum’s Alles Gegeven exhibition touches upon relevant topics today, namely feminism, innovation, and sustainability, not all of which were mentioned in this review. However, it is worth noting that the exhibition (and ergo, this piece) places Van Heemskerck’s interpersonal relationships as a defining narrative of her art.

It is as though it is these people — Tak van Poortvliet, Mondrian, Toorop, Sluijters, and others — that give her art relevancy. It is as though her art and the narrations we give it cannot stand on their own.

When we discuss Van Heemskerck, we mention Mondrian, but when we discuss Mondrian, there is little (if at all) acknowledgement of Van Heemskerck or Tak van Poortvliet. And it is unfortunately common that we write men into stories of women and cast shadows on women in the stories of men. There is seemingly a tendency of institutions of art history to write and re-write history in manners that amplify male artists and forget female artists of the same period.

Art history is always tied to political, economic, and social institutions of the time and as with Van Heemskerck, we still live in societies where men are the default. At the turn of the 20th century, this male dominance of (formal and informal) institutions meant men overwhelmingly curated exhibitions and female artists experienced belittling and exclusion on the basis of their sex.

A hundred years later, we see more representation of female artists in great museum halls, and yet, female-created works still only make up a scant portion of their collections. (Only 5-6% of the Kunstmuseum’s collection is made by women, according to current director Margriet Schavemaker.)

Rather than the art of Van Heemskerck to be discussed by her own merit, instead we refer back to “great” men to understand the narratives we tell about her. Given the limited resources on Van Heemskerck, it is unclear whether it’s even possible now to get meaningful public engagement on the exhibition without falling into this trap.

Ultimately, Van Heemskerck’s abstract art is increasingly relevant in today’s materialistic society and their connections to deeper forces bring themselves great insights. I laud the Kunstmuseum for bringing together a poignant exhibition on Van Heemskerck, telling a holistic narrative of her life and making visible the influences that shaped her life and art.

It is a shame that we do not discuss her art without interjecting other male artists into the conversation. But yonder, just yonder, perhaps there is hope.

Alles Gegeven is on view at Kunstmuseum Den Haag from July 5th, 2025 until March 1, 2026.

The Hague Review: 4.4/5 stars

See Also

• Book: Jacoba van Heemskerck, Truly Modern (2021), edited by Luisa Pauline Fink, Sebastian Möllers, Henrike Mund and Christina Végh

• Book: Alles Gegeven (2025) by Jacqueline van Paaschen (in Dutch)

• Book: On the Spirituality in Art (1912) by Wassily Kadinsky

• Book: Complete Mondrian (2001) by Marty Bax

• Article: “Alleen maar vrouwelijke kunstenaars tentoonstellen corrigeert de canon niet” (2024) by Toef Jaeger, NRC. https://www.nrc.nl/nieuws/2024/10/02/alleen-maar-vrouwelijke-kunstenaars-tentoonstellen-corrigeert-de-canon-niet-a4867926 (in Dutch)

• Essay: Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists (1971) by Linda Nochlin

• Podcast: “Aflevering 8 - Margriet Schavemaker” (2024) Feminist?! A New Look by Kunstmuseum Den Haag

The signs were there of course. She was blue collar, I was of the white variety and had just completed my Masters degree, but we worked for the same company, on the same floor.

She asked me where I lived.

Den Haag, I said, using the Dutch word for The Hague.

Oh, me too, she replied.

Did you also take the new Intercity here? I asked. The new ones are always delayed, I added, rolling my eyes.

No, I always take the Sprinter. I live in Moerwijk, she replied.

Although I prided myself on knowing The Hague well, curiously I’d never heard of Moerwijk. I couldn’t place it on an internal map I had, the one I took note of (cool, trendy) restaurants or businesses, except now I could assume it was generally on the same plane as the train going from The Hague to Rotterdam.

I lived in the centre anyways — where the best of the city was at my doorstep. Independent cinemas, a newly-built concert hall, and big box stores stood in and alongside centuries-old buildings with cozy small cafés, large museums, and boutique fitness studios.

I could tell from her eager eyes that she wanted to be friends with me, dark brown doe eyes widening when she spoke excitedly. That, and I’d stroll past her desk a few days a week to talk to a male middle manager at the corner office. Each stroll would illicit an excited wave from her side, a courteous smile from mine.

The male middle manager was a stakeholder, and later, a friend. He and I had bonded over our shared passion for nature, traveling, living in centuries old historic houses, and being in-the-know of all the restaurants in our respective cities.

Nonetheless, I was young. She was young. But the differences in my eyes were apparent.

I enjoyed controlling our conversations — letting her speak, never saying too much of myself. She wasn’t a friend. She was a source.

You see, it was merely part of my job to source gossip from all parts of the organisation. I’d report back any murmurs and discontent to the leadership team.

Her perspective was important, and equally so was the perspective of a n-2 manager in Dubai, as was the perspective of a veteran customer service supervisor in Singapore.

I joined her and her blue collar colleagues a few times on their lunch breaks. Strolling through a muddy park nearby, she once told me of a recent trip to Paris over the weekend. She’d taken the bus in what I’d assume was a mind-numbing 8 hour route there.

It was cheaper, she said. Around 20 euros. And the bus has wifi. You should try it sometime, she urged me.

I nodded and smiled in response.

With my questions prodding her along, I kept my mouth shut on the number of times I’d gone to Paris, sitting in plush red first-class chairs, with the admittedly faster high-speed train that cost more than 20 euros. Because it wasn’t lying was it, if it was just letting the other person speak?

She stayed in a hostel 30 minutes outside of the centre. She’d walk every morning 12 minutes to take a 30 minute metro ride into the city to get breakfast from a hyper-trendy bakery, of which the croissant would eventually be posted to her instagram.

How cool, I’d add, along with a chorus of oh really’s, and uh-huh’s.

I didn’t mention staying in Saint-Germain-des-Prés where I’d be greeted every morning by the hotel staff knocking on my door with a large wooden tray. Pastries, French yogurt, orange juice, freshly cut fruit, a bowl of cornflakes, and a silver pot of coffee with accompanying porcelain cups all laid out pleasingly. The basket of pastries best used for their aesthetic purposes.

I mean, it’s not like a butler with white gloves wheeled in my breakfast on a silver rolling cart and unveiled the organic yogurt with a cloche. It was just a wooden tray.

Paris — that’s where she bought her Louis Vuitton monogrammed canvas pochette. The same bag she now flaunted in every instagram picture of herself. I could sense she was proud of it, so I think it must not have been a fake — it was only a thousand or so anyways.

When I messaged her on Teams that I was leaving the job, she asked for my instagram. I said sure, and gave her my handle and followed her back. She asked me to meet, and I said, sure, but never followed up.

On my instagram, littered with my travel diaries throughout Paris, the Caribbean, and Asia, I wondered if she had seen the side of myself I had concealed in an effort to seem more relatable to her.

But last week I saw her at a mom-and-pop Japanese restaurant on a Saturday night. I’d braved the few minutes of bone chilling wind and walked there — I was searching for a new Japanese restaurant in the neighbourhood to become a regular at after my old joint had been sold.

I wore a bag I wasn’t precious about. I didn’t bother with my hair either.

But she did. And she ate leaning over the table with her left hand nudging her honey-highlighted hair back as she held the chopsticks in her right hand. She was two tables over with a guy I assumed was her boyfriend. He sat on the couch side of the table, whilst she sat on the chair with her Louis Vuitton pochette dangling from the front armrest of the chair where she could always see it.

They’d ordered shrimp tempura, two rolls, diet cokes, spoke softly, and kept to themselves. The chain of the Louis Vuitton pochette glimmering periodically as it swayed along the arm of the chair, the reflected ray of light flickering across the white tokkuri my sake was served in.

We didn’t acknowledge each other and I’m not sure she recognised me, but I thought of her for the first time in 18 months.

And I thought about how I’d concealed parts of myself to get closer to her, so she’d spill the tea that I’d distill back to the leadership team. And I’ve learned since to not sell my soul to bullies claiming to be leaders, but I wonder if she eventually learned what I had done with the work-related gossip she told me in confidence and ignorance.

The following Thursday in the last week of November, I offered to accompany my boyfriend on an excursion first to Rotterdam to pick up a package from an obscure pinball parts seller. Afterwards we headed off to an address in the southwest of The Hague to pick up metal pieces he had dropped off weeks ago to be cleaned and refinished.

I hadn’t been to the southwest of The Hague, but at the newly-built concert hall, I had come across an exhibition displaying posters of locals living in the Southwest, humans-of-New-York-style. One of a social worker read, “I want people from this neighbourhood to know that they too can be superheroes.”

The company in the southwest was one my boyfriend knew well — they created custom roof racks for cars, but he knew the brother-and-sister duo owners would also help him remove rust from small metal pieces for a nominal fee.

The sister welcomed us warmly in a rich plat Haags accent. On the front counter they had a bowl laid out with chocolate covered kruidnoten, and we made small talk about eating the contents of the bowl.

I can’t even look at them an anymore, she said. Once I start, I never stop.

Picking out two covered in dark chocolate, I savoured the taste of the spiced cookies - my first sample of the season.

In the waiting area just beyond the front desk, a life-size statue of a man held out a silver tray which they filled with haagse hopjes. Eerie and kitsch, I remarked that if I had a business like that in the future, I’d have a similar offering.

I paid in cash, their preferred method, and we left sans receipt through the garage door with the beautifully de-rusted pinball pieces.

As we left the street, I realised how different this neighbourhood looked. I had been lamenting recently that all the neighbourhoods in The Hague were starting to look alike with Albert Heijns every 300 meters, but this area was far from it.

We had driven ten minutes along apartments on a large road, passing by a bare-bones gym, a sleek McDonalds, but no Albert Heijns. Self-storage facilities and dilapidated two story business parks formed from blocks of grey, white, and dirty creams occupied the inner streets instead.

On the left hand side of the street, four-story apartment residences built in the 70s rose from the concrete. Desolate dirty cream bricks held the foundation of the flats above, with the bricks wrapping the windows of glass as fingers curling upwards holding a box would.

Each apartment had cookie-cutter French doors and a gated balcony the length of an arm’s span. One resident placed a single foldable camping chair in the balcony (two couldn’t possibly fit), another placed a hip-height yellowing plant, but most left the small space empty.

I wonder if the building had been cool in the 70s.

As we drove along the road, the height of the buildings grew, as did their brutality. Four-story projects became ten-story blocks with views overlooking other cloned housing projects.

Uniform brutalist concrete buildings pierced through the greying sky with their hard edges, each punctuated by window grids all the same size.

The streets lined with parked cars were grey, the buildings were grey, and I tried to wrap my head around the fact that that this was the same city I lived in and claimed to love.

Another block of four story apartment building came into view on the left. These must have been slightly newer, or they were just cleaner. The plain facades were plastered with a greyish-cream, again with uniform windows of all the same shape and size. It was The Hague, but it could have also been Poland.

These too had a small balcony, although I think you could fit two foldable camping chairs on it. The apartment building ran the entire large block, just endless cookie cutter facades one after the other.

Although arguably better than a block away, I shuddered to think what it must be like to live there — where the facade of your house — no, apartment — looks exactly the same as your neighbours, where the greenery is sparse, and a large street with much through traffic overlooks your one large living room window.

At the end of the street we come across to a t-junction where we’d eventually make a right turn to head back to the city centre.

Towards the right there was a railway station. With a snack bar below and bikes littered up front, it was there where I saw a bright orange glasshouse. Situated between the train tracks, and in large capital letters on the sloped orange roof, the white letters spelled out Moerwijk.