Tell Your Friends [Martin Garrix]

Chapter 15 | ✓

"Sorry, I can't show you all of the places of Amsterdam," Martin says, when we are sat in a tiny restaurant. "Fans will probably annoy us." 

"It's okay," I reply, taking the menu from the waiter. "Feels good to be in here with you anyway, so you shouldn't be sorry." 

Martin just smiles back, looking at his menu. He decided to bring me to this fancy restaurant called Restaurant Greetje. It is tiny and we were very lucky to get the last table, even though it was probably because Martin is a celebrity and he told me, that he has heard the waiter cancel a reservation over the phone. 

The hall is decorated with old pictures hung in wooden frames, on the walls, which have wooden panels, made from red wood . Everything looks old, but extremely cute. There are large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, although most of the light comes from the windows. 

The furniture is wooden. The chairs have pink padding, with white patterns. Just like you might find in an old grandma's house. Red, wooden floor creaks, as the waiter brings us starters, which look extremely rich and grand. 

I ordered Rollade of Dutch pea soup for starters. It was brought in a small, white bowl, placed on a flat plate. It turned out to be extremely delicious, although of my strong disliking of any kind of soups. I guess, tastes change in Amsterdam. It is a bit salty, however not too much. While I eat my soup, Martin eats Pate of deer.

"Is it nice?" I ask, staring at his dish. 

He nods as an answer. "Wanna try?" 

"Okay," I say, taking my fork and popping a piece of it into my mouth. It's very nice, so I make a mental note to not be afraid of pate of dear in any other restaurants. Well, maybe it's only tasty here, because this place is one of the best in Amsterdam. 

We finish our starters silently. The waiter takes our plates away, leaving us in complete silence, only to be disturbed by other people chatting in Dutch. The atmosphere is slowly becoming awkward, so I decide to not let it become weird. 

"Where are your next raves?" I ask Martin, interested. 

"Good question," he chuckles, leaving me a bit confused. 

"What's funny?" I say, furrowing my eyebrows. Martin takes out his phone and vigorously taps on it, probably going into an app. "Well, there are loads around America and one in Greece, as well." 

"Cool," I reply, staring at the people. Everyone is so different here, I guess because there is a large ocean separating us, so our cultures won't mix. Dutch people look free and very enjoying-the-moment, while us, Americans, look like we are always in a hurry and always building plans for the future, but forgetting about actually living the moment. This is my opinion. 

Maybe, if all of us lived in this beauty, we would be enjoying the moment. We would go out more, forget about most of our problems and just live, like we want to, not like other people actually make us. Here, people actually smile, when you make eye-contact with them. It's like the are actually happy, that you are here. 

The waiter brings us dessert - Creme brûlée for me and a pear tart for Martin. I stare at my plate in awe, taking a teaspoon. The dessert is extremely sweet, only to be softened by the sour taste of strawberries on top. It melts in my mouth, leaving a nice flavour behind. The taste is so intense, that it overflows my mouth. I have never eaten anything like that in my life. 

"This is not real," I say, pointing at my Creme brûlée, while taking another spoonful.

"Yeah," Martin replies, cutting a piece of his tart. "You have to admit they are good at deserts."