Live from the Cannabis Cup

AMSTERDAM—Veni, weedy, peachy.

I came, I smoked, I felt keen. Or possibly I turned into a peach. Frankly, my first foray into the warehouse housing the 26th High Times Cannabis Cup put me in a vegetative state as I sampled my way through what I like to call the GABF. Beer enthusiasts know that acronym as Great American Beer Festival. But I'm a budding doobie bro now, having left puritanical Portland where marijuana and dancing are outlawed. So I think of it as the Great Amsterdam Bud Fest. Cannabis Cup isn’t much different than what you’d imagine being at a pot expo would be like in any of the 48 states that have yet to legalize herb—vendors pedaling their wares and growers touting their seeds—but with one minor difference. And it’s like the difference between kicking the tires and going on a test drive.

So let’s skip past the demos of unbleached and organic rolling papers, pipes, and vaporizers, brush aside the grinder and the bubble bag merchants, and all the hemp fabric clothiers, and find me standing outside where a food truck is set up slinging burgers and something called patatje stoof.

I know the first word must mean potato-y something and the –je suffix implies diminutive the way Grolsch comes in bottles (fleis) and tiny bottles (fleisje). Stoof? Perhaps it’s a stuffed potato or, more likely, stuuf, er, stoof on frites. So at worst it’s some kind of mayo. We’ve all seen Pulp Fiction; that stuff’s real. I know double vowels in Dutch don’t make give them a long sound like in English, so it’s not going to be pronounced “stoo’f.” I take a stab at “stouf” and the cook replies with an assertive question, “Patat-che stœf??”

A moment later, he beckons and I pay €6.50. I’m handed a tray of frites ‘neath a meatslide that’s not pulled pork so much as beef stew. I take my first bite and I’m both amazed and furious. This is the best stuff ever and I don’t think it’s just the munchies talking. Why the hell didn’t anybody tell me about this sooner?