December fifth was for me the most exciting day of the year. More fun than my birthday, Christmas, or New Year's Eve. I always celebrated gift night together with one of my favorite friends, Sophie, and our families. First the presents, then at the table for the sauerkraut. Otherwise, our nerves couldn't handle it. We anxiously waited for the gifts that the old man and his helpers would bring. Once, a helper (probably a neighbor) had knocked a complete panel out of the front door.

Another Sinterklaas year, Sophie and I, after reading a letter from Sinterklaas stating that the gifts were on the roof, climbed up a little attic ladder and hoisted ourselves through a hatch. I had never seen anything so romantic: a wide view over dark Amsterdam, lights burning in all the houses, and dozens of gifts scattered on the flat roof.

It was customary on these Sinterklaas evenings that even the smallest gift was accompanied by a poem. Even if you only had to unwrap a chocolate letter, there had to be a poem. Sometimes my mother would, while reading aloud, snatch the poem from my hand and swap it with my brother's. Yes, when you have to write thirty poems for eight different people, you do make mistakes sometimes.

I think I was eight years old when I found out that the man with the long beard was actually my uncle. When I was hiding in a musty broom closet on the morning of December 5th, playing hide and seek, I suddenly found myself among the gifts. You understand, I became a bit hysterical. But even more so from my mother: ‘Sinterklaas has already delivered the gifts for the neighbors to us,’ she exclaimed far too emphatically. I wanted to believe it, until I saw exactly the same gifts lying by the fireplace that evening. Now they really couldn't fool me anymore.

For years afterwards, we continued to celebrate Sinterklaas evening with the two families. My brother made a Louis Vuitton bag as a surprise for me, and I made him a soccer ball out of papier-mâché.

Tonight is gift night again. Parents are probably rushing through the city for last-minute shopping. Children will be terribly nervous all day. How many doors will be knocked on too hard by a nervous neighbor later?

I have plans tonight with friends (unfortunately not with Sophie, because she lives abroad) in a -to stay in the spirit- Spanish restaurant. Enjoying tapas. Hopefully, this will ease the homesickness that we all feel when we think of the Sinterklaas evenings from our youth.

My three favorite tapas restaurants in Amsterdam:

• Pata-Negra, Utrechtsestraat 124
• La Olivia, Egelantiersstraat 122-124
• Café Duende, Lindengracht 62