Quarantine kilos: because home isolation is not doable without a cheese platter

A new word is emerging in our language: quarantine kilos. Because honestly: what is the point of life if you don't eat truffle brie?

A cheese platter drags you the corona crisis through. And that little wine too, plus that bitterball and a scoop of ice cream for dessert. And did someone mention homemade cookies where a pack of butter is the secret ingredient? I know it all too well: ordering delicious bites from nice places and shamelessly eating them, because we have an excuse. We are sad because we are at home. And at home, you can't do much more than eat and indulge yourself with good food.

The hospitality industry that is closed: I miss it. I miss a full restaurant, an endless pub, and a chaotic terrace. But it doesn't stop me from starting a sport and snacking less, just because everything is closed in Amsterdam. No way. Then I'll just create a terrace with bitter garnishes in my own backyard. After 2.5 glasses of rosé, you hardly notice where you are. With full dedication, I support my locals, but especially the locals with pasta, cheese soufflés, and pizzas with Parma ham. My kitchen is a kind of snack paradise. Baguette from Le Fournil, cheese from L’Amuse, pâté from Lindenhof. According to researchers, home isolation leads to massive weight gain. They studied this in China, where it all started. At least 73 percent of people there turned out to have gained weight during quarantine. This is not only due to eating more because you have nothing else to do, but also because we move less. We don't have to bike to work, we don't have to walk through the office, rushing from appointment to appointment, to dance in a club. We sit. Literally. At home.

Ah, quarantine kilos, the word of this year... Of course, I could stop with all those delicious cheeses and snacks that don't make sense because they aren't real meals, but pure snacks to pass the time. But I won't. This way, I lovingly support my locals, my economy, my country. And I won't be wearing that swimsuit in the south of France or Ibiza for now. Instead of my vacations, I will just enthusiastically tackle a fries with from Par Hasard. The best in Amsterdam, honestly. And they are close to my house, so in this case, I am really supporting a local. I feel good about that, so I like to mention it.

I just embrace the q-kilos, I hope you do too. So be it, it’s a strange year: the scale is perhaps the last thing I’m losing sleep over right now. We'll be good with salad and cucumber again in 2021. I hope, please, in Ibiza, if possible.