We did do some other stuff on Saturday (coffee on the canals, lunch in Liedzeplein, coffeeshops on the way home), but, for me, Saturday was all about one thing:
The Supper Club's reputation preceded it, and justifably so. For starters, the place is the very definition of exclusive. It's down a narrow alley that you'd never find unless you knew about it. The thick oak doors are only accessibly via intercom- you can't just walk right in. Our reservation was made several weeks in advance, which seems to be the only way you can get them.
At The Supper Club, you don't get a table: You get a bed. The walls are lined with them. Ours was on the balcony level, looking down on the rest of the huge dining hall, which was dominated by an enormous videoscreen, looping footage of naked women swimming underwater. We were then served with five courses of some of the best food I've ever eaten.
Then (!) a masseuse came along and gave Adrian and Craig backrubs on the bed. After a brief and rather terrible performance from lipsynching transvestite, we retired to the underground club for a little boogie. It was one of the best nights I've had all year.
I love the Supper Club- it's worth going to Amsterdam for. Do it.
This is a 