After seven and a half years of living here in the Netherlands, I ought to have a good feeling for Dutch gezelligheid -- that special sort of familial warmth, comfort, and comradery that is not quite translatable into American understanding.  And, of course, I do generally understand it and appreciate it:  knowing, for instance, that a dinner reservation does not just mean an hour or two (as it might be understood in American contexts) but rather an entire evening of occupation... But still, every time I experience a prolonged evening of gezelligheid among a crowd of Dutch people in their element, I am newly impressed -- newly reminded of how clueless I can be about gezelligheid.

Yesterday evening, I got to share a dinner with the Medezeggenschaps Raad (MR) of the school which our children attend, and it was just such a reminder of how it really works around here.

The MR is something between an American Board of Education and a Parent-Teacher Organization, I think -- but whatever it is, I've been serving as a part of this advisory board for the last two years.  Every year in the spring (towards the end of the school year), the school pays for the MR to go out for a nice meal.  But this isn't anything like how it would be done in America:  usually something business-casual, at a place like Applebee's or Red Lobster or the Olive Garden, main entree fully covered by the school, but any extras (and particularly any alcoholic beverages) covered by the individuals, maybe a two-and-a-half hour affair if everyone is really having a good time... In this case, though, the setting is considered extremely important, the drinks and appetizers and meals and extras are totally covered by the school, and it goes for about four hours before all is said and done.

Yesterday evening, we met at an Italian restaurant in the neighborhood, with a table out on the sidewalk terrace, underneath a trellis covered by grapevines.  A bottle of rosé was immediately ordered, and glasses were filled generously until everyone raised their glasses in a toast to the school.  Two of the teachers who also sit on the MR started working their way through a pack of Lucky Strikes, while everyone looked through the menu and caught up on chit-chat.  Eventually, a round of appetizers was ordered -- one of just about every item on the menu -- and we all passed the plates around and enjoyed delicious mouthfuls of bruschette, carpaccio, calimari, dalmast... It was a lot of food.  By the time the appetizers were finished, it was decided that we needed another bottle of rosé.  Then, everyone placed their orders and continued with conversation:  about politics, traveling, school situations, the World Cup, families, a little bit of everything.  More cigarettes, more wine.  The food was served:  large portions of pasta, pizzas, meat, cheese, bread.  Once everyone had his or her order, we started enjoying the food.  But it was by no means gluttony.  In fact, everyone was very considerate:  insisting on waiting, sharing the wine equally, passing around food items.  More cigarettes, more wine.  By this point, I was feeling quite full and (still stuck in my American paradigms for such situations) thinking that we'd probably be wrapping up pretty soon.

But we were not anywhere near finished.

The chairman of the MR asked for the dessert menus, and we all ordered lavish desserts:  tiramisu, and gelatto, and baklava, and crepes.  One of the other fathers regaled us with stories of his car troubles and the wacky drama of the mechanics at his neighborhood garage, trying to figure out what was wrong with the vehicle.  Eventually, the subject came around to American food -- probing me for information about root beer floats, philly cheesesteaks, waffle fries, cookie monsters, all of which started to sound like the most exotic, most fascinating cuisine, in those circumstances.  This prompted a story from one of the other fathers, who had experienced "Rocky Mountain Oysters" (fried bull testicles) on a recent trip to the United States -- which drew out another one of my personal anecdotes about the Tiro Tavern Testicle Festival (Motto:  "You'll have a ball").  More cigarettes, more wine.  The sun was starting to set  -- which is saying something in Amsterdam, these days, where the dusk dwells almost until midnight.  Another round of drinks was ordered:  cappuchinos, espressos, lattes.  And more conversation ensued.  What will happen with the formation of the new Dutch cabinet, following the recent elections?  What will the school do about the disorganized gym teacher?  What are the chances for the Dutch national soccer team in this year's World Cup?

I started to forget about the time -- about the American conventions for such situations.  I was no longer surprised when another round of drinks was ordered:  this time tiny, lemon-flavored liqueurs and bottled sparkling water and brown bottles of Heineken.  The two teachers lit up more cigarettes, and we started trying to figure out which city's map was emblazoned upon our tables.  Was it Rome?  Highly unlikely, because of the shape of the river and the loading docks.  Was it New York?  Not vertical enough, no Central Park.  Chicago?  I could rule that one out.  It seemed like some kind of American city, because of the shape of the city blocks -- but its river was hard to place, and the circular park was very unique.  One of the fathers went inside to ask the restauranteur if he knew which city it was.  He didn't, but he could tell us that when he had purchased the tables they were called "Model New York."  We gradually pushed back from the table, completely full, completely at ease.  More cigarettes.  A lot of looking up into the deepening blue of the sky.  Talking about the neighborhood, about the city.

At last, the chairman of the MR went inside to pay.  When everything was taken care of, we wandered over to the bicycle racks and unlocked the bicycles, while our conversation started to trail off.  It took a good five minutes for the bicycle-unlocking process to be completed.  Even when it finally felt about time to saddle up and ride off into the sunset, a few of the others were finishing up their own conversations -- offering a pleasant smile and wave and greetings to be sent home with me.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how gezelligheid is done.