As a native of culinary melting pot Malaysia and the daughter of a restaurateur, UG student Natalie Voo knows her food. Every other week, she reviewed Groningen’s student-friendly dining scene. For her final review, she went to La Cafeteria.

For my final review with UKrant, I sat with the question for a while: where should I go? Should I choose something fancier, somewhere with white tablecloths and flickering candles, go out with a bang, a flourish? But no matter how many options I considered, one small voice kept saying: La Cafeteria. I was advised against doing another Asian spot, but I couldn’t shake the idea. I knew I wanted to go somewhere students could afford. Somewhere real.

Home

My mother once asked me, ‘Could you eat Japanese food for the rest of your life?’ It’s my favourite cuisine, hands down. But I hesitated. Though I love it (much to my grandfather’s dismay, as his father was tortured by the Japanese during WWII, so anything Japanese is a big no-no), I knew I couldn’t. Japanese food, beautiful as it is, isn’t what my mother fed me when I was sick. It’s not the cheeky, improvised supper my father made when we were all up too late. It’s not the centrepiece of our most sacred day: Chinese New Year’s Eve. That’s when I realised how deeply the flavours of Cantonese food run through me. It’s not just food. It’s memory. It’s medicine. It’s home.

My father is a chef and has owned restaurants for as long as I’ve been alive. I grew up surrounded by food, yes, but also by the invisible cost of it. Those steaming plates of wonton noodles? They paid for our livelihoods. My parents worked from nine in the morning until midnight every single day so I could live more comfortably than they ever had. My father used to joke, ‘Do you know how many plates of noodles I have to sell to pay for your tuition?’ I did the math – it’s 6,849 plates for my master’s degree this year alone.

Claypot rice

So, when I heard about La Cafeteria, a Chinese-run Dutch snack bar that serves claypot rice, that certainly piqued my curiosity. Claypot rice is such a specific kind of dish, so uniquely Cantonese, I figured that this place might just be the real deal. And it was! Which I’m so grateful for. Could you imagine if my last review was a negative one?

We ordered the Chinese sausage claypot rice and the crispy noodles with black bean pork ribs. Claypot rice is a dish of contrast – soft, fluffy rice in the middle, with a golden, crispy crust along the edges of the pot. You mix it all together and it becomes a texture symphony: smoky, crunchy, tender, rich. The sausage was umami-packed and just sweet enough, the pork belly was fatty and flavourful in the best way, the soy egg salty, and the bok choy crisp and bright. Nothing can compare to my mother’s version, but it came close enough to pull on the same heartstrings.

The crispy noodles were excellent – just the right crunch to hold their own under the deeply savoury, fermented black bean sauce, with ribs so tender (Pro tip: add their homemade chili sauce. You won’t regret it). Portions are massive, the noodles could easily feed two. We took the rest home, happy and full.

They also had JDB herbal tea in a can – if you’re Chinese, you probably grew up with it. It’s earthy, sweet, a sip of nostalgia, highly recommended if you’ve never tried it before.

Unifier

The setting was classic Dutch snack bar: plastic chairs, deep fryer scent in the air, not exactly the gezellig vibe for lingering chats, but it doesn’t matter. You can always call ahead for takeaway. The couple running it were warm, kind, and I had the loveliest chat with them. 

We were there for about an hour and a half and we saw it all: from international students craving a taste of home to an elderly Dutch lady there for her fries and bitterballen. It reminded me that food is one of the greatest unifiers. It teaches history. It carries legacy. It survives wars and migrations – so many dishes were born through forced creativity due to scarcity. It adapts, evolves, yet always holds onto something essential.

For me, the best memories are always made over a shared meal, and so food has never just been about sustenance. It’s about care, culture, connection, memories, and in a very literal way, it’s why I’ve been able to obtain a bachelor’s and master’s degree at a top 100 university, even though my parents never graduated from high school. I owe that to thousands of bowls of noodles.

Responsibility

To everyone who has followed Dining with Natalie, thank you. These past two years with UKrant have been a joy. I’ve eaten (a lot) and met so many lovely people. I’ve also wrestled with the responsibility of having a platform this big and how my words might affect real people, real businesses, real livelihoods. I’ve always tried to be honest, but kind. Discerning, but fair. And above all, passionate about good food, and hopefully you learnt something new too.

So, as a parting gift, I leave you with a guide: my personal list of where to eat in Groningen – from food stalls and budget eats to fancier spots. After five years here, I’m confident to say I’ve been to about 90 percent of restaurants in this city, and I hope my favourites become your favourites too! Always remember to eat well, eat curiously, and never underestimate the power of a good bowl of noodles.

Dutch