Horse and Fries

The joy of travel cannot be felt without sampling the local cuisine. ‘To know a country, one must eat a country’ said the great Keith Floyd, and for a man who is a hero to your writer, I certainly had every intention to let Brussels indulge me. Now it would be an unfair judgement to state that I’ve experienced all that Belgium has to offer, and as a student, on a student budget, I did not set my sights on Brussels’ haute cuisine. So with the obligatory reading comes what? Moules-Frites, Waffles, and lots of beer; hardly imaginative and not enough to excite this particular palate. It is however much more than that. The steaming bucket of Moules (mussels) is a sensation to any seafood lover, though the frites (fries) on the side are rather dull. Which is every reason why you must dash over to one of the city’s countless ‘friteries’ and gawp at the vast array of condiments. I think I counted fifteen or more in total, some with exotic names such as Samurai, Brazil and Oriental. My lament for the absence of vinegar steadily evaporated as I stood spoilt in saucy indulgence. A quick peruse of the supermarket shelves and I deftly grab the cured horse meat and the baby octopuses. Delicious, washed down with beer brought from the ‘250 Beers’ store. I kid you not- 250 varieties. The apple beer was remarkably exquisite.

The highlight? Chez Leon on the famous Rue de Bouchers, pricey but settled at the behest and invitation of my School. As I nervously contemplated whether to locate the lobster, I was drawn to two magic words that (quite literally) evoked a raw urge- steak tartar. Forgive the cliché but I’d been haunted by this dish. To eat or not to eat, that is the question? Whether it is nobler to settle for something ordinary, or suffer the slings and arrows of something outrageous. Raw meat may be an anathema to some, but it was good; I approved as did Nat Copsey, as did the wary young lady who sat to my left initially distraught at what I was about to devour.

So eat the moules, eat the frites, and by God lose your conscience at the chocolate store. But let Brussels bring out the adventurer in you too.