I didn’t get the idea to photograph Keith’s beers until he already started in on his mission, but if you click on the photo below, you’ll get visuals of most of them, along with some of the ones I tried.
I’m feeling very depressed today, friends, so I’ve decided to cheer myself up by writing about chocolate.
Mainly, I love it. I don’t, however, love it in the sense that look down upon mass-marketed chocolate and only allow artisinal types to pass my lips. I’m happy with a bar of Dove dark chocolate — a square of which is melting on my tongue right now, in case you were wondering, and I know you were.
That said, when I was in Belgium, I knew there was no way I was leaving the country without having some of the chocolate the country is famous for. Which is why Darlington*, Keith and I sat outside of Pierre Marcolini on Avenue Louise for well over an hour, eating chocolate.
Before we got down to the eating, we first had to get through the picking. The chocolatier makes the vastest array of pralines, truffles, macarons and biscuits that I’ve ever seen; we decided to make our own mix of flavors, rather than buying a pre-assorted box (though I have to tell you that the packaging on these little containers is slick, sleek and a bit sexy — just like the chocolates themselves).
Though Keith also snapped up a slender strip of vanilla-bean marshmallows, the three of us mainly made our choices from the praline and Palets Fins collection, which was not easy. We each tried three or four different chocolates, and I scribbled notes on our reactions. Here’s some of what I was able to interpret out of my excited chickenscratch:
- Keith on Quatre Épices: “This one is really good. I would buy a package of these.”**
- Darlington, on the Pavé de Tours: “Mm, it’s like a reverse wafer cookie.”
- Nayiri on the cassis: “You pierce it, and your mouth gets flooded with this really fierce blackcurrant.”
As we smacked our lips at each other and considered the flavors spreading across our tongues, we saw a young Belgian man amble out of the store, carelessly popping square after square of chocolate into his mouth. I took notes of our thoughts on that too:
N: I love how that guy just bought a bag of fancy chocolate and is just scarfing them down.
D: Why would you do that?
K: Yes, why isn’t he writing notes about them, taking pictures of them in the bag, out of the bag, of the empty bag and the inside of the bag?
Though I was initially aghast, I realized that I would do the same thing, if I were accustomed to such awesome chocolate and living in Belgium. But I never thought I’d say this: I’m glad I don’t. Otherwise a sunny afternoon spent sitting on a bench with two lovely people and a bag of chocolate wouldn’t feel remotely as special..
* Darlington took some of these photos.
** This is a big deal, as Keith isn’t into chocolate at all, generally speaking.
Keith and I were originally planning to go on this vacation in the fall. We both like to travel off-peak for better deals — not to mention for better chances of dealing with smaller crowds of tourists. Just as we were about to book our tickets for November, Keith realized that such a trip was impossible; he’s TAing a class (beginning tonight, actually) that runs through December… which is how we ended up in Europe in August, surrounded by other visitors.
Here are the Belgian highlights:
Checked into the Hotel Metropole, Belgium’s only hotel from the nineteenth century that is still operational. Braved the crowds and wandered around the Grand Place before sitting down to an early dinner at Chez Léon. Ordered moules á L’escargot with frites and the house beer (€22.20). Ate outside; it was very warm, and besides, we don’t get to dine al fresco often in Boston. I think it has to do with permits, which is a shame. Wandered around a bit more and, after visiting the Manneken Pis, ended up drinking beers outside at A La Mort Sabite. I had a Lambic Blanche, which was dangerously good. A girl could get in trouble easily drinking those.
Darlington‘s living in London now; she took the Eurostar in to hang out with us for the day**. Ate breakfast in the hotel, then headed out for a gossipy walk. Sites visited included the Place du Grand-Sablon, Parc de Bruxelles, the newly-opened Musée Magritte Museum*, the waffle vendor outside the museum, Pierre Marcolini on Avenue Louise, A La Bécasse and all the nice little neighborhoods in between. At Pierre Marcolini, we bought an obscene amount chocolates and had a tasting on a bench directly outside. Similarly, at A La Bécasse we each ordered the “Lambic Dégustation” and sampled Timmerman’s Lambic Doux, Lambic Blanc, Kriek and Bourgogne des Flandres. After a sad goodbye, Keith and I walked over to the Saint Catherine neighborhood for another mussels dinner at Le Pré Salé.
Hopped a train to Antwerp; met an incredibly friendly Dutch woman who gave us a tour of the Grote Markt before going on her way. Ate an unremarkable (but economical!) pizza lunch at Da Giovanni. Meandered into Walter and Yohji Yamomoto. Couldn’t find the Ann Demeulemeester store and MoMu was closed, so headed over to the river Scheldt, where we ate more waffles and watched couples make out. The view’s romantic, so we couldn’t blame them. Looked like it was going to rain sowe walked back towards the center, and just before the water started crashing down ducked into Quinten Matsijs and had a couple beers. (Later, I found out it’s the oldest bar in Holland and Belgium.) Dinner at Amadeus, back to Brussels for one last beer, then bed.
Caught a train to the incredibly picturesque city of Bruges, which is so pretty it’s almost ridiculous. Also ridiculous were the sheer amount of people present, taking photographs of the canals, the city hall and Sint-Salvator Cathedral. Checked out the Basilica of the Holy Blood, where I lit candles for my grandmother and grandfathers. Ate sandwiches from Deldycke whilst sitting on the river Dijver, then dropped into ‘t Brugs Beertje, which stocks over three hundred Belgian beers. I tried two different flavors of Lambic; Keith ordered a ‘t Smisje Dubbel after a mostaardbier by the same brewery. Dinner at the mundane Poules Moules before we traveled back to Brussels. Nightcap at Le Corbeau.
Mid-morning train to Ghent. Got the bus to the center, walked over to see The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb at Saint-Bavo’s Cathedral. Lit some more candles. Climbed way too many narrow winding stairs at Gravensteen, a castle from the Middle Ages that sits practically in the center of Ghent. Incredible views, though interrupted by cranes. Drinks at De Dulle Griet, which means Mad Meg and is a very famous painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Utterly delicious dinner at Brasserie ‘t Klokhuys, where I ate a Flemish beef stew and frites (€12.70) until I was stuffed. Beers at Het Waterhuis aan de Bierkant, where we met a retiring-in-one-week naval man who insisted Keith have a Rochefort 10.
Last day, sort of, in Belgium — our plane tickets were round-trip out of Brussels Airport. Brunch at Café Mokafe in one of the covered galleries in the city. People-watch while chewed crusty baguette sandwich, then Keith-watched as he ate a waffle while we walked to Delirium Café for a beer. Directly across the entrance is the Jeanneke Pis, which made me wonder what is up with this city and peeing children. Strolled around aimlessly until stopping for a break at Chaff on the Place du Jeu de Balle. Fell madly in love with the cleverest street dog ever, then stopped by Lola for dinner before packing up at the hotel.
* I know it is redundant.
** Darlington took some of these photos.
I love graffiti, always have. I remember riding in the backseat on the way to my father’s New York City office and sitting up straighter when we passed my favorite tags along the Henry Hudson. I’d count how many times I’d see them spray painted on brick walls, cement underpasses and in between windows, and that number would glow behind my eyes until I went to bed that night.
New York is different these days, tidied up, and graffiti isn’t a common sight in Boston. Europe, on the other hand, is teeming with street art, and I make a point of documenting what I see wherever I go. Keith, I think, gets a bit frustrated with me, as I can tend to wander off down miscellaneous alleyways with only the most perfunctory of hold on for a second‘s, and then spend a good few minutes angling my camera this way and that. The things we do for love, right?*
Click on the picture below for a slideshow of graffiti I photographed in Antwerp, Brussels and Ghent — unsurprisingly, there was no graffiti to be found in Bruges, but considering that the city center is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, even the teensiest tag would be instantly rubbed away.
* I’ll leave it to you to determine if I mean Keith’s love of me, or my love of graffiti.
I’m sitting in my steaming hot dining room, contemplating the pile of dirty dishes from yesterday’s charcuterie fest (more about that later) in the sink, and avoiding packing. We leave tomorrow for a week in Belgium, followed by a week in Holland, and I don’t know why I’m putting off packing, since I’m so efficient at it. I think it’s because it’s too hot to move and I still have to turn the two cups of blueberries we haven’t eaten into muffins (or scones) that I’ll stick in the freezer and consume when we get back, and the thought of turning on the oven makes me want to cry. Or crawl into the freezer with my muffins. Or both. I am that hot.
Yesterday my cousin Nikita came over to teach me and Melissa how to make charcuterie, and now my fridge is full of three different kinds, all of which must be eaten or given away before noon tomorrow. I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t think I’m up for the task. There’s that much food. I’ll put up recipes on how to make duck liver pâté, rillettes and pâté de campagne when I get back, but here are is a picture to tide your interest in the meantime:
I may have Internet access while in Europe, I may not, so just in case: au revoir, à bientôt.
I was walking down the Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy Greenway not too long ago and found myself thinking again/as usual about Boston, and all the other places in the world where I could possibly be (Belize, Belarus, Belgium, Bahrain, Burundi, Bonaire). Then I thought, The sun today is so pretty, shining just so, why can’t Boston be enough? So I decided, to keep me company as I warily made my way across the remaining patches of ice and snow, to make a list of things I love about this town (well, metro-area). I came to Boston for a reason, after all, and have stayed for others, and when you’ve lived in one place for as many years as this it’s bound to leave its mark. I know that no matter where I go and where I end up, I’ll always have some sort of wanderlust hovering at the edge of my vision, almost the aura that zips along the corner of my eye just before I slip into a migraine — but without the pain. Well, maybe not without the pain; it’s just different, when you long for something so much. I just keep telling myself, Soon soon soon. Hopefully it’s the truth. Until then, this town is my home.
- 90 Chestnut Street, my favorite building in all of Beacon Hill. Next time I’m in the neighborhood (and when I have a working camera again) I’ll take a photo for you.
- The back streets of Cambridge, and the literary history of the city.
- Bloc 11, since it’s much easier to park in Union Square than it is when visiting its sister coffeehouse, Diesel Café, in Davis.
- The Brattle Theatre, where I don’t watch movies often enough.
- Commonwealth Avenue Mall, especially the portion between Exeter and Dartmouth Streets, where I shot my first student film with a 16mm Bolex.
- The double-door brownstones in the South End, because they’re so stately.
- Good, the gorgeous and pristine boutique on Charles Street selling such wares as John Derian découpage items and Satya jewelry.
- Grub Street, where I’ve taken countless helpful and encouraging writing workshops.
- Forest Hills Cemetery, which is both free to visit and incredibly beautiful.
- Formaggio Kitchen, because — let’s face it — I just can’t live without cheese.
- Janet Warner at Salon Marc Harris on Newbury Street, who has been cutting my hair and making me laugh since 2003, and doing a damn good job at both.
- Porter Square Books, because sometimes it’s nice to actually buy a book in a store and not just at Amazon.
- The view of the Charles from the roof of 132 Beacon Street, a sight I’ll probably never see from the same vantage point again since the building is currently being renovated into luxury condominiums.
- Volle Nolle, the makers of the some of the best sandwiches in all of Boston.