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.
Though we both drank loads of beer on our trip (I mostly stuck with my beloved lambics), Keith was on a self-imposed mission to consume all of the Belgian Trappists. Did he succeed? Scroll down to find out.
- House beer at Chez Léon, Brussels.
- Hopus Blonde at A La Mort Sabite, Brussels.
- “Lambic Dégustation: Lambic Doux, Lambic Blanc, Kriek, Bourgogne des Flandres” at A La Bécasse, Brussels. *
- Hoegaarden at Le Pré Salé, Brussels.
- De Koninck bolleke at Quinten Matsijs, Antwerp.
- Leffe Blond at Amadeus, Antwerp.
- Kwak at Café Métropole, Brussels.
- ‘t Smisje Wostyntje Tour Hauts Mosterd Biër at ‘t Brugs Beertje, Bruges.
- ‘t Smisje Dubbel at ‘t Brugs Beertje, Bruges.
- Abbaye des Rocs Brune at Le Corbeau, Brussels.
- Delirium Tremens at De Dulle Griet, Ghent.
- Trappistes Rochefort 10 at Het Waterhuis aan de Bierkant, Ghent.
- Orval at Delirium Café, Brussels.
- Duvel at Chaff, Brussels.
- Chimay Bleue at Chaff, Brussels.
- Maredsous 10 Tripel at Café Le Fontainas, Brussels.
- Amstel at Brasserie De Roode Leeuw, Amsterdam.
- Westvleteren 12 at Café Gollem, Amsterdam.
- Westmalle Dubbel at Café Gollem, Amsterdam.
- Hertog Jan Weizener at Festina Lente, Amsterdam.
- Kasteel Donker at Café Brakke, Amsterdam.
- Leffe Blond at Café de Pels, Amsterdam.
- Duvel at Café van Leeuwen, Amsterdam.
- Charles Quint at Café Gollem, Amsterdam.
- Maredsous 8 Dubbel at Café Gollem, Amsterdam.
- Duchesse de Bourgogne at Silkbar, Amsterdam.
- Karmeliet Tripel at Café Gollem (Pijp), Amsterdam.
- La Trappe Tripel at Café Gollem (Pijp), Amsterdam.
- Leffe Brune at Silkbar, Amsterdam.
- Westmalle Tripel at Kingfisher, Amsterdam.
- La Trappe Isid’or at ‘t Arendsnest, Amsterdam.
- Texels Tripel at ‘t Arendsnest, Amsterdam.
- Stichting NH Alternatieve Bierbrouwers Maelstrom at ‘t Arendsnest, Amsterdam.
We had originally planned to do day trips out of Amsterdam, same as we had in Brussels, but Keith and I soon came to realize that we didn’t want to wake up early to catch any more trains. Instead, we leisurely made our way around the city each day.
Had breakfast at the Hotel Metropole in Brussels. Three trains later — whoever said there were nonstops running from Bruxelles Nord is a liar — checked into Amsterdam’s Mövenpick Hotel overlooking the IJ, Centraal Station and the city. After lying facedown on the bed for a while, roused ourselves to find dinner because apparently the Dutch don’t eat late. Wandered down through the Old Centre, which was overflowing with drunken American, English, German and Irish tourists reeking of pot, and ended up at Brasserie De Roode Leeuw on the New Side, where I ate the most amazing piece of fish and Keith devoured veal meatballs, potatoes and these gorgeous little peas into which he mixed curries and compotes. Finished the night with beers at Gollem, a tiny bar only slightly larger than my apartment’s bathroom.
Slept in a bit then found some lunch at Festina Lente in the Jordaan: taleggio, tomatoes and salami on a toasted wheat* ciabatta. (If I lived here, I would come to Festina Lente once a week just to eat through their sandwich menu.) Admired the café’s cat. Commented how much the Dutch seem to love sandwiches… like me. Drifted around the Jordaan. Watched candy get made at Papabubble, then bought several Euro’s worth. Checked out the clothes sold at Sprmrkt, all of which made me feel very fat and very uncool. Smelled soaps at La Savonnerie and realized Amsterdam is quite beautiful once you get away from the sleazy bits. Beer break at Café Brakke, where non-patrons have to pay €0.50 to use the toilet but petting the cat is free. Hopped a tram to the Pijp for dinner at District V. Happened to be “National Restaurant Week,” so ate the set menu of salmon wrapped in pasta with a tomato cream sauce; “friander kalfsoester” with potatoes, ratatouille and a delicious marsala potato gratin studded with rosemary; and a citron ice cream with lemon sauce and a brownie full of ground almonds. (If you come here, check out the not-as-cheesy-as-it-sounds chandelier made of cutlery, sieves and serving spoons.) Trammed back to the hotel.
Had prebooked tickets to the Anne Frank House; showed up fifteen minutes early so we could grab ham-and-cheese croissants and coffee next door**. Wrestled between depression, interest and anger while going through the house. Ignored Keith completely afterwards at Broodje Bert, where I ate a toasted salami, onion and cheese sandwich (for barely over €5.oo) while I scribbled in my journal. Shopped the Nine Streets. Bought a rad bag at Margareth Mackenzie on Oude Spiegelstraat. Helped Keith pick out a wallet at Hester Van Eeghen on Hartenstraat. Scribbled more at Café de Pels while Keith drank beer. Chilled out at the hotel for an hour or two before a dinner of snacks at Van Dobben, where the friendliest people work and recommend crazy-amazing things to eat like kroket sandwiches and a stack of salted beef and liver piled in between bread. Ogled two customers’ two massive dogs, then walked back to the hotel.
Caught the water taxi to city hall, then walked to De Tokoman for some sensational Surinamese sandwiches and mango juice. Still couldn’t believe how much the Dutch love sandwiches, and how much I love the Dutch for loving them. Walked over to the Dutch Resistance Museum, also known as the coolest museum in the city and where we spent three hours. Poked through Rembrandt’s house, which is set up to appear as though the artist just popped out for a sandwich (he was Dutch, you know). Quick detour in the Bloemenmarkt, the flower market. Beers at Café van Leeuwen. Heard the weather was going to turn for the cold and windy, so conned Keith into shopping for a jacket. More beers at Gollem, where I met the bar’s cat, then a traditional Dutch dinner at Moeders before catching our last tram of the night. Beer at the hotel bar, then bed.
More awesome sandwiches and frites, this time at Morning Star, which just might be the cutest place ever. Windy windy windy cold weather, so I wore my new jacket. Visited the Amsterdams Historisch Museum, where Keith had to tear me away from the computer-generated map of the city’s growth over the past eight hundred years. After cookies (koekjes) and appelflaps (kind of like an apple turnover) at Lanskroon, trammed to the Pijp for beers at the other branch of Gollem with another cat before walking to the Van Gogh Museum, which is open late on Friday nights for film screenings, concerts and lectures. Dinner at Burgermeester. In spite of torrential rain, all the local bars were packed so we headed to the hotel bar for one last beer.
Glumly trekked through the sunny morning and the Red Light District to get to the Museum Amstelkring and its spectacular church hidden in the attic, then to the Oude Kerk, the only cathedral I’ve ever seen with a wooden ceiling. Trammed to the Albert Cuypmarkt in the Pijp. Spent hours exploring the miscellaneous stalls and eating more Surinamese food, frites, cookies and an astounding raw herring sandwich. Beers at Kingfisher before walking to the in-the-process-of-renovation Rijksmuseum, home to works by Vermeer, Rembrandt and Bruegel. Indonesian dinner at Bojo, before beers at ‘t Arendsnest. Trammed in the pouring rain back to the hotel to pack and sleep.
* The Dutch call wheat bread brown bread. I don’t think I can pull it off.
**Getting advance tickets online is a must. If you aren’t able to, plan on buying a snack next door at Bagels and Coffee; customers can use their computer and printer gratis, and therefore avoid the hours-long line at the Anne Frank House.
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.