It's amazing what we do, sometimes, in search of the perfect meal. Last weekend, Cathy and I were in Brussels for a friend's 50th birthday party. We had an early start and only some croissants on the Eurostar so by lunchtime, having a potter around the (rather nice) Grand Place, we were starving. Of course, Brussels is one of the great eating cities of Europe, but we didnt want a big, expensive lunch because we were due to eat with our friends that evening and the following day; but neither did we want just a snack or sandwich. No, this was Brussels and we wanted what has become almost the Belgian national dish. We wanted moules/frites. And a beer. And, furthermore, we wanted them in an authentic Brussels brasserie, full of mirrors, faux Belle Epoque decor and genuine locals stuffing themselves with waterzoi and Chimay. But we were in the center of town, in an area populated mostly by tourists. Sure there were many, many places selling moules/frites and some even had the appropriate decor. But I have an absolute ban on eating in places were they have pictures of the food posted up outside and menus which include a Swedish translation (except in Sweden, of course)and some guy who grabs you by the arm to drag you to a table. We walked for miles, getting hungrier, weaker and grumpier by the minute, (it was also quite hot) leaving the tourist area and passing some quite decent looking little cafes and bistros. However, none of them served moules/frites. We eventually staggered into a downbeat, empty little joint, which had a loud jukebox, a television playing Belgian soaps, a friendly waitress and best of all, a sign outside saying 'Festival Du Moule' or something like that. We sat down with considerable relief. Ok, it wasnt the best meal I've ever had, but the moules were plentiful, plump and clearly freshly cooked and the frites were hot and crisp. The bread and beer were precisely what they needed to be. We scoffed it all down. It cost about £10 a head.
That night, at supper in the glorious garden of our friends, we had some great food. The next day at the garden party in the grounds of a small Chateau to celebrate C's birthday, we drank champagne, ate wonderful nibbles, enjoyed a sumptuous barbecue and buffet and possibly the best birthday cake I had ever eaten. It was glorious and made all the better by the occasion and the company. But its not the only taste I shall remember from the weekend.