L'autre Cantina

Ah, what a relaxing place to have dinner this is!  I rang the bell and came through a hallway decorated with vibrant green leaves to this Brazilian restaurant, which had a surprising amount of floor space for the number of tables.  Now the other diners were not centimetres away, as they often are in many popular Brussels eateries, so the music in the background could lull me and conversation was effortless.   Like the Virgin Mary figurines and their buddha, I was serene.

I spent much of the time admiring the artwork on the walls, the lanterns, the terrace at the back (one to remember for the Summer).  Service was unhurried and that was how I wanted it to be.  The menu choice was not extensive, but that didn't matter either.  We chose frango com mango e quiabo and muqueca de frutos do mar: the chicken sauce was sticky and the muqueca coconut milk sauce reminiscent of a Thai curry, but with something different, I'm not sure what.  The dishes were accompanied by farofa, which was like a couscous with the strong flavour of onions, also very enjoyable.  A great introduction to Brazilian food: I will return!    

L'autre Cantina offers a buffet lunch on weekdays, not at a set price, but charged by weight.  I'm told that you can eat more that you expect for less money than you brought with you, so don't hold back: if you return for second helpings you'll have to go through the weighing process again!

Chaussée de Vleurgat 117
1000 Brussels
02 644 9777

http://www.lautrecantina.com/

La Fleur en Papier doré

"I don't know if this interests you", says the friendly man  in La Fleur en Papier doré, "but you're seated at the very table where René Magritte used to sit."   I have a closer look at the table in question.  It is certainly old, worn smooth by years of elbow rubbing, and covered with etched graffiti.  I am free to prod it, stroke it, spill my beer over it.  Yet much as I dutifully scan the surface, I can find no trace of the man. 



This is the only vaguely disappointing thing about La Fleur en Papier doré: despite being the meeting point for Belgium's surrealist scene, welcoming Scutenaire, Alechinsky, Magritte, Breton; despite the 406 framed prints and photographs that adorn the walls, the place is still somewhat lacking in, well, surrealist memorabilia.  Instead we are left with founder and art dealer Geert van Bruaene's mix-match collection of objects: Virgin Marys and antlers.  Save a couple of exceptions everything of value was sold, including any scribbles or sketches that might have been born here, in this place. 

Actually perhaps the most surreal thing is the 80's disco coming from the stereo, which feels completely at odds with these dim, curious surroundings.  I don't know what to make of it all, so I order another beer and immerse myself in contemplating the mysterious phrases on the walls, including my favourite; "Nul ne m'est etranger comme moi-même".   Then on comes Thank you for the music, and I can't help wondering what the surrealists would have made of this intrusion: would they have liked ABBA?  This place feels like a well-kept secret, but I'm left feeling a little bit cheated by what's missing: Magritte and his pals have eluded me.

Finally, I decide that none of this matters terribly much.  There are photos to peer over, conversations to be had in the gloom and a lengthy beer list to evaluate.  Since its careful restauration the bar's contents have been protected but the addition of extra seating and exhibition space suggests we should be looking forward.  This is not a museum, but is once more the place for art displays and monthly poetry readings.  Empty your mind of associations, ignore the brooding manor house interior and just draw or play chess.  It's what they would have wanted.

rue des Alexiens 55
1000 Brussels
02 511 16 59

http://www.lafleurenpapierdore.be/
http://www.hetgoudblommekeinpapier.be/

A la Mort subite

This one is already well known on the Brussels bars circuit and I had never done more than poke my head inside, because every time I happen to pass it is heaving.  It's run by the fourth generation of the Vossen family, and is named after the individual who managed to lose the final quick card game of the lunch-break, before returning to work.  This story goes back about 80 years, and I couldn't see anyone playing cards on my visit.  But I'll believe what the menu told me.

Once inside the first thing I notice is the happy absence of cigarette smoke - and then the noise!  For a moment I am unsure where I am: the loudness, the long rows of people and incessant chatter make me think I'm in a Bavarian beer hall, but all the voices I pick out are speaking English in an American accent.  From where in America, I couldn't say (I've never been any good at accents), but I'd like to think they were from North Carolina, or perhaps from a German bar somewhere in Texas.  Undeterred I forge a way through the mass of people and tables and make my way to the only free patch in the whole space.  I'm seated centimetres from couples at other tables, but there's no hope of eavesdropping any conversation other than my own.

We're served by a friendly, buxom lady and we watch others drinking their beers along with cheese on sticks (no pineapple, sadly!) to soak it all up.  The atmosphere is bright and jovial and stimulating.  I like it. 

Unsurprisingly, the beer offering in A la Mort Subite is pretty good.  As well as Gueuze, you can have Grimbergen (blonde, brune and dorée) and trappists such as Chimay, Orval and the fearsome Rochefort 10 and Westmalle Triple.  There's also the ominously- titled "Foreign beers", though I've no idea why you would want one of those....

On the way here we pass through the stylish Galerie de la Reine and I admire the Christmas lights.  Hang on a minute, what month are we in?  Ah, still only late January?  Well we can expect to pass more lights and bald, discarded Christmas trees on pavements for another month yet.  In this international city nobody gets superstitious. 

Rue Montagne aux Herbes Potagères 7

1000 Brussels
02 513 13 18

http://alamortsubite.com/

Goupil le Fol

Passers-by may stop to admire the window display, but will be unprepared for what lies within and will perhaps be deterred.  Emerging into the dim interior of Goupil le Fol  a little prematurely one Saturday evening, I was, as usual, hoping to make an  inconscipuous entrance.  However slinking into this ancienne maison de confiance is not an easy thing to do.  I am met, not by la patronne, but by le patron, who welcomes me, somewhat flirtatiously, planting a smacker on my cheek.  "Tu es américaine?"  He asks, no doubt prompted by my frustratingly ever-present accent.  Close enough, but he still needs correcting.  Then, nationality established, he insists that I follow him to view the portrait of Prince Philip, hanging somewhere on the ground floor, in a doorway beside a sepia photograph.  I ask where he came from, and le patron responds with a chuckle; "Je ne sais pas."  The Prince is keeping interesting company: each floor is well supplied with nude portraits of women, as you might expect, but so many other things as well - old records, assorted chanson française memorabilia and lots of random junk.  In fact, His Royal Highness might just like it.

"Have you been here before?  Do you know we stay open until 6am?"  Of course I do.  And this is when the realisation dawns.   When I've turned up in the small hours and le patron has appeared to recognise me, offering me and my entourage sweets - this was all a pretence, for le patron does not remember me at all!  For a moment I am almost disappointed, but then I know that late one night I will return.  Somehow Goupil le Fol is only findable in those wee hours of the morning, when alcohol has both numbed and sharpened your senses but your feet still deliver you here, to be met by the welcoming riot of colourful stuff, Edith Piaf on a gorgeous jukebox, and the knowing smile of le patron.  Into this dimly lit space you slip, with its years of cigarette smoke seeping out of the fibres of the upholstery, and sink into one of the many sofas in their various stages of decrepitude;  and you stay there for hours.  Some choose the downstairs room for conversations over candlelight, while those who are beyond much animated talking head to the dimly-lit rooms upstairs for fumbling trysts or just the chance to close their eyes.  There's even probably a drinks list available somewhere, but in keeping with the history of this place, it is the serveuse who will seek you out for your order.  Know only that the homemade fruit wines are very sweet and to be avoided, so you should opt for more conventional choices instead.

So, who was Goupil?  Why, he's part of "la culture française!" exclaimed a friend.  He appeared shocked that I had not come across le roman de Renart, that classic of Medieval French literature that somehow did not make it onto my university reading list.  Later I tried to put this omission right: If I had read about Goupil, I'd have discovered that in Medieval French goupil was the word for fox, but such was the popularity of the character Renart le goupil in these medieval tales that his name gradually took over.  So the French for fox became renard.   And much later stuffed specimens appeared in le patron's Aladdin's cave.


Par foi, sire, ce dist Renart,
Vos savez qu'en engin et art
Si vaut a chose mainbornir
Qu'en ne puet a force fornir

rue de la Violette 22
1000 Brussels

02 511 13 96 ‎

Café Metropole

True, it's a bit faded, but nobody will stop you exploring the ground floor interior of the Hôtel Metropole, taking in that wood panelling and beautiful stained glass.  It's like time has stood still: it's only the guests that don't quite fit.   In the adjoining Café Metropole nothing is hurried, so savour an expensive coffee and observe other wealthy, fur- clad patrons at leisure, without suffering any Parisian-style condescension from your waiter.  Sit, and imagine yourself in a more glamorous time....

http://www.metropolehotel.com/dining/cafe-metropole.html

31, place de Brouckère
1000 Brussels
+32 (0)2 217 23 00

Délicieux

What to do when you've made the mistake of going to the gym and then consuming two of your preferred beers in quick succession, forgetting dinner completely?  Of course the supermarkets are closed by now, cooking is out of the question, and you don't feel inclined to stop in a restaurant, alone and somewhat inebriated, on the way home.

In my case my favourite beer, Orval, is followed by a Grimbergen Blonde and, physically weary on the way home from alcohol and exercise , my legs are on the point of giving up on me.  I could have had some satisfying Belgian frites, I suppose, or the baked beans that I know lurk alongside other more undesirable foodstuffs in the store cupboard.  Instead I find my way to Délicieux, where I am struck by the pleasing familiar surroundings of bamboo and fish tank - and a man, with a ferret.

The presence of the ferret perturbs neither customers, nor me, nor the friendly owners of this traiteur chinois.  My order is taken quickly, and soon I head home to a meal of pork with Chinese mushrooms and rice; which would have been enough to feed two if only I hadn't felt so ravenously hungry.  Where else can you spend 6 Euros on food and have the door held open for you when you leave?  The smiling service is a real pleasure in a city where service with indifference is more the norm.

 My dinner

Délicieux offers various menu choices, plus plenty of soups, starters and main meals.   However I've always opted for one of the "Suggestions", which include dishes such as chicken with cashew nuts, beef with lemongrass and beef with ginger.  These are excellent value at 6 - 10 Euro, especially as they can easily feed two as a light meal and are non-greasy, tasty and served steaming hot.

Returning the night afterwards to take a photo of the exterior, I tried to make myself as discreet as possible.  However a number of passers-by and customers asked what I was doing and, before I knew it, two lads were posing for a photograph, which I was permitted to keep "as a souvenir".  Then a passing eccentric-looking old chap stopped and asked if I was a journalist or a photographer.  "J'etais journaliste, moi", he told me, proudly.  "No", I said, "Je fais un blog."  "Un blog?!" came the scornful reply, "Une blague!"  And so he strode off without another word, and I slunk off gloomily, clutching my camera with its dark, grainy photos. 

But at least the lady in Délicieux saw me and smiled.

Délicieux
Traiteur Chinois
Avenue de l'Hippodrome
1050 Brussels

02 649 79 77

Open 11:30 - 14:00 amd 17:00 - 22:30; closed Saturday lunch times and Sundays

Arcadi Café

Conveniently located near a cinema and theatre, and opposite the well-known A la Mort Subite bar, the Arcadi is buzzing day and night.  The visual highlight is the photogenic range of enormous fruit-laden desserts on display – of which you are served sizeable portions.  Okay, so the speciality is supposedly homemade vegetable quiche, but sitting here trying to absorb the menu you might be reminded of poor old Aladdin and his lamp: you can have almost anything you want, it seems, at any time of day or night: quiches, crêpes, waffles, pasta, steaks, milkshakes, ice cream, cheesecake....  The list goes on – and on!

With its hurried and less than polished service, this is not the place to come if you wish to linger undisturbed over a romantic lunch.  During the day or on warm evenings it’s better to stick to outside tables, but otherwise it can be amusing to observe the slightly chaotic to-ings and fro-ings inside.  There’s one particular waiter who reminds me of Manuel from Fawlty Towers:  clumsy and forgetful and struggling to remember who’s ordered what. 

Despite waiterly antics, the menu choice is difficult to beat, the food arrives quickly and is pretty consistent, and the café is open at times when other places are likely to be closed.  So if you’re hungry in a hurry late at night, or have stumbled off the tourist trail around the Grand Place, this could be the place for dinner, lunch – or a takeaway quiche or tart!  It’s much better than the touristy rue des bouchers with its dinner touts and, particularly after a few Belgian beers, the healthy portions will satisfy you more than a kebab will.

rue d'Arenberg 1B

1000 Brussels

02 511 33 43

In de Patattezak

This hallowed place for lovers of tasty spaghetti bolognese serves up industrial quantities of slinky al dente spaghetti with a generous sauce to cheese ratio. 

One trip advisor reviewer has described it as "the BEST spaghetti bolo in the world".  I wouldn't go that far, but this has certainly become a regular haunt of mine, and I credit my trips here with teaching me (finally) how to eat spaghetti with a spoon and fork.  I suggest you turn up after wearing yourself out playing sport -  lots of it.  For me In de Patattezak is a regular post-badminton, end of weekend place where you can just get on with eating without the need for time-wasting conversations.  Anyway surely the only worthy distraction from your spaghetti is to debate spaghetti itself: how much of the stuff is served up here in one year?  Next time I go I intend to ask, but a steaming pile of spaghetti usually appears in front of me long before I've had a chance to ponder such deep philosophical questions.

Choices are limited to bolognese, veggie bolognese, seafood bolognese and cheese and ham bolognese.  Unless you've run, swum or pedalled a considerable distance beforehand, I'd say the regular size would be enough for an ordinary mortal, but then the difference in price is small, and the difference in quantity considerable.....

October 2011.  It is several months later and I am seated at a table In de Patattezak again, after their Summer break, twisting spaghetti around my fork and slurping it swiftly to avoid telltale orange smears.  Finally I remember to ask the question I've been meaning to ask for almost a year:  just how much pasta is served up here - per week, per month, per year?!  And the answer is... I fear I may have to keep you in suspense just a little longer because, incompetent researcher that I am, I cannot find the scrap of paper I'd jotted the response down on....  So this will have to remain a mystery for a while longer.  But please remind me to hunt for said piece of paper - or you could always guess in the meantime?

November 2011.  Readers of this blog were not clamouring to guess spaghetti quantities.  Nobody asked, nobody guessed.  But anyway I did come across a piece of paper in a box one day while tidying my flat, and on it was...  The answer!

8 packets of 15 kilo per day.  One kilo feeds four people.  Then roughly 600kg of pasta per week.  Put it another way, if you have one customer who weighs around 60 kilos, then every week they sell pasta weighing the same as ten people.  (Becinbrussels exclaims: Eek, that's quite a lot of pasta!)

Bolognese (regular) - 9 Euro

Bolognese (Maxi) - 12 Euro

Seafood bolognese - 16 Euro

In de Patattezak
Oude Mechelsestraat 48, Brussels 1853 Strombeek-Bever, Belgium

02 267 52 52
Open from 18:00 until 01:00 7 days a week, and weekday lunchtimes. 

Located in a residential area outside central Brussels: you'll need a car (and possibly GPS) to get here.