Le Tavernier

 

I read recently that not even Brussels' district of students and souls, the Cimitière d'Ixelles, has escaped the influence of the Brussels' bar entrepreneur.  Not content with setting up bars such as le Zébra, le Roi des Belges and, most recently, cocktail bar le Potemkine - it transpires that even le Tavernier, that most studenty of Brussels bars, is a Nicolay creation.  I was a bit disappointed by this, because although Nicolay is credited with rejuvenating areas of Brussels, his work is beginning to feel like an empire, slowly spreading its tendrils through the Brussels communes.  And I liked to think that Le Tavernier, with its live music nights, smoking terrace and warehouse interior, had been colonised and run by the students themselves, not designed with them in mind.  Perhaps for that kind of collective-run set-up, I'd have to go to Berlin.  The students are manning the bar, though.  And one flicks the bacardi bottle in an impressive fashion as he mixes my mojito.

But I have to give Nicolay some credit: he knows what makes a good bar.  He understands what the students want.  Le Tavernier is 12 years old this year and still seems to have a captive market in this area.  Outside there is the terrace, which is not particularly pretty (especially with the malodorous bins at the front), but is crammed full of people on warm days and evenings and strewn with lights.  After that comes the heated smoking terrace, like a smoking incubator, which ensures a steady lifeline of stale cigarette smoke for those in the bar beyond.  Then there's the bar itself, with rows of spirits in a rainbow of colours, and the mirrors tilted so you make eye contact with all the other waiting customers.  The bar is stainless steel: a good idea, easy to clean.  The toilets, at the back, also stainless steel, can be grim but you may still have to pay. There are plenty of wooden tables and chairs and more stainless steel seating outside.  There is also the loft above.  Last night I was warned from going up there (the natives were rowdy).  So I stayed downstairs, where the space is long and dark and boasts a few decrepit armchairs, which are comfy but probably don't smell too good.

A good time to come to Tavernier is on a warm, lazy afternoon, for your taste of a fresh Nicolay Juice.  Perhaps it will bring you success!  In the evenings, there are beer and mojitos.  Things can get noisy.  There may be music.  There may be dancing and flirting.  Some days there may be none of the above and you will be practically alone. 

The students have mostly finished their exams now, and gone - somewhere.  A few still remain, but over the Summer you're as likely to encounter more of us older types hanging out here than the under 20s. Le Tavernier will keep going throughout, although it's lifeblood has left.  This Summer it is hosting live Cuban bands every Saturday in July and August.  The place livens up; couples dance salsa hips in the middle of it all.  You realise that this place is just made for live music.  At the back bleary- eyed people emerge from the toilets and hurry down the steps, as if joining the musicians on stage.

 

We're a bit thin on the ground, but it's better than being crammed in.  We're listening to a Cuban 8 person band called Sonac de las Tunas.  There's my favourite, the waistcoated trumpeter, face contorting as he squeezes out the notes; the pair at the front doing the singing, extra percussion and the coordinated dance moves; the energetic piano players producing non-stop syncopated rhythms; the percussion guy (who looks like he's having fun); and the bassist who has a special pared down instrument (makes transport from Cuba so much easier).

The bands come recommended for those of you whose hips twitch involuntarily when you hear this.  And it's all a taster for the fiesta latina later in August - which I'm sorry to be missing this year!

 

Open every day from 11am
info@le-tavernier.be
445, Chaussée de Boondael
1050 Ixelles

Parlamentarium

One side of Place du Luxembourg is dominated by a monster, its two arms extending to clasp the diminutive station building in front of it.  Until a few months ago, visitors to this area could do little but wander around the paved area in front of this hulking monolith (as I like to call it), buffeted by the mischievous winds that like to gust through this exposed area (blowing hair up, skirts up, umbrellas inside out), be rained on unrelentingly, peer at the many windows that look out but do not welcome enquiring eyes.  The visitors wondered, understandably, what they were doing here.  And what all these young, well-dressed people were doing in there, emerging to smoke furtive cigarettes on the steps, or relaxing after work in a heady mix of beer, interns, lobbyists and burgers on the square outside.

I have also often wondered what I was doing there.  But I have at least been inside.  Ironic how an institution which prides itself on being elected by the people should have remained so mysterious and inaccessible.  Some kind of visitor experience - other than a centre suppyling leaflets in multiple languages - was clearly overdue.  

Generally I think most people would agree that an institution's attempt to say what it does and why it does it can only be a good thing.  So I was pre-disposed to like this new visitor centre, even before trying it out.  Yes, it cost more to kit out than the education budget of a small country, and doubtless involved much agonising about linguistic diversity and how to present the trickier bits of European history.  But a lot of thought has been invested in this new visitor experience - sometimes perhaps too much. 

It's a long way to a whole lot of places

I decide that for my second visit to the Parlamentarium (the fact this is the second is already a good sign), I would be accompanied by my boyfriend: someone with limited understanding of what the European Parliament does.  I'm interested to see what he will make of it.  

Part 1

It's Wednesday evening and we collect our audio guides and are soon at our first exhibit.  Not the best start, this.  Only minutes in, and we are struggling to use our new-fangled i-phone guides and trying to distinguish between three horribly similar white models. Now, which one is Strasbourg, which one Spinelli, which one Weiss....?  Who cares?  They're not the most imaginative of models.  To add to our confusion, neon text flashes by on the screen, as if we were on the trading floor of the NASDAQ.  And a lot of suspended signs tell us where Helsinki, Riga and Vienna are.  I am frustrated: by my inability to use the technology; and what this is supposed to teach us.  It's as if they only had a small space and were unsure what to put in it.  A guide takes pity on us and explains we need to sweep the back of our device across the smiling kids icon to get our audio to work.  But I know there is better to come, so we abandon this and move on.

Part 2

In part 2 there are more guides and a dark tunnel.  Screens embedded in walls give some of the historical background: a background of gas masks, destroyed cities, queues, rationing and evacuations in various EU Member States - the context which led to the development of the European Union.  This is interesting, although I struggle with the way it is presented and would have liked a more traditional format.  The oh-so-smart smart phone manages to get me on the internet and I need expert help to free myself of its tyranny.  Meanwhile some of the smiley face signs are already rubbed off.  There are no smiles in this dark corridor of history, anyway.  Sometimes there's no audio either and you just have to read your screen to yourself.   There's something about part 2 that is frustrating me.  So we keep walking, no better informed. I'm pondering one of the quotes on the wall:

'What, in concrete and practical terms does the independence of nations mean in the world of today, a world of the closest economic and political interdependence, which means the destiny of all mankind is indivisible.' (Julius Braunthal)

Sorry, Daily Mail.  I deliberate this throughout my visit and at the end I still think he has a good point. 

Part 3

After a pause, where I put my head in Verdi's head in a corner (again, purpose of this uncertain), we're on to part 3.  Part 3 is good, and we've worked out how to use our i-phones by now.  Things have got more interesting.  We're in a well-lit space, with counters containing papers on the political genesis of the European Coal and Steel Community, and letters discussing the new Franco-German cooperation in the Ruhr region, and another letter showing that this was all welcomed by the US at the time.  The touch screens are a help rather than a hindrance (better than reading a lengthy piece of text on the wall.)  I read the story of de Gaulle vetoing - twice - the UK's membership of the EU, describing the UK as the "cheval de Troie des Etats-Unis".   Perhaps the most interesting part, though, is a wall of photos from the last few decades, capturing a moment in history in each Member State.  You can read a short synopsis of the event on your i-phone: moon landings, martial law, the Solidarity movement, Dolly the sheep....  The boyfriend is interested to learn that in 1963 there were already protests calling for a Federal Belgium; and to see laid-off workers in front of the Vilvoorde factory.   And then there are also the early mobile phones, circa 1986; 

"The only thing you can do with these early mobiles is make calls", says my audio guide.

"But making calls is really all I need it for.  Well, it's still my main purpose", I protest, glaring at my futuristic i-phone, accusingly.  By the way, the Parliament is obviously really, really proud that it helped make roaming charges cheaper.  But this is all European history, not about the European Parliament per se.  But no matter, we are interested.  Apparently the late 1990s saw record highs in European unemployment.  Both of us wonder if those records have since been broken.

Part 4

Part 4 is a wall of MEP faces.  There's not much more to say about those.  Moving on....

Part 5

This is where you can see the EP in action!  A 360 degree cinema; all action enhanced for dramatic effect.  You are seated in the auditorium to watch the orators, almost as if you were taking part in the debate: championing the rights of European citizens, protecting the environment, alerting us to dangerous hazards, human rights abuses, outrages in one's constituency etc, etc.  The people around me seem to enjoy it.  I learn something new.  Nobody walks out.

Part 6

It's a shame, but by the time we're on to part 6 (my favourite part) the attentive (and multilingual staff) are hovering around us, indicating it is time to take our leave.  Meanwhile, the boyfriend's face has lit up with glee at the prospect of what we're supposed to do next: trundle wheelie-screen boxes across a map of Europe, pausing to hear historical snippets and facts about different European cities.  Again, the link to the European Parliament is not always obvious, but as we only have time for a brief play around here I cannot remember if we learn about particular pieces of European legislation at this point.  I think we do.  Anyway, as I said, this is fun so make sure you spare some time for it.  Along the wall there are globes to be spun, which show the European Parliament's cooperation with third countries.  

After this we pass by the final exhibit, a bizarre collection of belongings from a handful of MEPs, where you can see their owners talk about future challenges - for the Union, I guess - or possibly the Whole World.  All a bit odd.  But then comes the final flourish.  As the young staff look on, visitors are free to express their hopes for the future - via a high-tech neon screen, bien sûr.  For better or for worse, there's no censorship.  We say whatever pops into our heads and then leave, satisfied with ourselves and our visit.

In summary: a visitor centre (long overdue), helpful young staff, doesn't cost a single euro cent.   There's also a café and a gift shop selling various things with questionable links to the European Parliament.  Said café goes untested for once.  We say this Parlamentarium is worth a visit.

Parlamentarium - The European Parliament's Visitors' Centre

Willy Brandt Building

Rue Wiertz 60/ Wiertzstraat 60

B-1047 Brussels

Belgium

For opening times see:

http://www.europarl.europa.eu/visiting/en/parlamentarium

(Open until 20:00 Tuesday and Wednesday)

Suggested visit time: around 1.5 hours

Food and Wine

I know.  Here it is: not for the first time, you are invited to contemplate my lunch. 

It's the moment before I start eating the sea bass.  It sits, perfectly grilled and plump on a line of olives and gently-warmed ratatouille.  Potatoes, pine nuts and parmesan are scattered about.  The roquette and pesto add green, a reminder of Summer.  It is my favourite tasting dish, and - who knows - is probably healthy as well. 

The sea bass has lured me back to Food and Wine again, a bistro-like place on rue Belliard, full of be-suited folk (all capable of creating as much noise as the road outside).  I'm in the garden, and it is sunny. 

Later, our dessert has orangey sauce to lavish on a chocolate tart, and panna cotta with a dribble of coulis and strawberries in (look, enjoy!)  When they took our not-quite-finished rosé away, we objected and received full glasses back (no apology though).  No sulking, just more rosé.

The photographs - of my lunch, breakfast, dinner - are the constant.  A year, and then some, of eating.  But behind them is me.  Just writing, sometimes: about things I've learned, keeping up appearances, not knowing what you're doing with your life, choosing to leave something because whatever others say it's better than continuing.  Being courageous, being cowardly.  Being incorrigibly untidy and indecisive.  Laughing.

I fear it may be time.  Time to start blogging again.


Food and Wine
rue Belliard 181
1040 Etterbeek
Brussels
02 282 94 98

Open for lunch and dinner Monday to Friday.
It's a 5-10 minute walk from the European Parliament and the Commission, and a 5 minute wander from Place Jourdan.