So Chic en Belgique (Part I)

The Eurostar's newest passenger

Yes it's that time again - the summer itch has come to haunt us all in our office cubicles (or living rooms, as in my case). Taunting pictures of happy families and couples lounging and swimming at the beach, or exciting city scapes with delicious restaurants are dangled before us by every imaginable form of communicatory portal out there. And suddenly the stifled wanderlust once more rears its ugly-only-because-it's-expensive head: it's summer. And we're all dying for a vacation.

In order to squash the proverbial traveling bug, this year we are doing a series of mini trips for our vacation - the first of which took place this past weekend. Living in England does have one benefit: it's close to the rest of Europe. :) As you can guess from the title of this post, we sojourned to what I would definitely consider one of the continent's underestimated destinations: Belgium. Matt had a pair of free Eurostar tickets and we figured it was time we blew this proverbial joint, if only temporarily.

This particular trip was momentous and highly anticipated not only because it is one of the first places Matt and I have visited together where neither of us has already been, but also because it was Master Roman's first adventure abroad. And what an adventure it was.

This will be a two day post - there's just too much to share. :)

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The Chicness That is Belgiqueness
(in anecdote form):
Parts I-III
or, how and why Belgium won my heart one July weekend

I. Brussels: the Place that is Grand.

We made the decision to stay in Brussels for several reasons: it looked like a nice city, I'd read about a million articles calling it Paris' gastronomic rival, and finally, because everyone seemed to say it "wasn't worth" traveling to (Bruges is better according to most) and I had a bizarre feeling that probably wasn't the case. Luckily for us, I think I was right. From the time our cab picked us up at the train station, to the very moment we walked out onto the Grand Place for the first time, we were smitten with the place.

And speaking of cab drivers, I don't know if we just got lucky or if all cab drivers are like this in Brussels, but the guy was the nicest most informative one I've ever had (and I live in London - the land of informative, well-educated cab drivers!). He gave us a running tour of the city as we passed landmarks and sites of interest on our way to the hotel. He also recommended restaurants, dishes worth trying, and beers worth drinking. He put up with Roman screaming his head off because he hated the car seat, and even put a little classical music on to try to "sooth the savage beast." He gave us brief and interesting history lessons on the relations between the French, the Dutch and the Belgians, and had a self-deprecating humor that made his obvious national pride endearing.

Roman, hating his car seat.

Shortly after arriving at the hotel, we made our way through the Galerie de la Reine, onto the main attraction in Brussels (in my opinion): the place that is grand. The Grand Place, that is. :) The architecture and atmosphere is enchanting in a way that is Italian-piazza, French-place, and English-square all in one. And at night people gather and sit on the cobble stone square to chat, embrace, and admire the surroundings. Our first night there we were treated to what appeared to be a totally random / impromptu light and music show focused on the main building in the square. It was a romantic reminder of why we love Europe so much: cities are old but very alive. People use their buildings, their awnings, their squares in ways that Americans tend not to. All that plus the fact that the Belgians like Abba enough to have no qualms about blaring "dancing queen" at full volume across their main square completely justifies any patriotism they want to have in my book.

The place that is grand - night and day.

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II. Sceltema vs. Chez Leon: A Moule-Frites showdown at sunset

The national food of Belgium is Mussels & Fries, and they are very proud of their renditions of both. According to the cab driver (extremely reliable source, I know), Belgians consume nearly 80% of the mussels produced in the Netherlands which is apparently one of the biggest, if not THE biggest commercial producer of mussels in the world. I am a fiend for all shellfish, so I was more than a little excited to "get my moule on." Armed with a list of possible restaurants to try in Brussels (sadly Michelin starred places generally don't allow strollers), we narrowed it down to Sceltema and Chez Leon.

The first I had read a single review on and it was recommended by the hotel's concierge, while the second was so ubiquitous on all Brussels tourism websites that I thought surely there was a catch, but I made a reservation anyway. Ironically, they ended up being across the street from each other. We ate at Sceltema on Friday night and Chez Leon on Saturday, the former a well-known seafood restaurant and the latter an old touristic spot with "reliably good mussels."

Each day at sunset we headed over for our moule frites and an appetizer of "Crevettes Gris" or "Gray Shrimp." After the second night, it wasn't hard to choose which mussel house we liked best.

Sceltema was classy, clean, had deliciously plump and fresh mussels, and two of the waiters were twins, so it always felt like the waiter was everywhere you needed him at all times (until you realized he was the twin brother, which took me a disturbingly long time). I'm not a big fan of celery and at Sceltema they served the mussels in a celery, onion and white wine sauce (which Matt loved), whereas at Chez Leon I got my favorite: Moules Meridionales (tomato, onion, bell pepper and white wine). On the other hand, the frites at Sceltema were served with a sauce made of cream, mayonnaise, and the mussel broth which cannot be praised enough. Oh and at Sceltema you get all you can eat baguette to dip in the delicious mussel juice at the end.

Moules Frites at Sceltema -
a little too much celery for my taste, but still delicious.

Sadly, at Chez Leon the service was terrible, the place felt like a Dave & Busters with its touristy gimmicks and branded beer glasses, and on top of all that, the mussels were puny and there were about a million cracked shells in my pot. Chez Leon can keep their star-studded guest list. I would rather go back to Sceltema any day.

Chez Leon: Roman Polanski once sat at our table.
Odd and slightly disturbing coincidence.

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III. Belgian Beer: Officially Brenda's Achilles' Heel

Thanks to the above mentioned friendly cab driver, Matt and I knew to order a "trappiste" or "monk beer" when we finally sat down at a local beer bar for an impromptu tasting. Feeling adventurous, I went for a dark beer and Matt went for a blonde (typical male ;) ). He followed his first with a Kwak - a beer that comes with its very own wooden stand and looks as fallic as it sounds.* I'm glad I only had one as my beer was officially 11% and his 8%. These Belgian monks are not kidding around.

badass Belgian monk beer: no wussy budweiser 'round here.

Official verdict: Belgian beer rocks. Rochefort and Westmalle dark were the first two dark beers I have geniunely liked in my life. And the Westmalle blonde, which one waiter claimed was "the best beer in the world" with "no equal," wasn't bad either, but more to Matt's taste than mine.

Interestingly, Roman also prefers "blondes." What a gentleman. ;)

Real Men Drink Kwaks.

*We first tried a Kwak at our local pub in NYC (David Copperfield's on 74th and York) with friends Sandra and Jed and it has been a long standing and rather puerile joke ever since.

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Wahaca: Not just an awkward phonetic spelling of "Oaxaca" anymore.

the sleek interior at Westfield Mall

When I heard about the new Mexican place in (London) town last year, I was skeptical. It's fair to say I've become callaced and embittered by the pitiful selection of "Mexican" food locales on the London culinary scene -- and it's not because I haven't tried to see the good in it.

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Me Trying to "See The Good"

Maybe it was pyschological - a toxic combination of my Mexican blood and ridiculously (ludricously) high expectations and hopes - and maybe it was legitimately bad food (it was definitely bad tasting), but the first time we ate at La Perla on London's infamous Charlotte Street, Matt and I were both sick to our stomachs. And after years of indulging in shady but delicious street food everywhere I travel, let me tell you, I have a stomach of steel.

After that we made our way to Crazy Homies near Notting Hill (think Nacho Libre minus Jack Black): quirky, full of holy santos, and just a little too weird to be realistically Mexican. The food is fine, and they make this crazy version of a Tequiza that is hotter than hell - I am, of course, a big fan of hotter than hell things, so that works for me. :) Oh, and the churros rock. But sadly, Crazy Homies is a little out of the way for me and not so decadently delicious that I would make that trip with an infant.

Taqueria, which bills itself as a "taco cafe" and is also in Notting Hill, is the closest thing to authentic I'd found in London. They house the only tortilla making machine in the UK (sadly the corn tortillas are like cardboard - something is definitely off in the masa), and make delicious salsas, guacamole, and carnitas. But the place is a little disorganized and doesn't take reservations (maybe this aspect should also count in their favor with regards to Mexican authenticity :/ ), which means you end up having to wait too long for food and it comes at random times. Shame.

Back to the point, after all the disappointments: when I heard about "Wahaca" I was annoyed and skeptical. First, annoyed that it was called "Wahaca" and spelled "Wahaca" instead of "Oaxaca." Second, that it was run by a British chef. It seemed like my two worst nightmares: bad spelling and bad food. But good old Olive voted it "best cheap eat in London" and it looked kinda cool in a "super-spruced-up-market-taco-stand-in-El D.F." kinda way, so we went. Again. And Again.

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Me Seeing (& Tasting) "The Good(s)"

or

The Top 5 Reasons I Love Wahaca

and therefore forgive the kinda lame tongue in cheek phonetic spelling

5. Good Story
So, my preemptive discrimination against the British chef is something I regret. Turns out Thomasina Miers won the BBC's MasterChef in 2005 and legitimately spent time in Mexico. Wahaca is her first restaurant ever and she must be proud - the first week they were open, so many people came they actually ran out of avocados. (I love that story. :) )

4. (Good) Location, Location, Location
The first Wahaca was opened near Covent Garden - one of the craziest, most touristy, but fun parts of town. The second location at Westfield Mall has a more sophisticated feel with an open-air patio on the mall's Southern Terrace.

Surprisingly the full-to-the-brim restaurants have a relaxed vibe; they are tastefully decorated with heavy stone and Mexican beer bottles, and are full of tourists AND locals. You know it's good when the line is out the door. And it always is.

3. Good ingredients.
The other good thing about Thomasina is the way she takes Mexican food and makes it her own. The dishes you get at Wahaca look pretty authentic, but you may notice a slight difference once you actually taste them: they are made mostly with locally sourced ingredients. That's right - British habanero peppers from Devon,British avocadoes, and locally made cheeses rather than imported ones. I still like my Mexican cheeses better - and no, Monterrey Jack is NOT a Mexican cheese - but Thomasina's choices are pretty darn close. :)

2. Good Price
Amazingly enough, of all the sheisty Mexican places I've tried in London - this is by far the best and LEAST expensive. A gigantic bowl of delicious (though a little too thick) tortilla soup with actual roasted chiles and delicious tortilla strips will only set you back around GBP7.00. The plates of 3 mini tacos are under 4 quid. Hey, I'm there.

1. Good (Corn) Tortillas
I judge all Mexican restaurants - especially outside of Mexico, Texas and California - by the taste and quality of their flour and corn tortillas and how they use them. It drives me NUTS to see enchiladas made with flour tortillas or to pick up a taco and have everything fall out from underneath because the corn tortillas are like cardboard. Wahaca has very good tortillas and even serves the little ones you get in the market or at taco stands in Mexico. My only complaint is that when you order extras they come spread out on a plate rather than wrapped in a towel to conserve their heat and pliancy. Well, I guess it is still the UK after all.

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The last cool thing about Wahaca

If you're observant you'll notice what appear to be little blue packets of matches at the entrance to the restaurant. I always take matches - for the hell of it - but on this occasion I was particularly glad I had.

Look a little closer and you'll see that far from mini fire tools, what Wahaca gives out are far fire-ier and tastier: serrano chile seeds with planting instructions! Grow your own chiles! How cool is that?!