La Mort Subite - Maybe the Best Beer Bistro in the World

Step Back into 1928

Even the entry is original

What you come for....

Bustling!

But, there's always a quiet spot

Professionals

     

In the heart of Brussels, you take a turn down a small street.  Not an alley, but not a thoroughfare either.  Light lingers on the sidewalk in front of a tucked away bistro that looks like something off a Woody Allen set.  La Mort Subite glares in comfortable neon and hangs like a banner over a 1920s building, bursting with people in animated conversation.  “Hey, waiter!  Another beer and some cheese and sausage!”  But, it’s said in French so it sounds like a seduction.  Maybe it is.  The beer is that good.

You walk inside and the nearly century old décor amazes.  You’ve crossed the time barrier and stepped back into Brussels’ glory days, when beer flowed from the fountains of a hundred breweries, when men dressed in stiff collared shirts and women traipsed about in ankle length furs.

Sadly, that’s no longer true, but we live in hope and dreams.  Still, the old wooden tables are there, the high ceilings, tall, square columns, and soft, cream colored overheads that deck the room in graceful light.  The beer still flows and it’s still brewed by the folks who sell it.

These are the good old days, after the First World War and before the Great Depression.  1928.  You can feel it in the air.  Enjoy the evening.  This is the place to forget cares, savor the flavors, and pretend you know what you’re talking about.  Hemmingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald would have loved it.

La Mort Subite really began about 1910, in an establishment called La Cour Royale.  As the story goes, tellers from the National Bank of Belgium came to drink and play a game called 421.  Before they left to ease back into the monotony of work, they’d rush through just one more game, la mort subite, or sudden death.  The name took to the streets.

When in 1928, the owner and proprietor, Mr. Theophile Vossen moved his business to the current location, he changed the name to match what everyone already called it, La Mort Subite.  Mr. Vossen’s progeny have carried on and today the fourth generation continues to serve those Gueuze beers that have slaked the thirst of locals and visitors for almost a hundred years.

What is a Gueuze beer?  Catch my next blog and I’ll take you to the last old style brewery in Brussels.  Until then, here are a few teasers:  Top fermentation, from naturally occurring yeast.  Years of aging that blur the line between wine and beer.

Hey, that’s enough.  If you get to Brussels, go in and sip a cool one.  As well as beer and atmosphere, there’s got to be a novel brewing in a one-of-a-kind bistro like La Mort Subite.

London Pubs to Avoid

Hello.  Archibald Bumslick here in London.  That’s England, not Ontario, Arkansas, Nigeria, nor dozens of other Londons that don’t matter a nitty twit.

Big ville, London.  Lots to do.  Pubs.  Theaters.  Museums.  Shopping.  Women without number.  Free flowing ale.

Have a gander in the British Dental Association’s Dental Museum.  Knew you’d want to know. Admire the big molars on the lass next to you at the bar.  Make some off color remarks about her overbite.

The vault at the Hard Rock Café preserves Madonna’s old credit card.  Nice tidbit to share with friends.  Missed the tower, saw the credit card.

Time to get serious.  Here’s list of pubs that’ll rust your pipes.  Trust me.  Take the hint.  Keep the snapping fangs of trouble at bay.  Preserve the flex in your knees.  Write these down.  Mark your map. 

London Pubs

1.    Ye Ole Red Rosy - Might be interesting once you get inside the bloody place.   Long line outside.  Then, it’s a tight squeeze. Once you’re in, you feel flushed.  This isn’t the worst pub on the list, but it’s right up in there.

2.    Squeeze the Dog and Run – They call him man’s best friend, but even your worst enemy won’t crap on your living room rug and look you in the eye.  The drinks have something floating on top.

3.    My Brittle Bone – Snappy little place.  All knees and elbows at the bar.  Lots of bars.  There’s the Thigh Bar connected to the Hip Bar, etc.

4.    The Golden Flow – I almost went in this one, but suddenly I had to go.

5.    Happy Jihadist - A thinly veiled disguise.  Everything they serve is non-alcoholic.  The “Seventy-two Virgins” on toast leads to intestinal discomfort, followed by an explosive race for the loo.

6.    The Gay Banana – I just didn’t find this one a-peeling.

7.    Ye Salmon-Ella – Right away you smell something fishy.  The sign over the bar is a tip off.  “What’s eaten here stays here.”  That’s mostly true, except for the runny parts that leak under the door.

8.    Frog Under Foot - Nauseating décor, all red and green.  The beer is flat.  Avoid the “Where-the-Rubber-Hits-the-Toad” stew.

9.    Duke of Dooky –located on one of the canals, right down the city’s spine and pretty much flush with the walls.  Odd smell to the place.  Stay away from the sausage rolls.

10.  The Severed Arms – Difficult to find.  Not on one of the main arteries.  Can’t put my finger on what’s missing….oh, yeah, almost forgot.

11.  Hair O The Cat Grill  – Not for the squeamish.   The barkeep is Italian, constantly braying, “Don’ta yu try to cheetah me!” I’m not lion.  The litter box lunch is a litter bit off-putting.  Strain the soup.

12.  Ye Perverted Donkey – Among we Brits it’s known as the Kiss My Mule.  A very stable place.  Been here for ages.  Don’t order the ‘Clod in the Clover’ draft from Recycled Hay Brewery.

Note:  This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to your favorite pub is strictly in your inebriated mind and in the mind of the drunken wench hanging on your arm.

Three Kings Day In Germany

There’s a knock on the door.  I open it and three children in costume begin to sing.  Known as Sternsingers (Star Singers), the kids, ages around 8-10, are honoring Three Kings Day, or as they call it in Germany, Dreikönigstag.  They wear colorful costumes and at least one carries a wooden stick with a star on one end.

Ok, I realize (and so do they) that The Good Book doesn’t specify there were three kings and although we usually think of kings as males, the Bible doesn’t really say that either.  Translations being what they are and knowing that the event happened over two thousand plus years ago, three and kings may have been approximations, who cares?

I like the tradition.  This year the Sternsingers came around on a Saturday and although it was 5 January and Three Kings Day is traditionally 6 January, who’s going to quibble?  The kids always have an adult chaperone who is quick to point out in any language you choose that the singers are not just there to sing you a carol, but to also bless your house and collect some money for less fortunate children around the world.

In a Roman Catholic tradition, they either chalk or put a sticker over your door that reads:  20+C+M+C+13.  I know you’re wondering and so was I.  Here’s the scoop.

The letters have two meanings. They’re the initials of the Three Magi: Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar, and they also abbreviate the Latin words “Christus Mansionem Benedicat”, “May Christ bless the house”. The year is divided before and after the letters.  The crosses (+) represent the protection of the Christ.

Not being a Roman Catholic, I didn’t know any of that.  But, life being as uncertain as it is, hey, anybody who wants to have a go at keeping my family and our home safe, I say, go for it.  Besides, what curmudgeon can resist three cute kids, singing beautifully just for you and collecting money for a good cause?  Not I.  Clink, clink went the shekels into the tin box, offered by a small, outstretched hand.   Then three kings (or in my case, two kings and a queen) delivered a solemn blessing in unison.

A little cheerful music, a quick blessing, and I’m good for another year.

Christmas Market, Christkindlmarkt, Weihnachtsmarkt

Christmas Cheer!

Christkindlmarket means Christ Child Market.  Weihnachtsmarkt means Christmas Night Market.  Whatever title you choose, they all mean bright lights, Glühwein, wurst, potatoes, and lots of little thingies to stick on and under your Christmas tree.

What is Glühwein anyway?  In English speaking countries we call it mulled wine.  In German, glüh means glow and you only need a sip to understand the name.  Usually made with red wine and served hot and redolent with spices, you can get it with or without a shot of schnapps or rum.  Either way, the glow translates with ease and on a chilly, red-nose-day, there’s nothing like it.

The recipe is simple and here’s a site for a good one: http://www.food.com/recipe/gluhwein-81041

Almost every German town, from the smallest to the teeming metropolises has a Christmas market.  Depending on the location, they run from late November to late December and sometimes even into early January. The tradition goes way, way back.  Matter of fact, the one in Vienna dates to the 13^th Century.

If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all, right?  Not quite.  Different parts of Germany and Austria have different food specialties and the vendors differ everywhere you go.  Woodcarvers come out of the woodwork to sell their wares.  Fanciful Christmas lights wait for you to take them home.  Steam comes off the grills as a chef rakes at the roasting potatoes and grilled meats.

Personally, I like the big markets in the big cities.  They’re spread out and aglow with never ending lights.  Besides the lighted booths, you see gigantic ornaments the size of houses.  In the bigger markets, the stores stay open at night.  Sometimes an ice rink beckons.

A Christmas market is a happy place, as well it should be this time of year.  Once you start, you won’t want to go to just one!

Pork steak with bacon and onion potatoes

Harrods' Food Halls, An English Tradition

Walls and Floors in Magnificent Tiles

Just one of the many ornate displays

A Few Things Don't Cost the Earth

        (Be sure to scroll down for more photos and a recipe.)

Been to Harrods? It’s the massive pillar of London’s upper crust section, Knightsbridge.  Ya gotta go.  More than just another department store, it’s a sight, a destination, a one of a kind playground for eyes, imaginations, and pocketbooks.

But, like anything else, to get the most out of a visit, you really should know a bit about what you’re seeing.  Harrods stands as towering reminder of the enduring entrepreneurial spirit of its founder, Charles Henry Harrod.  Chuck, as he has never been known, opened his one room shop in 1849, selling tea and groceries, and employing two clerks and a messenger boy.

Since then it’s blossomed into a looming seven floors and over a million square feet of luxury, fulfilling every need of even the most demanding and deepest pockets.  In short, it lives up to it’s motto, Omnia Omnibus Ubique,  All Things for All People, Everywhere.  Check out all the good stuff at http://www.harrods.com/.

Just name it and you can buy it here.  Let your imagination wander.  Yep, they’ve got it!  But, my favorites and probably the world’s favorite sections are the food halls.  No market I have ever seen can match it, either for luxury, quality, or service, with prices to match.  Want to sit at the Caviar House Oyster Bar and enjoy a half dozen?  Well, you’d better know your oysters because the selection includes varieties from all over Ireland and Great Britain.  Go and scoop up a half dozen and at today’s exchange rate you’ll plunk down about $46, or op for the seafood platter, which includes two glasses of wine.  $247.50.

For obvious reasons, being married and having no reason to impress being the main ones, I wander aimlessly, asking questions, peering at the food, and wondering what ever became of man’s natural lust for a bargain.  No bargains here.  The food staff, wearing aprons and boaters attends to your every need, including your finger pointing at sausages you’ve never before laid eyes on, or hanging rabbits, or brightly feathered birds ready for plucking.  “

You’ll have to admit, however, that the berries are perfect, every one of them.  The apples shine.  The joints of beef fit for Henry VIII. The displays are a marvel of panache, and if you plod and poke enough, you can in fact savor a souvenir or two for under ten bucks.  Ah, the meats!  Ah, the teas!  Ah, the breads!  Amen.

Back in 1985, Mohammed Al Fayed, an Egyptian, purchased Harrods for £615 million.  You might remember the name.  His son perished with Princess Diana on that fateful evening of the unhappy car crash.

Recently, Mr. Al Fayed sold the property to the Qatari royal family for £1.5bn, a tiny profit of just under 200 %.

I doubt the sale will change Harrods one whit.  It didn’t before.  Why mess with a moneymaker?  Another thing they won’t mess with is the world famous Harrods’ winter sale, when prices plummet and crowds mash in with a gusto that makes a sardine tin seem roomy.  Want to get in on this year’s action? Be there at 9:45 am on Wednesday, 26 December, when Cirque de Soleil’s performance will mark the 25th anniversary of the Harrods Sale, in association with Macmillan Cancer Support charity. Doors open at 10am for all the credit card waving bargain hunters.

Until then, here’s a bit of the English table to keep you entertained, a recipe from Harrods.

Beef Wellington with Stilton (Serves 4)

1 tbsp vegetable oil

750g (1 pound 10 oz) beef fillet

1 large onion, finely chopped

3–4 tbsp finely chopped parsley

250g (9 oz) chestnut mushrooms, finely chopped

150g (5 oz)Stilton, crumbled into small pieces

1 packet of puff pastry

1 egg, beaten

Horseradish sauce to serve

1. Preheat the oven to 200°C/400°F/Gas 6.

2. Heat the oil in a non-stick or heavy frying pan on a high heat, and fry the beef until it is browned on all sides. Remove the meat from the pan and set aside to cool for about 15 minutes.

3. Reduce the heat and add the onion, parsley and mushrooms to the pan. Season with salt and pepper. Fry for a few minutes, then remove from the heat and leave to cool. Add the crumbled Stilton and stir gently.

4. Roll out the pastry into a rectangle slightly wider than the beef and long enough to wrap completely around the beef. With the longer side of the rectangle nearest you, spread the Stilton mixture onto the pastry, leaving a 2.5cm gap all around. Brush the edges with beaten egg. Place the beef in the centre and wrap the pastry over it, sealing the edges carefully. Fold in the ends and place on a non-stick baking sheet or in a roasting dish.

5. Cut a diamond pattern into the surface of the pastry, being careful not to cut through it, and brush it with the beaten egg.

6. Bake for about 40 minutes. Leave to rest for 10–15 minutes, then cut into thick slices and serve with horseradish sauce.

Cinnamon Waffles: Zimt Wafflen - Christmas Joys

Winter's time has come.

But, in the bakery, it's busy as usual.

Cookies and the Santa in the window give you a clue.

Zimt Wafflen!  Cinnamon Waffles!

Note the special waffle irons on the table.

Thin and crisp!

Often you get a complimentary cookie with your coffee.

Ah, mornings are a pleasure when you live near a German bakery!

The first snow has crested the memories of summer.  A chill on the roads makes your car’s rear end shimmy like a break-dancer with chicken pox.  Yes, winter is here and Christmas is plodding forward.  Already the earliest Kris Kringle markets have come and gone.  I have to toss aside my keenness for bravery in the face of numbing cold and drive to my favorite coffee shop.  I also keep my scarf on while I rest, read, and slurp.

Happy cooks and their eating companions will also note it’s the season for Christmas cookies.  Germany has a plethora of them, and almost all are made in small batches, even in the bakeries.

A case in point is one of my favorites, Zimt Wafflen, or cinnamon waffles.  They’re not waffles as we usually think of them in the wastelands of North America.  These are thin, small, and crisp, almost like the cinnamon equivalent of gingersnaps, except ginger snaps are round and thicker.  The nut brown Zimt Wafflen are as thin as a dime, and square.

The other day, as I crept into the coffee shop, heralded by a hearty call of “Guten Morgan!,” I immediately caught the soothing air of fresh bakery goods, as I usually do, but this time the fragrant aroma held the spicy surprise of cinnamon.  A young woman had two special waffle irons going and a huge box in the process of being filled with these square wonders only found at this time of year.

As I’ve said many times before, some of the things I love about Germany are the seasonal tastes.  New potatoes are advertised in the fall, strawberries fill the fruit stands in late summer, new wine and onion cake are served only in the early autumn.  And, if you want to try some Zimt Wafflen, you better grab a handful now.  Their time has come.

Sit back, pull up a plateful and sip some Milch Caffee with me.