While We're on the Subject of Beer In Brussels

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Can't resist a cup or two before the tour.

Our Tour Guide

Where Grain meets water and yeast

Malted Barley

The huge copper cooling bath

Beer isn’t just for tossing down your throat and belching with a force that shatters glass.  That’s simple enough; any fool, or even a politician can do it. 

For the beer lover, the concoction of barley, hops, water, and yeast is a romantic tradition spanning the ages, tying us to our long forgotten ancestors, and standing as liquid tribute to man’s love for his fellow man.

Even the roughest disagreements can be bridged with the time honored, calming utterance of, “Let’s go have a beer and talk it over.”  Please send this message to your Senators, Representatives, and your wife’s attorney.

But enough soothing of lost souls.  Let’s get back to the robust business of travel, and the hearty business of brewing beer.  Seems every country does it differently.  In a country like Germany, methods and tastes change every five miles.  That’s 8.04672 kilometers for them that ain’t Mericans.  Doesn’t seem convenient to me.  “How far you jogging today? Oh, ‘bout 8.04672 kilometers, give or take 30.48 centimeters or so.

Don’t get me started on “How tall are you and how much do you weigh?”  Europeans can’t even use cups and teaspoons to measure recipe ingredients for goodness sakes!  They have to have kitchen scales to weight the flour!  Before kitchen scales came about, I bet they had to use slide rules and a periodic table.

Back to Brussels and beer.  You’ve checked into your hotel and scanned your nightly rate of 100 Euros, which at today’s exchange rate comes to $14,752.  You’ve already sold your car to pay for the weekend. Now it’s time for a brew.

As I was saying, the Belgians brew it differently and if you want to find out exactly how they do it, trot on over to The Cantillon Brewery.  It’s on a back street (Rue Gheude 56, or 56 Straat).  If you think we have a problem in the States with different languages, try using French and Dutch in the same sentence.

Cantillon Brewery gives tours and it’s the kind of tour I find very appealing.  Small groups of five or less.  About a 15 minute speal, followed by a self-guided tour, which takes about 20 minutes.  Then on to the free tasting…..well, not exactly free.  You’ve already paid at the door for the tour and samples.

Without giving away too much, what’s special about Belgian beer in general and Cantillon beer specifically?

First off, Cantillon Brewery has been in the same spot since around 1900.  At the time, there were 100 breweries in Brussels alone.  Now there are two and the other one is very new.  Since opening, Cantillon has used the same equipment and methods and continues to use both today.  See those iron wheels?  Everything is still belt driven on the same wheels.

As with pretty much any beer, raw materials are wheat, malted barley, hops and fresh local water.  What about yeast?  Most brewers today add specific refined yeasts to brew specific types of beers.  Most of the beer is what is known as ‘bottom fermented.’  At Cantillion, the yeast comes naturally from the air and results in spontaneous fermentation and top fermentation.  This is called the Lambic method and results in the name you see on Belgian beer labels, Lambic Beer.  The first 3-4 days are rapid fermentation.  Slow fermentation begins 3-4 weeks later.  The barrels have to be open because of the gas (natural carbonation).

Cantillion beer is all natural and allowed to ferment in oak barrels for up to three years, and up to 20% of the beer evaporates.  As you would guess, most carbonation is gone. If you ask me, Cantillon beer kinda bridges the gap between wine and beer, with a full complexity that makes you long to sip and savor.  Some of the beers are fruit flavored.  You’d think that would make them sweet.  Not so.  The sugar from the fresh fruit is also allowed to ferment to completion.

A master brewer blends some of the Lambics, barrel aged from 1 to 3 years, to produce Gueuze.  The younger beers contribute the natural sugars required for secondary fermentation and the 3 year old Lambics provide refined taste and complexity.

I like the fruit beers, but for me Gueuze is the penultimate of the brewer’s art.  One of the special treats about visiting The Cantillon Brewery is the chance to chat with the employees.  No matter if they are selling tickets, pouring beers, or selling keepsakes, they are all brewers with first hand involvement in the brewing process.  When at the end of the tour you’re passed a small glass of Gueuze, information flows, so you know what you’re tasting, and which flavors to look for.  Quite the experience and if you’re going to drink Belgian Beer, ya gotta, haveta, gonna visit Cantillon Brewery.

Hops add bitterness and flavor.

The Cantillon Brewery is open M-F, 9-5, and on Saturday, 10-5.

The wheels are real!  Everything is belt driven.

Some of these bottles are old

Samples

Gueuze:  the king, queen and royal court of beers

The barrels don't lie

Some new Gueuze...give 'er time, mate! 

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.