Bruges, Belgium, 0230: Stumbling from the “irish pub” after closing, we walked through a maze of mysteriously lit corridors back to the hotel. After fueling up on expensive chocolates and mustering control over our physical state, we went for a walk through the dreadfully quiet and dark medieval town. I remember saying, “its a dangerous combination, an irish pub serving belgian beer”
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A local beer made in Brugge. They asked what size glass you wanted at the front door, this was the large. Refills expected. |
It's all still fresh in the mind, I can remember it like yesterday; the sights, the smells, the overwhelming feeling of euphoria after consuming some of the best beer in the world, and then ordering another. Do I really remember everything?!. This is a short tale of two gentlemen who were so enamored with the concoction of beer, they made a pilgrimage to a region infamous for its time perfected methods.
One had a business trip in Amsterdam, and so the other tagged along. So goes the foundation for such an epic adventure. The two met in the quintessential city of Holland and began their gastronomic journey by way of the city streets. The plan was struck: one week in Amsterdam, then on to Belgium.
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Spanjier Van Twist Cafe, Amsterdam. Bicycles passing in the night. |
While my friend attending to business during the days, I was free to scoured the streets for local dives and watering holes, and when the sun went down, the best place found was just up the street and canal from Anne Frank Huis. Many a night, in fact all nights in the Venice of the North ended up or begun at this most spectacular place, Spanjier Van Twist. Amongst the “cafes” and tourist traps, this place had that certain something which made you want to stay; great hosts, amazing food, killer coffee, and beer to die for! I cannot remember how many Euros we gave to this establishment, but the sum could have easily taken us across Europe by train. Leffe, both Blonde and Double, Palm, Westmalle Triple, Jupiler, many variations on Le Chouffe, Duvel, and many a witte beer, just to name a few, were those readily available for consumption. After sampling several other establishments, we found most beer was from Belgium, and that Holland was not nearly so proud to serve their own. Besides the commercial; Heineken, Amstel, and Dommelsch, there wasn't much to speak of that wasn't Belgian. We did however stumble upon some local taverns which had a very locally made Witte, and found that this was the Dutchman’s specialty. It is so choice, if you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up.
So it was that already a week had passed, and our time in Amsterdam was at an end. We knew that there was only more good to come, the beer we had most consumed in our “work time” in Amsterdam was in fact Belgian, and that we too were headed that way. To say the least our minds were swimming with delight.
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Walking the streets of Bruges at night. Main canal with Belfry and the Basilica of the Holy Blood. |
Belgium is a very large and very real, beer themed amusement park, to put it plainly. Traveling there by train was amazing, especially the cart being pushed through serving, what else? Oil cans of beer. We decided to make our headquarters in Bruges. A historic, quite city, which in the daytime, was infested with tourists. This time, since we didn't have “work” we were able to explore even more so. Many restaurants with many more kinds of beer, every location had 20 more choices than the first. Just like American Beer mecca's such as Portland or Seattle have a microbrew for every square mile, so too do the Belgians. They are the originators, nearly every shanty had its own 500 year old "recipe". Brugge, Antwerpen, Ghent-St Pieters, and the coast of West Vlaanderen all boasted a new delectable. Blondes, Brunettes, Doubles, Triples, Wittes. Walking through the streets, seeing the sites, and relishing in churches, with bells ringing in your head between last night and this morning was really quite a messianic experience. On one occasion we found ourselves stumbling into an award winning black tie restaurant in nothing more than t-shirts and jeans. Who knew they would serve a five course meal paired with.... beer, and all from the prestigious city of Bruges.
After a day of wandering through taverns and train stations, the night fell on Bruges. At a certain hour, most tourists would return to the safety of their cage/hotel and the city was left alone to sulk in its ominous overtones. It is a tourist thriving city nowadays, and being that they all locked themselves up, all the local businesses decided to do the same. It was at this time, walking between dark cobbled streets, that we were struck by a beacon which read “Irish Pub, Live Music” Needless to say, the latter was probably just a gimmick to get people in the door. The bar stewards were authentic enough. After all, we were closer to Ireland than North America, and for a week we ended up there as it was the only place open after 20:00 (remember, we’re talking Euro time.) Not a shabby place I might add, all the favorite Belgians were there to keep us company, Leffe, le Chouffe, Professor Westamalle and this little weird jester fellow who someone supposedly told me was the official mascot of Bruges’ beers. Partying with these gents night after night became another religious experience, one that has taught me a valuable lesson; Beware of Irish Pubs in a place that is known for their brilliant beer.
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Belgians overlooking the canals of Amsterdam. |
As we turned to say goodbye to the land which had given us what we asked for, and more. We realized that there was still more to see and to do! What about Wallonia, what about the Trappist Monasteries, the German boarder and Roubaix! And although I wish I could have participated in the “l'enfer du Nord” alas, two weeks is only two weeks and a Sunday in Hell would have to wait.
We found beer, with all its culture, history, and alcohol by volume which like all things had to end as this chapter of our pilgrimage was complete, we vowed to one day return.
Cheers and Safe Travels,
Phil
