Sunday lunch – another Belgian classic

‘Vol-au-vent’ or ‘Queen’s morsel’, that’s what we had for lunch yesterday. You could also call it chicken fricassee, because that’s basically what it is. The main ingredients are chicken (of course), mushrooms and tiny meat balls in a thickened chicken stock.

You’ll find this dish on the menu card of every self-respecting Belgian brasserie. The fricassee is served in round puff pastry cases. French fries, ‘pommes croquettes’ or mashed potatoes are served as a side dish.

Vol-au-vent is also a very common dish in the French Lorraine region. The main difference is that the French version uses veal quenelles instead of meat balls. I think that we switched to meat balls because a) they are easier to make and b) pork mince is cheaper than veal.

Usually you start by boiling a chicken. I didn’t use a whole chicken, though because it has too much meat for just two people. So I bought a small cockerel and two chicken thighs. I boiled them in water to which I had added two diced carrots, two stalks of celery, a medium-sized onion in which I had pinned three cloves and finally a vegetable stock cube, pepper and salt. I let it simmer, under a closed lid for about an hour.

Two chicken thighs and a cockerel happily simmering away ...

In the meantime I mixed an egg, pepper, salt, grated nutmeg and ‘chapelure’ (breadcrumbs) in 250 gr. of pork mince, after which I spent the next 15 minutes rolling the mixture into tiny meat balls with a diameter of 1 to 1.5 cm. Next I boiled these meat balls in salted water. As they are really tiny this only takes about 10 minutes.

 A batch of tiny meatball ready to be thrown into the boiling water.

Then it was time to clean and slice the mushrooms. I used about 200 gr. The slices are then cooked in some olive oil. When they have rendered their liquid, just add some salt, pepper and lemon juice. The juice prevents the mushrooms form turning brown. Moreover, it adds a nice tangy taste to the fricassee.

By then the cockerel and chicken thighs were done. I scooped them out of the stock using a slotted spoon and put them on a plate, where I left them to cool. Then comes the fun part! Well I think it’s fun, although I guess that a lot of people would find it messy. After removing the skin, pull the meat of the bones and tear it into bite-size shreds. Just use you hands, not a fork or a knife.

The vol-au-vent ready to be served.

All this can be done one day in advance. Just put the different ingredients in separate Tupperware containers and stock them overnight in your fridge. The next day, or whenever you want to serve your vol-au-vent, melt a generous knob of butter in a Le Creuset pot. Add two tablespoons of flour, stir well. When all the flour has absorbed the butter, ladle in the cold chicken stock. Keep stirring vigorously while you add more stock until you obtain a nice homogenous and glossy sauce. Add some grated nutmeg and pepper and salt to taste, as well as some more lemon juice. Go easy on the salt and pepper, though, as your stock already contains some.

Add the shredded chicken, meatballs and mushrooms to the sauce and stir until all the ingredients are nicely and evenly mixed. Turn down the heat and let your vol-au-vent sit on the stove until all the meat is warm. Stir occasionally to stop the preparation from sticking to the bottom.

The puff pastry cases baking in the oven.

I made some puff pastry cases myself using pastry I had bought at the supermarket. The vol-au-vent as well as the cases were excellent, and both my mother and I thoroughly enjoyed our Sunday lunch. As I expected, I made way too much, so I have two helpings left, which we will have for supper tonight. Can’t wait!

Care to take a guess?

I've been experimenting with my new camera again. Here is one photo I'm particulary pleased with, although it could have been a bit sharper ... but that required using the manual settings, and that means reading the manual ... all 275 pages of it! And I'm afraid I just don't have the patience to do so.

Any idea what it is? Don't worry, it's nothing spooky ... but just your everyday kind of ....

Nightly visitor

This morning I woke up with an itching right eye. I rubbed it, in an attempt to remove the cause. But to no avail. And then I walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. What I saw in the mirror wasn’t a pretty sight. I never look my best at 6 in the morning, but this time it was even worse. My right upper eyelid was all red and swollen, as if someone had punched me right in the eye.

When I took a closer look, I saw three pin-like dots in the middle of the swollen area. And then I remembered being woken up in the middle of the night by the buzzing noise of a … mosquito. Could this red eye be a mosquito bite? While I was trying to camouflage it with some eyeliner, I noticed two more red spots on my arm and hand. This confirmed my theory that I had had a nightly visitor. As I was in a hurry to get ready to go to work, I didn’t have the time to go and look for the culprit. But tonight I’m definitely going to look for it and give it a serious piece of my mind before killing it gently or chasing it out of the window … whatever turns out to be the easiest option.

Don't worry, this is not my assailant,
but just another creepy crawler posing for me
while I was  trying out my new camera.

The presence of this mosquito is rather strange, as the weather people had predicted that there would be few mosquitoes this year due to the lack of rain. My visitor must be a ‘dessert rat’ then; one that can survive in extreme conditions. And they are known to be tough!

Meet Junior

In August last year I wrote about our visit to a nearby media store, to get a new plug-in device for our GPS, Mauricette. At the time I also mentioned that I was interested in buying a netbook, a paper shredder, a juice maker and the Outlook software. I did get two of them: the shredder and the juice maker. In the meantime I’ve become accustomed to the e-mail software that is supplied by my internet supplier, and I therefore no longer feel the need to invest in Outlook, which is outrageously expensive.

However, the thought of buying a netbook has never left my mind. And with my upcoming trip to the UK, I felt it was time to acquire one. The last time I took a train was sometime in the late nineties. Since then I’ve always been enjoying the comfort of travelling by car. When I think of all the stuff we put in the trunk of the car when we travel to France – two large suitcases, a cooler box, a large picnic hamper, my laptop, a supply of mineral water, Belgian goodies for our friends, rain coats, umbrella’s, etc. you can’t reasonably say that we travel ‘light’.

Now that I have to carry my suitcase myself, and drag it up and down stairs at the station, on the train, on the bus, … it’s time to invest in something small and light. So a netbook is the obvious solution. I know, I know … netbooks are no longer fashionable; iPads and iPhones are. But they are also far more expensive, especially for the use I will be making of it. Moreover, the minuscule keyboard of an iPone or smart Phone (what’s the difference, anyway?) is not really fit to write blog posts on. So there is nothing you can say or write that will make me change my mind.

Anyway, it’s too late, because last Thursday afternoon, after approximately nine months of nourishing the idea of buying a netbook, my Packard Bell Easynote 17’ inch laptop gave birth to Junior, a Packard Bell Dos S 10’ inch netbook. Junior is cute as can be, with his champagne couloured and classy casing and bright LED-screen. Although he hardly weighs 1.3 kg, he’s a healthy boy, who once he’s been fed, works for a length of 6 hours, without needing a new bottle! And although he arrived in his Adam’s suit, he came with a nice black jacket and a special cloth to wipe his b… As a welcome present into our family, I bought him a mini-mouse to play with.

The 'new-born' with his mummy; in perfect harmony!

No seriously, this netbook is really everything I have been looking for. It runs on Windows 7 Starter and has a Microsoft Office 60-days trial pre-installed. I activated the latter using the ‘3 PC licenses’ code of the software package I bought two years ago. It also has Adobe Photoshop Standard. I don’t intend to do extensive photo processing jobs on it, as the graphic card is not really up to it. (Blablablabla … listen to me. It almost sounds as if I actually knew something about computers. I don’t, you know; I’m just repeating what the internet reviews say!). But it’ll do to download, process and post the odd photo from my camera when travelling.

Junior

Since last Thursday there is a new addition to our little cyber family. Would you like to meet 'Junior'? Then check in tomorrow. Right now he's not really cooperating. But, he'll soon learn ... I'm sure!

Care to take a guess?

Changes

Do you like changes? I don’t. I like new experiences, visiting new places and meeting new people. But only when I know that there is always something familiar to come home to; something that has always been there or least for the best part of my life. That’s probably why I have been living in the same village – it has become a small town over the last 50 years – since I was born.

In my professional career I have changed jobs five times. And although I’ve never been fired, all these changes were of my own doing, but … forced by circumstances; like company moves to Holland in two cases. Today, I’m still working with the same company I joined in April 1996. We have been through a merger (or was it a take-over?) in 2006, which involved a transfer of our offices to a new location in May 2007. But apart from that, I have no intentions of changing companies until I retire, hopefully in six years time.

Despite my attachment to things familiar, there are some changes you simply can’t avoid. After my recent move, which I experienced as a big ordeal at the time, but now turns out to be one of the cleverest things I’ve done in recent years, a new gripping event occurred, upsetting my daily life.

You may remember me mentioning my elderly neighbour, who lived across the hall from my former apartment? Well, around the time that I was moving, he told me that he wanted to sell his apartment to move into a service flat for senior citizens in the nearby town of Leuven. At the time I thought it was just a fleeting idea that had been inspired by my upcoming move. But then, hardly a month later, there was a ‘for sale’ sign on the front window. And not even a week later it had been replaced by a ‘to let’ sign. When I saw him, I asked him whether he had changed his mind and was moving but looking for a tenant. It turned out, however, that the apartment had been sold within a week and that the new owner had put up the ‘to let’ sign. “But don’t worry”, he assured me, “I’ll still be here till autumn.”

A perfect day for moving.
The little blue van on the left containing Emile's belongings
and the unmistakable  orange 'no parking' signs.

And then only two weeks ago, he told me that he was leaving on May 15th. Last week nothing happened though, and I thought that he had been exaggerating, until two days ago. When I came home from work, there were the distinctive ‘no parking’ signs, the unmistakable ‘omen’ of an upcoming move.

And today was the day. At half past seven this morning his three sons and granddaughter with her husband arrived with a small van. By the time I left to do my weekly shopping in the village, the van was already gone. I felt sad and disappointed as I really would have liked to say goodbye to Emile, because he has been a fantastic neighbour. Someone who was always ready to help, in spite his age (he turned 90 in March).

And then, when I returned from lunch at my mother’s, the little van was back. I saw Emile’s sons running in an out, loading all kinds of stuff in the van. I introduced myself as a former neighbour and asked if Emile was inside and whether I could go in to say goodbye. His son Luc saw no objection, and that is how I managed to say goodbye to a lovely gentleman. While we were chatting, I sensed that my presence was not really wanted by the granddaughter who completely ignored me, interrupting my conversation with Emile, without even apologizing to ask her grandfather whether she could have a little bowl of Limoges china she had found in a kitchen cupboard.

A few minutes later she returned, urging her grandfather into the car. “We’re leaving now. Say goodbye.” All that without even looking at me. I gave Emile three kisses and a big hug and wished him the best, adding that I hoped we would meet again. The poor man had tears in his eyes while he docilely followed his granddaughter to the car. I sincerely hope he will be fine and happy in his new home.

Blue (red) suede shoes

Yesterday I told you about my epic journey to Deal in December 1984. I also mentioned that there was a second thing I would never forget. It was the food.

Rowena was a great cook. Having spent several years in India, she made the best chicken tandoori ever! It was very hot and spicy and served with rice, fresh banana and cucumber slices and pompadoms. During that particular visit, however, she made a traditional English Christmas dinner.

Being exhausted after my long and eventful journey the day before, I stayed in bed longer than usual. By the time I got downstairs Rowena was already busy in the kitchen. There was huge turkey sitting in the oven and on the stove several pots were simmering. I recall there being Brussels sprouts, bread sauce, potatoes, … I had a light breakfast of toast with butter and ‘Golly berry’ jam and a cup of instant coffee. While I was eating, Rowena was busy checking the oven and peering under the lids of the different pots and pans. I decided that it was time to get out of the house to let her get on with her cooking.

What I like best about Deal – apart from the beach and the promenade – are the shops in High street. I have always been fascinated by the large Boot’s store and WHSmith bookstore. Almost all the English novels I have – and I have many, believe me – were bought at WHSmith. I never walked out of there without buying at least one book. I remember one particular year acquiring seven novels by Nevil Shute. Something I regretted later, as – although they were all paperback – they substantially added to the weight of my suitcase that I had to drag up and down the many stairs of the ferry.

So on the morning of Christmas Eve 1984 I set out to do some shopping. I had hardly turned the corner of the street when the heel of my boot got stuck between two cobblestones. When I tried to pull it out, the heel broke! My first impulse was to return to the house. But then I realised that I didn’t bring an extra pair of shoes. There was no other option than to continue and find a shoe repair shop. I limped down High street, attracting quite a bit of attention. I stopped and asked several people directions to the nearest shoe shop. When I finally got there, the nice sales lady told me that they didn’t do repairs.

All I could do was to buy new shoes. I tried several pairs before choosing some bright red suede ankle boots, which were low heeled and extremely comfortable. And, although they weren’t very expensive, they turned out to be of very good quality too, because I wore them for several years. If I remember well, I threw them away during my move in 2001!

An epic journey

As I mentioned earlier, I have some exciting and fantastic news! But maybe you’ve already guessed what it is. Yes, that’s right; I will be travelling to Deal in July to meet Rowena’s daughter and her husband and to spend a few days in Deal, the lovely seaside resort on the Kentish coast, where I spent many a memorable vacation as a teenager.

The last time I was in Deal was in December 1984. It was the first year after my husband had been killed in a car accident, and I felt that I couldn’t spend Christmas on my own. Rowena had kindly invited me to come and spend the holidays with her and her two children; an invitation I gladly accepted.

There are two things about that trip that I’ll never forget. The first one was the actual journey. At the time, the tunnel under the English Channel only existed in the mind of a civil engineer who probably had been declared stark raving mad by many of his peers. So the fastest way to get to the UK was by jetfoil. The crossing Ostend-Dover took about an hour, which was a lot better than the ferry I used to take in the seventies (4 hours).

I left home at 7 in the morning on a cold and windy December 23rd. First there was the bus ride into Brussels: 45 minutes. Next came the train ride from Brussels to Ostend: 75 minutes. So far so good! When I stepped off the train, I immediately felt the stiff gale that was blowing. And that’s where and when the trouble started. Due to the strong wind, the scheduled jetfoil had been cancelled. The waves were too high for the light vessel that travels at high speed on a ski-like structure over the surface of the water.

The Princess Marie-Esmeralda
The Sealink ferry I took in December 1984

All jetfoil passengers where therefore redirected to the next ferry, which would leave at 2 p.m. This meant an almost 4 hour wait at the station. I spent some of the time in the cafeteria where I had a beef tartar sandwich and a beer. I also found a phone booth – no mobile phones in those days – to call and tell Rowena that I would be arriving around 6 p.m. at Dover Eastern docks, instead of 1 p.m. at Dover Western docks. The gloomy station, the howling wind and the long wait were real morale-killers. I don’t think I had ever felt lonelier in my life. At one point I almost decided to take the train back home. But as I was already holding my ticket, I pulled myself together and joined the crowd that was ready to board the ferry.

We spent a very bumpy four hours at sea and arrived in Dover at the scheduled time. Rowena was waiting for me and seeing her made me glad that I hadn’t turned back. We drove the 15 or so kilometre that separate Dover from Deal and arrived at her cottage around 7 p.m., where I was warmly welcomed by her son and daughter and the adorable and absolutely fabulous Siamese cat, Slinky.

(more to come)

An anniversary

Tomorrow, two years ago, on May 17th, 2009 I published my very first blog post. Today, 569 posts later, I’m still surprised that I had the courage to do so.

I remember hesitating a very long time before clicking the ‘publish post’ button for the very first time.

Blooming flowers in my neighbour's garden.
My present to you, all my lovely readers, wherever you are!
The perfect zoom, thanks to my new camera.

You may have noticed that the blog has taken a different turn. The original idea was to write about my passion for the Loire Valley and the lovely vacations I have spent there since 1999. But little by little stories about my daily life here in Belgium have been seeping in. In fact, they have almost completely taken over the blog now; with the damp problem in my former apartment, the apartment hunting, the furniture shopping, the decorating and finally the BIG move. That was two months ago: on March 18th.

I would like to thank all my readers who have followed me over the last two years and those who've  joined the blog more recently, thus helping me through this recent ‘ordeal’. Your comments, tips, encouragements, outrage, curiosity, good humour and interest – not to mention the sweet card one of you sent me – have been a tremendous help. I can’t thank you enough. You all have been wonderful. Thank you a zillion times. Okay, maybe I could have done it without you, but it wouldn’t have been half as much fun! You really are the best!

I realize that, through this blog, I have come in contact with a lot of interesting, funny (in the ‘funny haha’, and not the ‘funny peculiar’ sense of the word), lovely and warm people, mainly in the US, the UK, France, Australia and Canada, but elsewhere too. I’ve met – or am about to meet – some of you personally.

I realize that, by changing the topics of my post, I may have let down some of you – especially the ‘hard core’ Loire valley adepts. But a wise man once told me you should only write about things that you have lived and experienced yourself. As I only spend five days per year in the Touraine region, it is hard to come up with new stories from the past on an almost daily basis, despite my 'excellent' memory!

So unless something totally unexpected turns up, you will be reading a lot more about my life here in Belgium and my upcoming trip to Deal! Hope I won’t loose you somewhere along the way …

Jars

Due to the problems with Blogger yesterday I didn't post, although I have sensational news I want to share with you. However, I'll stick to a very short post today, because I want to make sure that everything is stable again.

So how about a little quiz? That's something we haven't done in a long time, isn't it? That way, we can test the software! It'll give you an opportunity to post many, many, many comments (Who am I kidding?).

Here goes. On my kitchen worktop I have these two jars. The one on the left contains something edible. The one on the right contains a small collection of ....

Can you guess what 's in the jars and - more important - why I am collecting the stuff in the jar on the right?

Good luck!

What’s new pussycat?

Remember my post about the cat mystery - or was it the mysterious cat? As you may recall, the mystery was solved a few days later, when I noticed that there were actually two almost identical white cats; one living in the first floor apartment and the other on the ground floor. At the time I tried to shoot a photo featuring both cats. However, the zoom of my little hobby camera wasn’t up to the challenge, and the photo came out all blurred. Even running it through Photoshop didn’t improve the final result.

Today I can show you a photo of the ‘original’ cat; the one that is living in the first floor apartment across the street from my new home. As you can see, it takes the most unlikely pose, as if to say “Look what a pretty girl I am.”

How did I manage to capture this image? Well, for almost a year I have been toying with the idea of buying a camera of a better quality. Lacking the patience it takes to produce a masterpiece, I’ll probably never become a great photographer. Although I have shot a few nice photos over the last four years, it was often more a matter of luck than real artistic skills. The most frustrating images were the close-ups of flowers or food and zoomed-in pictures of objects in the distance. Especially the close-ups bothered me, because I like to post photos of my orchids and my ‘culinary creations’.

Being a complete nincompoop when it comes to cameras, I asked people around me who are more knowledgeable on the subject about the best cameras on the market. Mind you, the best, but not necessarily the most sophisticated or expensive. Moreover, I wanted a user-friendly device that didn’t require a large and heavy shoulder bag to carry it around.

And the winner is (drum roll) … the Panasonic TZ10. Well, it was, until I read on an internet forum that the built-in GPS function is a real battery-killer. The different commentators all shared the same opinion: if you don’t need the GPS function, or already have a separate GPS, don’t buy the TZ10, but go for the TZ8. Although it’s 90 euros cheaper than its roaming equivalent, its technical characteristics are identical and it does exactly what a camera is supposed to do: take nice photographs.

So there you are. Last Friday I bought my brand-new toy! Since then I have been experimenting with it, especially on flowers and zooms. The first results are encouraging, but I feel I still have a very long way to go. Okay, yesterday’s rose wasn’t the best shot in the world, but superior to the flower shots I’ve made in the past. And the white kitty would have been one big white blur if I had used my old camera.

Tribute to a grand Lady

Last Saturday night I decided to ring Rowena, who lives in Deal, on the Kentish coast in the UK. Rowena used to be the lady of the house in the guest family where I spent several summers to learn English 'in the field'. I was surprised when the phone was answered by a man, as Rowena has been living on her own since her divorce in the late seventies. When I enquired whether this was Rowena’s home the man kindly asked “Who’s calling?” I mentioned my name and he said “Just a moment, please.” Ten seconds later a woman came to the phone. She greeted me warm-heartedly and her voice sounded really dynamic and much livelier than the last time I had called in the autumn of 2010.

 .

The first rose of spring

We exchanged the traditional greetings and then the woman suddenly said: “It’s me, T., Rowena’s daughter. I’m sorry to tell you, but my mother died last year, on December 1st.” Although I knew that Rowena had turned 90 in March 2010 and was having some health problems the last time we spoke, the news came as a huge shock. T. sensed how upset I was, and immediately started apologizing for breaking the news to me in such an impersonal and brusque way.

On the occasion of my wedding in 1980 Rowena, who was a talented artist, gave me a watercolour of her's showing North Road in Kingsdown, the village where she used to live when I stayed with her and her children for the first time (I was 15 then) in 1972 . On Saturday T. told me that she had been instructed by her mother to contact me after her death and invite me to choose another of her paintings. T. had failed to trace me, though, and was now absolutely thrilled that I had phoned – out of the blue – so that she could honour her mother’s wish.

We spent the next half an hour on the phone reminiscing about the past. The most surprising thing T. said was that she had often been jealous of me because her mother and I had bonded so well. I know that Rowena and I got on extremely well and that she teasingly called me her ‘second daughter’, but I would never have guessed that it had had such an impact on her real daughter.


I have therefore decided to travel to Deal, where T. and her husband S. are now living in Rowena’s former house. They are currently renovating it and therefore can’t put me up. However, T. will come and meet me at Ashford International Eurostar station, which is at approx. 55 km from Deal. I’ll be staying in a nice B&B just off the beach and within walking distance of the house. I’ve also been invited for drinks and lunch. And T. will contact her brother J., who lives on London, to come down for a real get-together. When will all this take place? Probably during the first week of July! I’m thrilled to go back there, although the place just won’t be the same without my ‘second mom’. I’ll miss her, because she was a very grand lady indeed.

… and another (drink)

What happened before …

After the transfer of the beer production unit to Jupille, the people of Hoegaarden were left flabbergasted and lost. However, sometimes destiny works in mysterious ways. It didn’t take long before the workers in Jupille discovered that there was more to brewing ‘de Witte’ than they had initially assumed. They were having a lot of trouble obtaining a beer which had the same characteristics and quality standards as the original beer brewed in Hoegaarden. In spite of all their efforts, they never succeeded in reproducing the real Witte. A year later, in 2007, they simply gave up, and the ‘de Witte’ returned to its birth place. A victory for the people of the village and the artisan brewing techniques! Good show!

I’m sure by now you want to know what makes ‘de Witte’ so special. The beer, which has an alcohol content of 4.9 vol.%, has an opaque, pale colour. It glistens when you hold your glass against the light. The froth collar is soft, white and foamy. The aroma is really unique: orange zest, coriander and spices (secret recipe!). It’s soft, light and slightly sour-sweet, with a hint of citrus. It’s traditionally served very cold, in its typical, heavy hexagonal glass, preferably with a slice of lemon.

Pierre Celis and his famous 'Witte van Hoegaarden'.

Photo: courtesy google images.

When you buy Hoegaarden in a bottle, you’ll find a small residue of yeast at the bottom. According to your personal taste, you can leave it there or pour it in your glass. In the last case you need to leave about 3 cm of beer in the bottle, swirl it in order to mix the yeast with the remaining beer, before adding it to your glass. It is said to be very good for you, unless you have really delicate bowels.

‘De Witte’ is the oldest of the beers brewed in Hoegaarden. Over the years new flavours have been created. The recent of which are the Hoegaarden Rosé and Citron. The Rosé is a Witte to which raspberry extract has been added. It’s slightly sweeter than its older brother (or should that be sister?) and has an attractive pinkish colour. It’s also contains less alcohol (only 3 vol.%) and is therefore very popular with the ladies. The Citron contains, of course, a hint of lemon.

Then there is the ‘Spéciale’, a seasonal beer available from October till the end of January. The added malt gives it a very distinctive flavour. And finally, we have the ‘Grand Cru’ which, with its alcohol content of 8.9 vol.%, is meant to be consumed with extreme moderation. It is amber coloured and is available all year round.

Any preference?

Let me buy you another drink!

In my previous post I boasted about Belgium’s large beer assortment. So maybe I should buy you another round, so that you can savour some more of our specialties.

Jupiler and Stella Artois are probably the two most popular beers. They’re of the ‘pilsner’ or ‘lager’ type. Both are by the same brewery, Inbev, who in 2009 - or was it 2008? - acquired the Anheuser-Busch breweries, thus becoming the largest brewery holding in the world. The Inbev- Anheuser-Busch HQ is located in Leuven, a provincial town some 25 km east of Brussels and home to the oldest still existing Catholic university in the world. It was established in 1425 by Pope Martin V. With its almost 40,000 students, many of which come from abroad, it is also the largest Catholic university.

The historic library of the University of Leuven.

Photo: courtesy KULeuven

But back to our beer. In the eighties a beer, which had been on the market since 1966, suddenly became very popular. And it was said that at some point, it was well on its way to dethrone the two popular lager beers. It is commonly known as ‘Witte van Hoegaarden’. It was invented by Pierre Celis, who also introduced it in the US as ‘Celis White’ and who died only recently. Originally it was produced in a small brewery called ‘De Kluis’ in the village of Hoegaarden. After a fire, which destroyed a large part of the brewery, Inbev heavily invested in the reconstruction of the premises, thus acquiring a large part of the shares. In the nineties Inbev got total control of the brewery. In 2006 the holding decided to close the ‘De Kluis’ and transfer the production of ‘de Witte van Hoegaarden’ to their plant in Jupille, near Liége, where the Jupiler lager is produced.

The announcement came as a shock to the village and the people of Hoegaarden, many of which worked at ‘De Kluis’. Not only would they loose their jobs, they would also loose the production of the local beer, which for years had been their pride and joy. In 2007 the actual transfer took place and only a handful of workers were kept on in the bottling plant in Hoegaarden.

(more to come ... I just hope you are not too thirsty?!)

It doesn’t always have to be wine

In case you didn’t know, I love Loire Valley wines. My absolute favourites are the red Saumur Champigny and the white Vouvray. If there is one beverage that I like better than these delicious wines – and Champagne, of course - it’s beer. And preferably Belgian beer! If we are to believe the comic strip books of Asterix and Obelix the Belgians have been brewing and drinking beer since Roman times; about the same time when the French started growing grapes and making wines in the Bordeaux region.

Maybe we aren’t the biggest beer producer in the world volume-wise; but we are probably the world’s record holder when it comes to the number of breweries and types of beer. Several sources speak of 131 breweries, producing 560 types of beer. That’s quite an achievement for a country with less than 11 million inhabitants and a total surface of 30,528 km² (355 heads per km²).

The vast beer assortment has given birth to a rich local beer culture; something most Belgians are very proud of. Every self-respecting town and city has one or several cafés or pubs serving a large assortment of typical, very often local beer varieties. In order to bring out the special flavour of each and every beer they are served at an ‘ideal’ temperature, ranging from 8° tot 15°C. Unlike beer in the UK, Belgian beers always have a nice ‘froth collar’. The required height varies in function of the type of beer. The only beer that is served ‘froth-less’ is the Lambic, a beer made in and around Brussels, with a very typical and unique, yet - what I like to call - ‘acquired’ taste. It’s rather sour and some people would describe it as ‘foul’.

The peculiar and tricky 'Kwak' glass.

Every beer also has its own glass. The most peculiar one is the ‘Kwak’ which is served in a tube-like glass with a sphere at the bottom. As it won’t stand on its own, it is placed in an attractive wooden contraption. The glass looks like a miniature version of the British ‘yard of ale’ glass, and produces exactly the same hilarious effect as its big brother. If you drink the last bit too quickly, the liquid will splash in your face … hence the name ‘kwak’, which a Flemish onomatopoeia, imitating the sound the liquid makes when the air slips behind it and suddenly pushes the beer forward. A lot of people who have never drunk a ‘kwak’ before are not aware of this hazard, and often end up with a wet face and shirt. So don’t tell me I didn’t warn you …

Tell me, have you ever tried Belgian beer, and which one's your favourite?