One thing that I’ve never really gotten comfortable with is breakfast abroad. In the states, I don’t usually get all that fired up about it, a lot of days I just skip it. More often than not I’ll grab a little something at Le Petit for what amounts to a European breakfast anyway. But there’s just something about having the option of getting a three egg omelet, biscuits and gravy, a side of hash browns, and a bottomless vat of threadbare coffee that is comforting. These just aren’t things that are usually available in the countries that I’ve visited.
Belgium isn’t really much different in this regard, if we’re honest. It’s centered around bread and jams and chocolate, mostly, and at least where we’ve been the coffee is better than anticipated. Well, here’s what we’ve been having most days:
Candlelit dinners are one thing, but only at R&Breakfast are there candlelit breakfasts with a selection of sprinkles, either fruit or chocolate.
Rustic breads with local meats and cheeses. Lex described the baking culture in northern Europe as endangered. In Holland most of the bakeries are closed on weekends, especially on Sundays, and fresh bread can’t be had those days. The baker here is “a big man, with big hands, and he makes big breads,” Lex explained. “Sometimes people will come from France where the croissants are so delicate and tiny that you can barely see them. Then they will have his croissants and they cannot believe it. They are huge.” We haven’t come across these local croissants just yet, but we will be sure to take a crack at them when we do.
Each morning we find an assortment of both store bought and homemade marmalade, but the real decision making doesn’t come in until we look over the spreadable chocolates.
The table sags underneath a tray of fifteen different jars. Some of them are familiar, Nutella and Speculoos (smooth and crunchy), but most of them are not. There are national boutique spreads, the equivalent of JIF, and a number of simple glass jars with handwritten labels from just down the street in any direction. I’ve never been able to figure out why these chocolate spreads have never caught on in the States.
It’s been a pretty lazy day so far. Tom and I are recovering from the harrowing deliberations of yesterday’s foray into the Flanders countryside, and have felt much safer napping in Roeselare. We made it out to a cycling museum this morning, and couldn’t help but notice the candor of the high school smoking culture here. We rode past a school at lunch hour, and there were scores of young people sitting on the front steps hitting the cigs hard. It felt just like Spokane. We also saw a teenager in a shirt that read in large block letters, “Fuck Swag.” That was sort of refreshing.
It’s just a brief post, you’ll have to excuse me. We’re running off now to check out the Izegem Koers and have a beer with Nico Mattan. I trust that tomorrow’s update will have much more to say.
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If At First You Ask In Flemish
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