IN THE MELTING POT

I’m normally a shocking slattern on a weekend, but last Sunday I dragged a comb through my luscious auburn tresses, threw on an old Armani peignoir, and schlepped out to St Gilles for brunch at Britxos, the recently opened outlet of catering supremos La Britannique, with the editor, who presumably wanted to offer me a pay rise.

I wouldn’t say it’s in a prime location - a bit off the beaten track to tell the truth.  However, it did afford me the opportunity to see that bit of St Gilles just past Ixelles, which is an up and coming area with a lot to offer - Art Deco houses, including the Horta museum, walking distance from the trendy Rue du Bailli, and a mere 15 minutes by tram from Mérode.  So you could kick off an afternoon’s cultural learnings with a visit to the market followed by a copious brunch at Britxos, which styles itself as a café-deli, serving breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, cocktails and snacks to eat in or take out.  The menu changes weekly, so it’s worth checking out their website to see if the weekend brunch is going to be Asian, English, Irish, Mexican, or something else.  The nice people at Britxos are open to suggestions, if you’d like to surprise a visiting Albanian delegation (for example) with a taste of the old country.

The cocktail list is on the blackboard above the bar and I sipped a Bloody Mary whilst perusing the top shelf of drinks which boasted some impressive beverages - top hole gins The Botanist and Hendrick’s (voted best gin in the world), and no less a rum than Nicaragua’s finest Flor de Cana.   I made a mental note to come back at cocktail hour, from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m. and try a Glasgow Slag (Irn-Bru and peach liqueur if you must know).

Photo:  Alison Cornford-Matheson

The brunch concept is based on Spanish style tapas, or pintxos as they are called in the Basque country.  British pintxos = Britxos.  Geddit?  Oh suit yourself.  We had the Mexican brunch, which comprises four courses and a bottle of wine for 27 euros.  The entree was a Guadalajara chicken quesadilla, rather like a flattened chorizo, guacamole, potato, onion and cheese pie, drizzled with the chef’s own recipe sweet chutney;  this was followed by Huevos rancheros - two fried eggs with a cold Mexican spicy ratatouille, and tasty jalapeno cornbread.  Then came beer-battered white fish with Mexican sweetcorn salad,  and to finish, vanilla ice cream with Mexican  ganache and a raspberry macaroon.  All washed down with a very pleasant Spanish cabernet sauvignon.  

Photo: Alison Cornford-Matheson

The place only seats 14, plus four seats at the bar - brunch is served in two sittings at 11.30 and 1.30 on weekends, so it’s advisable to phone ahead and book.  If you like improbable multicultural combinations, this is the place for you - a Mexican brunch cooked by a Latvian in a Basque inspired British tapas bar with Spanish wine - Brussels in a nutshell.  The craic was uniquely Brusseleir however - relaxed and friendly, and if you’re on your own, it’s quite likely you’ll end up chatting to your neighbours, as I did to a shy young gentleman from South London who was lunching at the bar.  I was born in Knightbridge moiself, but I will share with you now a little known fact, I was brung up in Sarf London, and it only takes the dulcet tones of the Old Kent Road and a couple of Bloody Marys and my carefully contrived veneer flakes away quicker than Kat Moon’s nail varnish.   By the time we’d finished the four course brunch and were on our second bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, I was singing “Maybe it’s becorze I’m a Londoner” and the place was starting to resemble the Queen Vic on a Sunday lunchtime.  

Your writer doing a Christine Keeler with a couple of British pouffes I found in Britxos
Photo:  Tony Mallett

Needless to say, no pay rise was mentioned.

On second thoughts, perhaps you ought to get your cultural learnings out of the way first before brunching at Britxos.  If you're more interested in the Glasgow Slag than the huevos rancheros, you might prefer to go on a Monday evening when they have live jazz.

Britxos
13 rue de Savoie
1060 St Gilles
Tel:  02 613 48 90
www.facebook.com/britxos
http://www.labritannique.com/contact-britxos

TEA AND EAT

TEA AND EAT is a funny name for a chain of restaurants. OK, EAT is TEA with the T at the beginning instead of the end .... I wonder if they're anything to do with MEET MEAT?

Anyhoo, I was down at Woluwe Shopping Mall and felt a tad peckish. As restaurants in shopping centres go, it's a bit more upmarket than Debenham's Style Cafe. It's hidden away down a corridor just after C&A, and looks like just a few tables behind a perspex screen. However, once inside you find a circular bar where you can park your man while you get some more retail therapy in, a spacious restaurant with high tables, low tables, and a wraparound terrace for the rare Brussels warm weekend. The decor is very 90's Islington - you know, lots of bamboo, a whiff of Zen ambience, a glass cylinder goldfish tank on the bar. The waiting staff are young, smiley and attractive, and the service is fairly smart.



There's a shop inside the restaurant where you can buy upmarket foodie things like fancy olive oil and poncey tea. You know, essentials. Generally sold in big clunky bottles with the name of the product in big black letters, e.g. SIROP. Merchandising is part of the Tea & Eat experience, and they have shops in various locations. As retailers they compete with Oliviers & Co. and Pain Quotidien for the yummy mummy demographic. The restaurant competes with the excellent Cook & Book (another inspired name!) across the road. For my money, I prefer Cook & Book for its proximity to, well, books, of which there are none in Woluwe Shopping Centre. But if you're an habitué of Habitat, Tea & Eat is exactly where you should go afterwards to peruse the catalogue. If they could only move across the way, they could become Habitat's in-store restaurant. (Habitat actually has an in-store restaurant, which is so badly situated that I found myself examining the tables looking for a price tag).




Tea & Eat is popular with the eurocrats, and can be found in the more affluent expat areas such as Woluwe and near Place Stephanie in Ixelles. If they were in London they would be based in Stoke Newington. The "Tea" in the title indicates that they specialise in, er, tea, and so they do - they are exclusive distributors of Betjeman and Barton teas in Belgium, but I didn't see much evidence of anyone consuming it. One table were having a bottle of champagne with their meal. I hope they'd finished their shopping. I demonstrated great self control and sipped a glass of house white wine with my smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel whilst observing my fellow shoppers.

The bagel was toasted, and served with lashings of good Scottish salmon, plenty of cream cheese and a very fresh salad. It wasn't cheap at 14.50 euros but if you want cheap, Quick is just across the way. The salad sauce came in a miniature Perrier type green bottle, and although delicious, let's just say I'm glad I wasn't wearing a navy blue dress to spill it on, if you follow me. Sadly it is not one of the products on sale in the outlet, but is made to the chef's closely guarded secret recipe.

With the wine and a tip, there was no change out of 20 euros. But you don't come out smelling of chips.

NICOLAS AND MARTIN

Denizens of the Woluwe/Montgomery areas will know one or both of these pretty restaurants, noticeable by their attractive tropical terrasses which are constantly busy in the warmer months. Vi Hornblower and I often meet for lunch at Le Jardin de Nicolas, where my favourite dish is the "salade folle", or "crazy salad". It is a bit of a unorthodox mixture, with smoked salmon, prawns, foie gras and parma ham sitting side by side on a huge plate with a delicious mixed salad involving both fruit and vegetables. If you didn't want to fanny about with starters, main course and dessert, you could just eat everything off the plate in the right order and call it a 3-course meal.

Le Jardin de Nicolas is also popular for its wide range of cocktails at a very reasonable 7.50 euros a throw, although one criticism is that the tables are a little too close together. However, this is a good excuse to chat to any nice young men who might be dining alone alongside you. Especially when you've had a couple of cocktails. The poor lad who was accosted by Violet and me has probably crossed "gigolo" off his list of career options. But if you are partial to the sophisticated older woman with a taste for fine dining, Nicolas' Garden is the place for you, young man! (The editor has my details).

Salade Folle at Le Jardin de Nicolas

I recently took guests to dinner at Le Martin-Pecheur, sister restaurant to Le Jardin de Nicolas, which has more of a brasserie style. Its attractive terrace was already full, so we were given a table inside, by an open window, which afforded us a little shelter from the noise and pollution of the Boulevard Brand Whitlock.

The menu is - as you might expect from a restaurant named after a kingfisher - largely fish-oriented. The starters, with a few exceptions, are fishy or vegetarian, and the croquettes de scampis are exceptionally generous. I had to explain to my Australian visitors that "scampi" here is not actually scampi, but shrimp, although what we call shrimp they would probably call wichety grubs. An English menu is available, on request.

Main courses offer some meat options - a 250g Belgian fillet steak was served perfectly cooked, with an attractive garnish of salad and frites, and a choice of sauces. My fillets of Dover sole in breadcrumbs were equally delicious, and portions are generous. Lamb kebabs are another meat dish, and the chicken curry, which we spotted someone wolfing down as we walked in, looked and smelled delicious. Be sure to check the blackboards for the day's specials, too. Both Martin's and Nicolas' offer a "lite" option, which is roughly the same dishes without the chips and sauce. Such flexibility is refreshing after the gastro-fascism of some French restaurants, and the busy tables bear testimony to good service.

The desserts are divine: my guests had a simple Dame Blanche and a fresh fruit salad, while I went the whole hog and ordered the Tarte Tatin with vanilla ice cream, drizzled in caramel and Calvados. That certainly hit the spot, and I nearly did a Meg Ryan. The serving staff were efficient, professional and elegant, especially the absolutely charming restaurant manager in a lovely crushed raspberry shirt, all spoke very good English and went out of their way to accommodate my Aussie guests' slightly unorthodox dining etiquette. The waitress didn't even bat an eyelid at being called "mate".

We had a bottle of Bandol rosé, which was kept chilled in an ice bucket (always makes the wine look more expensive, don't you think?). The total bill for one starter, two main courses and three desserts with wine came to 90 euros -- not the cheapest place in town, but good value nonetheless.

Neither Nicolas or Martin take reservations, so be sure to get there in time to bag a good table. They both offer, in addition to the main menu, a selection of snacky dishes, such as different kinds of Croque Monsieur, salads and stir-fries, which makes them ideal for a quick lunch. There is also a child's menu available at both restaurants. Parking is a bit tricky, especially at Le Martin-Pecheur, but both places are less than 5 minutes walk from Montgoméry metro.


Le Jardin de Nicolas
137 avenue de Tervuren
http://www.lejardindenicolas.be/

Le Martin Pecheur
100 boulevard Brand Whitlock
(corner of avenue Georges-Henri)
http://www.lemartinpecheur.be/

BELGA QUEEN

I haven't been taken out for a Valentine's dinner in about 8 years, Harold was never much for wearing his heart on the sleeve of his beige cardigan. So this year I was delighted to be invited by Bert, the last of the German Romantics (that's ironic by the way), to a long lunch at Belga Queen. The catch was, we had to take Bert's Aunty Waltraud who never stops talking. But this turned out to be a blessing in disguise. While she talked, I could sit and take in the surroundings.

Belga Queen is situated in a former bank, and the glory days of Belgian finance are proudly displayed in the marble columns and stained-glass ceiling panels. Before you get to the main restaurant you must pass on your right the cigar lounge and on your left the seafood bar. The main dining room is totally open plan, but different types of seating create different moods. Boring old farts like us were happy to sit up at a standard sized table, but for the trendy power lunches a row of lower tables with comfy armchairs runs the length of one wall. The clientele was trendy, at a guess it's popular with advertising executives and media types. It reminded me a bit of the sort of restaurants that flourished in London in the 80's. By Belgian standards, where the usual choice is 1900 art deco or spit & sawdust, it is cutting edge. The background music was unobtrusive but just loud enough to be identified as cool instrumental soul fusion. In the fashion of Momo's, Buddha Bar and company, a CD of the music selection is available to buy in the restaurant, or you can listen to some samples on their website. I began to regret not having worn a black polo-neck sweater.

It's a huge room, and obviously designed for those with a short attention span, as there are arty features dotted about all over the place to keep you amused. The desk where smart young attendants book you in is situated under a large plaque bearing the names of some 30 famous Belgians, in defiance of the old joke. All the usual suspects - Brel, Magritte, Rubens - but some took me by surprise. Haroun Tazieff, for example, the famous vulcanologist - I never knew he was Belgian. The names are repeated on a life-size silver horse wearing a crown, which stands incongruously amid the tables. In keeping with the occasion, a giant red heart was dangling from the ceiling.

Beautiful young things serve the food with a professionalism that belies their tender years. The boys wear a modern take on the old-fashioned brewery apron tied up at the back with rope, that you will only see in Belgium. An almost identical pair of young Africans with exquisite profiles moved delicately among the tables, and took our orders with beatific smiles, even when obviously flummoxed by Bert's Germanic-accented French.

The food is as much a feast for the eyes as for the palate. Aunt Waltraud guzzled a half dozen oysters, served on a bed of ice, and managed to slip them down and talk without missing a beat. Bert and I started with the Belga Salad, which is a sort of "salade folle" arrangement of pata negra ham, mango slices, smoked salmon, baby prawns, cubes of foie gras and frisee lettuce. The small portion was a perfectly respectable main course, and the large portion would be a whole meal in itself.

It was hard to pick a main course, as they were all so appetizing. Aunty had Belgian fish and chips - sole meuniere, served with a cornet of the most perfect crispy, dry, golden chips. Bert went for the fillet of pike-perch in a beer sauce with fried wild mushrooms artfully sprinkled around the edge, and I could not resist the "coucou de Malines", just so I could say I'd tried cuckoo. I was a bit disappointed to find it was actually chicken, but it appears real cuckoo is fairly inedible. The coucou is served two ways - roasted, on a slice of toasted sweet gingerbread with pear syrup and cider vinaigrette (too many flavours going on there) or in a simple waterzooi, which was my choice. The chicken was tender and succulent, swimming in a buttery juice. We washed it all down with a bottle of white Sancerre, which was a touch on the over fruity side to start with, but got better as the food went down.


We didn't really have room for dessert, but that wasn't going to stop Aunty Waltraud, so we felt obliged to keep her company. I had speculoos ice cream with intensely flavoured raspberries, Bert had the miroir of red fruits, which was a blackberry and raspberry topping on chocolate mousse, and Aunty talked her way through a whirl of egg white while I stared at a sculpture trying to decide if it was a woman's torso, a face, or a deformed tree trunk. We finished on double expressos all round to keep us awake on the journey home.

The service was a little on the slow side, perhaps because the waiting staff had trouble getting to the table with Aunty rabbiting on nineteen to the dozen and waving her napkin about. But the beautiful young things were charming, efficient and discreet as well as being nice to look at.

Oh and I mustn't forget the toilets. Well, I don't want to spoil the surprise, so I'll just say make sure you make a comfort break while you are there. It was the only thing that silenced Aunty Waltraud.

Belga Queen
Rue Fosse aux Loups 32
(metro: Brouckere)
Tel: 02 217 2187
www.belgaqueen.be