ALL GREEK TO ME

I'm not a big fan of Greek food, to be honest. The best Greek meal I ever had was in Paris, in a restaurant in the 14th arrondissement which I think was called Odyssee, and was taken there by a Greek called Pericles. So that's the key. Get a recommendation from a Greek with a name straight out of the classics (but establish that the restaurant is not owned by a member of his or her family). I remember that I had a delicious lamb dish called kleftiko, made with tender baby lamb and yoghurt, which I have never been able to find again, even in Cyprus where they tried to serve me mutton and thought I wouldn't notice. I am now persona non grata in Ayia Napa.



In May I was in Athens for the Euroompah championships, which involved a number of visits to Greek tavernas and other eating establishments. Many of them were chosen at random whilst wandering aimlessly through the Plaka. The only one that stands out is a taverna called Hermion in a courtyard off Pandrossou, where I had a Greek sausage omelette and a beer for lunch. There are some pretty restaurants on the slopes of the Acropolis, but I could not distinguish one from another in terms of food. Not one of them offered kleftiko. There was a fair bit of bouzouki music although to be fair, I didn't hear one smashing plate. I suppose in the current economic climate, they can't afford to be as extravagant as they used to be.

There is one restaurant in the Plaka which is reputed to be one of the best in Athens. Mais bien sur, she blushed modestly. Sadly I did not get a chance to eat at Daphne's since we were so busy with the championships, but if you find yourself in Athens do drop in. I do hope it hasn't been attacked by protesters.



On the last night we had booked a large table for what was meant to be a celebratory dinner in the Thissio district, which is where what's left of Athenian cafe society is to be found. Filistron is known for having the best view of the Acropolis in the whole city. The roof terrace was packed. As we had ended up with "nul points" we were not exactly cheerful, and the thought of another plate of moussaka was depressing us even further. The set meal was a seemingly endless series of plates of food to share. I have to say that, although I'm sure the grub is better than you'll get down by the Plaka, it's a bit like Lebanese food in that there are a limited number of dishes. Stuffed vine leaves, olives, feta cheese, calamari, meatballs, souvlaki, aubergines, when you've worked your way through one lot of meze you've tasted all Greek food has to offer.



However, the view made up for everything. As the sun slowly went down and the sky darkened from duck-egg blue to azure to dark blue to black, the lights on the Parthenon came up, and by the time darkness fell the ancient ruin seemed to hover in the night sky. Magical. No wonder I can't remember anything about the food.

We almost forgot our misery about the competition result. But not quite. Manfred and the boys started singing mournful tunes. We got some very unpleasant looks from couples who were trying to have a romantic evening and whose mood was not being enhanced by Germans singing Leonard Cohen. As if the Greeks didn't have enough to be miserable about.

LA TRUFFE NOIRE

In these apocalyptic times of economic meltdown when we are facing a recession alongside which the Great Depression of 1928 will look like a momentary shortage of cash, it is courageous - some would even say reckless - to set off to eat truffles in a Michelin-starred restaurant. But someone's got to do it, so Scouse Doris and I dusted off the chauffeur and set off for dinner at La Truffe Noire.

Just entering La Truffe Noire is a special experience, ascending the steps of the elegant old townhouse through the imposing cast iron gates, into a world of sheer opulent luxury. The tables in the sumptuously carpeted ground floor dining room are well spaced and beautifully dressed. Not a glass or a spoon out of place. The colours are neutral - beige, cream, dark brown, the colours of truffles in fact. We had a table in the middle of the room where we could observe everything, and were well impressed by the provision of a small table for our handbags. It's such attention to detail which makes the difference between a good restaurant and a really special one, and every detail at La Truffe Noire has been carefully considered and beautifully executed.

Luigi Ciciriello, owner and "Maitre de maison", gave us a potted history of the restaurant which he opened in 1988 and has run single handedly ever since with his small team of highly trained staff. He sources his truffles from Italy, Croatia and the south of France, where the precious tuber melanosporum is traded with as much drama and excitement as oil or diamonds. At the present time, white truffles are trading at around 3,000 euros a kilo. Luigi, like many top class restaurateurs, negotiates the price with his supplier at the beginning of the season for the large amount of truffles he purchases throughout the year. The customers inhale the voluptuous fumes with reverence.

A flight of amuse-bouches, or appetizers, was placed in front of us, consisting of a miniature pumpkin teacake, a chiffony espuma de perdreau et cèpes au riz soufflé, and a bijou crème brulée salé-sucré de foie gras aux pignons de pin, to whet our appetites while we perused the menu. The "menu privilège" which was our choice costs a stonking 225 euros a head, but trust me, you'll remember everything you ate. There is a more reasonable 50-euro menu available at lunch and dinner, although you will have to pay extra for truffles (10 to 20 euros per shaving), and with wine, you'll be lucky to get out for less than 120 euros a head. But if luxury came cheap, it wouldn't be luxury now, would it?

On the wine list is a Chateau Pétrus Cru Hors Classe 1982 at 3,700 euros which made our eyes water a bit. But there are a number of affordable wines on the two impressive wine lists – one French, one not - starting at around the 40 euro mark. We opted for a different wine with each dish, and the sommelier, who clearly knows his stuff, rose to the challenge admirably. He appeared, smiling, with the first of our wines, a glass of something very crisp and white from the Ile de Porquerolles in the south of France. The wine married perfectly with our first course, which was a beef carpaccio dressed at the table by Luigi himself. Two rectangular plates covered with paper thin slices of almost translucent Belgian Bleu des Prés beef were bathed in a truffle oil dressing, mixed by hand for each table, finished off by a generous shaving of aged parmesan and fresh white truffles, and presented with a flourish in a heady waft of truffle aroma.

Luigi presents the truffles to each client on arrival, and one is invited to poke one's nose into the glass jars and breathe deeply. The perfume of truffles is unique. I cannot describe it. Peter Mayle has said it is somewhere between meat and mushroom. If you have never tasted truffles, it is one of those 101 things to do before you die. The flavour is all in the aroma, you taste it through your nose ; the texture is firmer than a mushroom but softer than a nut, somewhat akin to a pistachio. Truffles cannot be farmed, hence their rarity and astronomic price, but the chemical ingredients have been identified and the aroma can be reproduced synthetically in truffle oil. A valuable bit of advice: buy truffle oil in the smallest possible quantity, since the aroma will disappear after a while.

Next followed a ravioli farci de truffes aux 3 céléris. Three wafer-thin ravioli containing slivers of black truffle, basking in a nage or soup made from duck stock and fresh cream, decorated with a few ultra thin sticks of lightly-poached baby celery heart. The marriage of flavours worked perfectly. Doris said the nage tasted like the best mushroom soup in the world. The sommelier brought us a glass of Slovenian Renski Rizling, which was surprisingly good. Slightly fruitier than the Porquerolles, it set the ravioli off to perfection. I was impressed to see that wines from "New Europe" are finally being treated seriously.

Sound a fanfare for for the signature dish - "La Croque au Sel" - a whole 40g Périgord truffle (about the size of a small Brussels sprout) cooked in a rich sauce périgourdine, which sat in its own small detachable bowl in the middle of a specially handmade terracotta dish commissioned specially for the restaurant from a local potter, on which were laid out a row of tiny slices of melba toast, a small bowl of fleur de sel and a quenelle of creamy white truffle butter. Luigi demonstrated how to eat it, placing a sliver of butter on a piece of toast, then adding a tiny piece of truffle in its unctuous sauce, and sprinkling a few grains of fleur de sel on top before popping it into your mouth, closing your eyes and ascending to heaven. The wine served with this was a Tuscan Montechiaro which again went perfectly with the dish. All the wines are selected personally by Luigi and supplied direct from the growers. The rich Périgourdine sauce with a hint of Madeira was positively sinful.

Just when you thought it couldn't get any better, God save the cheese. Swiss Tete de Moine shaved paper-thin and fashioned into exquisite flowers, drizzled with honey and – I kid you not - flakes of Cohiba tobacco (Doris had just given up the weed but made an exception for this) with some truffled Brillat-Savarin. A witty touch, since it was the great French food writer Brillat-Savarin who dubbed the knobbly black fungi "Diamonds of the kitchen".

We tried to keep the orgasmic moaning down as we ate, and watched the Maestro work the room. In between dressing carpaccios of beef or salmon, thrusting customers' noses into the jars of truffles, meeting and greeting and keeping a gimlet eye on his irreproachable staff, he found time to stop and chat at length with each table in English, French, Italian or Japanese. No wonder he has "The Magician" inscribed on his office door.

On the first floor is a cool smoking room, well ventilated and furnished with masculine leather sofas, and next door a private dining room for up to 20 guests. If you're in charge of the office Christmas party this year, bear in mind that group menus start at 139 euros a head including wine. This is where the likes of Prince Felipe of Spain, Prince Charles, President Barroso, and the great and the good have dined. It is also where Luigi keeps his "museum" of leather-bound wine lists dating back to the restaurant's beginnings in 1988, each one decorated by hand by a different artist. Luigi is a discerning patron of the arts as can be seen from the various paintings and sculptures dotted throughout the restaurant, many of them on a truffle theme. This is obviously so much more than a restaurant to him.

The two chefs Aziz Bhatti and Erik Lindelauf have been with Luigi almost since the beginning. Even if you choose to pass on truffles, the cuisine stands on merit alone and would still richly deserve the Michelin star which was awarded last year. Everything is made by hand, down to the mini bread rolls flavoured with tomato and rosemary. The waiting staff of three charming young men (most appreciated by two ladies of a certain age) are faultless, discreet, appearing just at the right moment and melting back into the carpet like ghosts. They discreetly watch every table, ready to spring to your assistance if you require anything.

Dessert was a duo of apple crème brulée studded with truffles, and a scoop of home made vanilla ice cream also containing truffles. I can't in all honesty say the truffles added anything to the dessert beyond novelty value, but they are the whole raison d'etre of the restaurant and Luigi would put them in the coffee if he could. Petits fours were served with jasmine tea and a glass of Frangelico, Doris's favourite liqueur, from the well stocked bar.

L'Atelier de la Truffe Noire is the more democratically priced concept store and restaurant at 300 avenue Louise, where you can sample 3, 4 or 5 courses for between 35 and 95 euros, or even have the chef come round and prepare your meal at home. On the restaurant's smart trilingual website Luigi runs competitions for his regular customers, with fabulous prizes, ranging from a weekend in a Tuscan vineyard or in champagne country at the wheel of a Maserati, to a week's holiday in Slovenia or Croatia.

From the truffle-themed napkins to the unique tableware, La Truffe Noire bears testimony to the passion and dedication of Luigi Ciciriello. Each evening's service is a performance. I imagine his shoulders drooping when the last customer has gone. To quote the Maestro: "It's not a restaurant, it's a theatre. And a love affair."

Indulge yourself while you still can. The end is nigh.

La Truffe Noire

Boulevard de la Cambre 12

1000 Brussels

Tel : 02 640 44 22

http :www.truffenoire.com

IN A RIGHT TIZI

Couscous (as you all know) is the staple dish of the Maghreb, i.e. Tunisia, Algeria and Morocco. Basically it involves a bowl of steamed cracked wheat accompanied by root vegetables cooked in a soup, plus some meat, spicy mutton sausages called merguez, or (in Tunisia only) fish. The soup includes five basic vegetables: carrots, celery, turnips, onions, and courgettes. You can also add tomatoes or tomato paste, broad beans, chick peas, or capsicum peppers.

I am an expert on couscous, having criss-crossed the Sahara on a camel with my very own Berber tribe, and can tell you there is a world of difference between the insipid Moroccan style couscous you will get at fancy-ass places like Kasbah or Le Petit Chouia and a real Berber couscous. I actually make my own in time-honoured fashion, rolling the dampened and oiled cracked wheat gently under my armpit whilst ululating wildly, then steaming it in a traditional stainless steel couscoussiere over the meat and vegetables in their sauce.

Squatting improves the flavour

If you are making it at home, let me give you a couple of tips: whatever it says on the packet, do NOT prepare the cracked wheat by pouring boiling water over it and leaving it for five minutes! The warm salted water has to be added a little at a time and allowed to swell the grain which is then gently sifted with the fingers (or a fork) to separate them. A little olive oil at some point in the preparation can help lift and separate. When an equal amount of water (i.e. one cup for one cup of grain) has been added in stages, then the grain is steamed for 20 minutes or so, if possible over the soup and vegetables in which you may also cook the lamb or the chicken to add flavour. If you don't have a couscous steamer, you can use a regular vegetable steamer with a layer of clean cotton or muslin in the bottom to stop the grains trickling through. The prepared couscous should be pale yellow and fluffy, with the grains moist but separate. My second tip is, don't buy your merguez at a supermarket. Only a halal butcher (plenty around St Josse or Anderlecht) will supply authentic spicy mutton sausages as well as mutton and lamb.

You may have tried couscous for the first time here in Brussels and been somewhat underwhelmed. There are not many couscous restaurants which get a star rating from me, and those that do will likely be in Marrakesh or Paris rather than Brussels. Real natives (of North Africa, not Belgium) will tell you the best are to be found in St Gilles, all of them on the Rue de Moscou. It's a small street, with four restaurants in it, ALL of which are couscous joints! With some relief I located the perfect Berber couscous at one of them, Le Tizi Ouzou, which is Algerian, as opposed to Moroccan. This does matter, believe me. Tizi Ouzou, or “Tizi” as it is known to its denizens, is the capital of Kabylie, the predominantly Berber coastal region between Algiers and the Tunisian border whence hail Zinedine Zidan, and the fathers of actors Isabelle Adjani and Dany Boon. The restaurant was the first couscous house to open in Brussels over 40 years ago, and despite the competition that has opened up in the street, is still going strong.

Le Tizi Ouzou is an unpretentious little place offering a selection of couscous and tagine dishes as well as classic starters such as “brik à l'oeuf” (a kind of egg roll, make with a type of filo pastry called “brik” in Algeria and “warka” in Morocco), “pastilla” (pigeon pie) and chorba spicy soup Don't bother with a starter before a couscous as it usually comes as an “All you can eat” deal, and they will top up your bowl on request. The grain is light yellow, devoid of raisins or any of that Tunisian frippery, and perfectly fluffy. The sauce is a full-bodied soup with plenty of colour and flavour. The vegetables are not overcooked, and the kick-ass hot paste known as harissa is served in a little pot on the side. The "couscous maison" is served with stewed mutton, which you may never have tasted and is worth a try – it is succulent and melts in the mouth, at a most reasonable 17 euros. The wine list includes such Algerian specialities as Médéa, Mascara and Cuvée du Président, as well as house wines. The restaurant is simple and clean, with typical North African blue and white tiles on the walls. The waitress is a jolly motherly type who pours a mean mint tea, serving it in the traditional silver teapot with a shaker of orange flower water. If you've got any room left after your epic couscous you could accompany your mint tea with an oriental pastry or some fresh dates.

The eyes follow you round the room

We came out, stuffed, having spent 25 euros a head, including wine, mint tea, a tip and a visit to Chef in his kitchen. As I departed I had an overwhelming urge to ululate.


Le Tizi Ouzou
Rue de Moscou 36
1060 St Gilles
Tel: 02 538 1533

IL PICCOLO PADRINO

Il Piccolo Padrino and its listed wall

There are a number of Italian pizza joints down avenue Georges Henri, and I thought I'd tried them all, but it turned out I was wrong. Il Piccolo Padrino on the corner of rue Prekelinden is a cut above the others. You can't miss it, it's the one with the very old original advert painted on the wall, which dates from 1925 and used to alert passers-by to the pharmacy underneath. The advertisement was listed in 2004.

The seasonal menu boasted that "la saison des cèpes" had arrived. "Oooooh cèpes!" cried Scouse Doris and Rupert Posh-Geordie in unison. Cèpes, as you will know, are a type of mushroom, known variously as porcini, boletus edulis, penny buns or, in remoter parts of the north-east "squirrel's bread". The specials board boasted "escalope aux cèpes" and some other dishes featuring the famed fungus.

I often order veal in Italian restaurants as you can't find it anywhere else. Rupert, an exiled Prince of Northumbria, shares my love of the tender calf meat. Despite having grown up in various royal palaces across Europe, he is not squeamish about eating the dear little calves with their big eyes. In perfectly slurred Italian he ordered "escalope di vitello ai porcini", and I ordered a classic escalope milanese. His came swimming in rich gravy adorned with the prized fungus and roasted cherry tomatoes, and mine was lightly fried in golden breadcrumbs and served with the traditional lemon and a bit of salad on the side, with a separate bowl of spaghetti in tomato sauce. Doris went for tagliolini aux cèpes, and we washed it all down with a litre carafe of house red. The cèpes were delicious, quite sweet and tender. The mushroom season is starting, and I resolved to dig out my favourite mushroom recipes for the colder weather.

Squirrel's bread - boletus - porcini - cèpes - penny buns

The Padrino is quite a smart modern restaurant, no murals of Vesuvius or Venetian gondolas here thank you very much. I would only mark it down on two things: (a) the toilets, which were clean but very basic; and (b) the panna cotta. I did ask - as I always do - if the panna cotta is home made, and they replied - as they always do - "of course!" I do believe their panna cotta was home made, however it was not really a panna cotta. The chef had mixed stiffened egg whites in and turned it into a panna cotta flavoured mousse. It was very nice, but it wasn't a panna cotta, which should have a consistency somewhere between jelly and blancmange. Next time I'll go for the tiramisu.

They offer a wide selection of pizza, to eat in or take away.

Damage, around 30 euro a head, without starters.

Il Piccolo Padrino
350 avenue Georges Henri
1200 Woluwe St LambertTél: 02 736 50 01

BRITANNIA FIGHTS BACK

After my ranting rage about Larousse's treacherous slander of British cuisine, I have just completed a visit to Albion's shores and have visited a series of excellent eateries from central London to the wilds of Oxfordshire via the bracing beaches of Sussex. All I can say to Monsieur Larousse is: ah speet on yeur overpriced French foreign meuck, and yeur muzzair was a 'amster!!


London:

Gourmet Burger Kitchen (GBK), Baker Street and elsewhere
Chain of simple burger restaurants, burgers are made from ground beef and cooked to order. Various options, food is fresh and reasonably priced.

Regency Cafe
The uncontested star of greasy spoons, this spotless corner caff has featured in the film "Layer Cake", as well as Masterchef 2011 and Andrew Neill on Class. The menu is standard British caff fare - all-day breakfasts, sausage & mash, etc. - and the place is always packed with builders, taxi drivers and office workers during the week. Nuff said.

The Betjeman Arms, St Pancras International Station
I always arrange to get the 14.35 Eurostar back from London so that I can have lunch here. Their fish & chips are stonkingly good - and that's from someone who lives in Belgium.

Pompidou
Another simple caff situated on the Pentonville Road between York Way and Caledonian Road, a couple of minutes' walk from St Pancras. Miles better than all those chain coffee shops like Costa Packet or Caffe Zero that abound in the area. I had a simple toasted bagel with butter and jam and a latte, but my nose was twitching at some huge salads two tables down which were emanating freshness.


Berks, Bucks & Oxon

The Shoulder of Mutton, Playhatch, Berks
Lovely olde-worlde country gastropub with superior bar food. There's also The Crown in the same village if there's no room at this inn.

The London Street Brasserie, Reading, Berks
If you're having a day's retail therapy in the Oracle, the LSB is a great place to set your bags down for a couple of hours. Classier than the chain restaurants on the riverside, less flashy than the Jamie Oliver place, the food is good, fresh, beautifully presented and served with a smile. The staff are professional and know about the food and wines. Extremely reasonable prices for such high quality.

The Bird in Hand, Sonning Common, Berks
Another country gastropub, pleasant environment, fresh chunky sandwiches and cider. No such thing as a ploughman's lunch any more, I was told by the barman. Shame. I am going to start a movement to bring it back.

The Kingswell Hotel, Harwell, Oxon
Superb 3-course meal for half the price you would pay for similar quality in London. (About 30 quid a head). The hotel is in the pretty village of Harwell.

The Barge, Woolstone, Milton Keynes
Charming olde-worlde pub with an airy conservatory restaurant, or you can eat in the bar or at a table outside in the garden.

Sussex
The Crown & Anchor, Shoreham By Sea
Nothing much to look at from the street, but a charming conservatory restaurant at the back and a terrace overlooking the river Adur. Selection of chunky club sandwiches, salads or hot dishes.

Carats, Southwick Beach, Portslade
The beachside greasy spoon is a popular Sunday brunch venue for locals and a few celebs - Chris Evans is rumoured to have been spotted here tucking into a bacon sarnie. You'll have to queue for 20 minutes or so if you come between 11 and 12 on a Sunday, but it's worth it. The Carats Breakfast at 5.65 will set you up for a long walk along the beach.


So, Monsieur Larousse, put zat in your peep and smirk it.

LE COQ EN PATE

I may have not been chosen for The Rapture, but there are certain restaurants that make you want to stay on earth. Brussels' Le Coq en Pate is one of them. Tucked away in a quiet road behind a park in Woluwé-St Lambert, I had long wanted to try this restaurant which has been awarded one "couvert" (knife and fork - honourable mention) in the Benelux Michelin Guide, and which doesn't take walk-ins (I've tried). As Scouse Doris and I had birthdays fairly close together, it seemed like the ideal opportunity for a leisurely Sunday outing for Ladies Who Lunch. The restaurant, which is discreet enough that you may have passed it several times without even noticing it is there, is fairly small and decorated in a clean 1980's style with leather banquettes and Venetian blinds. There were two tables against the wall occupied by single ladies of a certain age having lunch in solitary splendour. Most of the diners were even older than myself, which I take to be a sign of a good restaurant.

We sat by the window and perused the menu. There is an à la carte menu, and two tasting menus, one at 30 euros and one at 45 euros. We went for the 45 euros tasting menu, and ordered two glasses of chilled prosecco with peach liqueur - a kir royale with a difference - to kick start our gastronomic adventure. While we were sipping our apéritifs, we amused ourselves with the pipettes of olive oil supplied on the table.

The "mise en bouche" arrived almost immediately, a large square slate on which five items sat: these were not on the menu, but I do remember they were a "cappuccino de mortadelle", a gazpacho and a pea soup, all served in glasses, and two of them topped with whipped sour cream. All three were tiny, beautiful and packed with flavour. I believe in the trade this sort of presentation is known as a "flight" of dishes. To accompany these, a tiny cheese scone and a tiny piece of cornbread completed the composition.The taste of garden peas just exploded in my mouth. The mortadelle cappuccino was pure froth, tasting of ham. Doris was enamoured of the gazpacho, which looked like a tiny serving of strawberries and cream but the flavours of tomato and cucumber were intense. It was all a bit Heston Blumenthal, our eyes seeing one thing and our taste buds experiencing another, but a great introduction to what was to follow.

First starter: three asparagus sticks in a egg pesto dressing, served with scallops (St Jacques) and salami chips, a spinach (?) sauce and a test-tube of Vichysoisse. And a nice shot of Doris' cleavage.

Second starter: half a pacchero (pasta tube, a bit like cannelloni) with a mortadelle and salami stuffing, with a tiny egg of buffalo mozzarella and a sliver of Spanish cured ham, served on a hubcap.

Main course: one tiny, perfectly slow-cooked spare rib of pork in a honey-spicy glaze, served with a glazed lettuce leaf and something else, damned if I know, I was off with the fairies by this time. Each of the three savoury courses came with a glass of suitably matched wine - two whites and a red.

The dessert(s): the pièce de résistance. A flight of five mini-desserts on a slate: melon sorbet; skewer of fresh pineapple chunks with cinnamon; lemon meringue; strawberries with cream; fresh sweet orange and pineapple juice with pulp. All TOTALLY delicious.

To finish: coffee, served with mini Madeleines and a box of the lightest, whitest, crispest meringues you have ever tasted. I ate about half the box, and normally I wouldn't touch a meringue.

We drifted out of the restaurant on a cloud of what I can only compare to post-coital afterglow. Doris said it was a shame those two ladies never spoke to each other throughout their meal. But I sort of understood why they didn't. You don't want to talk to the neighbours while you're having sex, do you?

Le Coq en Pate
Tomberg 279
1200 Woluwe St Lambert
Tel: 02 762 1971

O BIFANAS (CHEZ SEBASTIAO)

Gonzo claimed it was the best Portuguese restaurant in Brussels, so one rainy January night after a few Kwaks with Scouse Doris and her new paramour Rupert Posh-Geordie, we staggered up the rue de l'Ecuyer and swung a right into the Ilot Sacré, as that restaurant-jammed part of the old town is known. O Bifanas on the rue des Dominicains is tiny but has been recently refurbished – Roopers remembered it as a tiny oilcloth-tabled cantina in the old days.

Sebastiao Garcia, the boss, has the most fabulous Hercule Poirot style moustache, sadly I didn’t have my camera with me or I would have taken a picture of me fondling it. The menu encompasses meat and fish dishes, as we were sat by the tropical fishtank we opted for the latter. The fish in the tank eyed us with disdain, if not downright hatred.

I have no clue about Portuguese food, except a vague memory of a New Year with Harold in Lisbon a number of years ago when I recall eating very well, although no idea what. I know that Bacalao, or salt cod, is very, well, salty. As it was a bit late, we skipped the starter and ordered main courses directly. I opted for the caldeirada de peixe which is a big fish stew. Roopers knew a bit about Portuguese food and ordered the roasted cod for himself and the “bar” or sea bass for Scouse Doris. We ordered a pitcher of house white to go with it, which came in a most original glass jug which was weighted so as to tip naturally into the correct angle for pouring. Very clever.

While we waited we were served a complimentary plate of delicious finely sliced raw ham, and a bowl of buttery yellow-green olives sprinkled with rock salt. Salt, decidedly, is an important part of Portuguese cuisine.

Both the white fish dishes came on a rectangular plate with vegetables and beautiful little new potatoes roasted in their skins. My caldeirada, however, was the pièce de résistance. I was first issued with a great big bib adorned with a picture of a lobster. The reason for this became clear when the dish arrived in a hinged metal cauldron, hence the name I suppose, and Sebastiao unhooked the lid with a flourish to reveal the most beautiful and fragrant stew you have ever seen. There were lobster claws, there was a king prawn, and lumps of skate, and other white fish, in the most delicious orange-tinted broth which would have made a delicious fish soup on its own. I was equipped with all the necessary tools – a big spoon for the broth, a knife and fork and a crochet hook for digging into the lobster claws. I prepared to get myself into one delicious mess.

Some half an hour later I emerged from the primeval soup, my bib generously splashed and licking my chops. The creatures in the fishtank had now turned their backs on us in disgust. Two pitchers of the house white had slipped down nicely. Doris had found her sea bass a bit on the salty side, but Roops enjoyed his roasted cod.

While Doris and Roops went outside for a fag, I mentioned Gonzo to the guv'nor, who beamed broadly, and our coffees arrived with a complimentary snifter - three massive glasses of Portuguese brandy. Cheers, Gonzo! Much as I would have loved a pasteis de nata, I was stuffed. But I shall certainly reserve space next time, and either eat meat or sit further away from the fishtank.

It’s not the cheapest restaurant in town – but situated on the Rue des Dominicains alongside Chez Vincent and Scheltema, it wouldn’t be. We ended up coughing for about 32 euros a head, without ordering starter or dessert, but got complimentary nibbles and pousse-café. Sebastiao waved us off into the wet night, his moustaches curling in the rain. The fishtank bubbles flared briefly with a rude noise.

O Bifanas (Chez Sebastiao)

30 rue des Dominicains

1000 Brussels