BRASSERIE GRIMBERGEN

 

CAFE BRASSERIE GRIMBERGEN

Brasserie Grimbergen has been there for as long as I can remember, sitting on a prominent corner of the Sainte Catherine district.  It is on the ground floor of a very attractive old Flemish red-brick building with smallish windows and so looks more like a pub, and the name does not indicate that it serves much other than beer.  So I was quite surprised when I found it housed a pleasant spacious restaurant inside, thanks to Zed and Mike Da Hat who were celebrating her (cough)th birthday in Brussels.

A bit of history.  Zed is largely responsible for my online presence.  Back in 2005 when I had just pitched up in this fair city I was looking for a way to continue my restaurant reviews and life lessons.   In the Sunday Times I read an article about women bloggers, and one of those featured was “My Boyfriend is a Twat”, which, if nothing else, catches your attention.  This blog had already won an award and was written by a British woman who, it turned out, lived in Brussels.  

 

So I left a comment on her blog, she left a comment on mine (that was bloggers’ etiquette back in the day) and we exchanged phone numbers.  She phoned me out of the blue one night.  We met up, she introduced me to other Brussels bloggers and before we knew it there was a whole gang of us.    We even went out for a Brussels Bloggers’ Christmas Dinner.  

 

The title of her blog was the result of a bet between her and her then fella, known as Quarsan for reasons best left unsaid.  He was not remotely a Twat to be honest.    She wrote about him and his slightly idiosyncratic northern comments, and their life with her three teenage kids, in a witty and comical way.  Her blog won the Best European Blog award (the “Bloggies”)  three times in a row.  She even published a book of their conversations.  The Guardian did a piece on her.  Blogging was the new rock ‘n’ roll for about a year or two.  Some female bloggers such as Petite Anglaise, Girl with a One Track Mind and Belle de Jour, became internet sensations.  There were some blogs that were inspired, such as Gorilla Bananas (male), who stayed in character as a gorilla commenting on human behaviour, or Guyana Gyal who blogged in Guyanese patois.  Many of us adopted a “persona” through which to blog. (Spoiler: I am not really a posh English widow in a flowery dress). Some got published, some self-published.  A blogger called Mike Atkinson compiled a book of blog posts for Comic Relief in which I was flattered to be featured with one of my best blog posts if I say so myself.   I was a prolific blogger and dare I modestly say it some of my posts were quite funny, poking gentle fun at my employer, my soon to be ex husband, my friends, and the Belgians, all under whimsical pseudonyms.  I also wrote a regular restaurant review in a Brussels monthly freesheet. 

 

But as is the way of fads, people ran out of things to say, others had busy lives,  years went by, blogging gave way to Facebook and Twitter, and we all drifted apart, although many of us are still friends on Facebook to this day.   Zed and the Twat split up, the Twat moved back to his native Cumbria,  Zed later moved to England too, and started up a new blog called “Learning English Again”.  The Twat sadly got cancer and died. 

 

Zed was often back in Brussels to visit her three kids and then her grandchildren but apart from a brief encounter at the Christmas market a few years back, we never managed to hook up, until yesterday, when by a fortuitous alignment of the stars, we managed to rendezvous in a bar downtown.  After a few jars we decided to go and eat together.  Zed had her sights set on Brasserie Grimbergen, which I knew vaguely from outside but thought it was just a cafe-bar. It turns out it’s quite a smart restaurant with an extensive, very Belgian menu.  Nothing innovative but some good old Belgian staples which hit Zed’s nostalgia button. It seemed fitting that I should write a blog restaurant review in the presence of my mentor. Although this has turned out to be more about blogging than about the restaurant. 

 

 

 

Unfortunately we were nattering so much that I clean forgot to take photographs of the food, so I’m using stock photos here.  Zed and Mike had carbonnades flamandes with chips.  I ordered “fish and chips” which turned out to be large cod fillets in a sauce with mashed potato. Nothing like fish and chips, and we had to order extra chips.  Belgian surrealism at its best.  Not the cheapest place in town - we were shocked to see under the heading “snacks” a portion of cheese or charcuterie at 17,50 euros, almost the price of a main dish.  Wine was expensive by the bottle but they do a house wine in carafes.  This is a restaurant aimed at tourists in my opinion but is always a pleasant place to drink an Abbaye beer on the terrace in summer.

FEED THE WORKERS

BOUILLON BRUXELLES

In my former life as an exotic dancer at the Folies Bergère (see Chocs Away! Old Girl passim) I was a regular diner at Chartier, a very old canteen type restaurant or “bouillon” that was established in the 19th century to enable the working classes to eat out within their limited budget. At one time there were more than 250 bouillons in Paris. The decor at Chartier has not changed in over 100 years - tables seating at least six which are filled up so you end up talking to your neighbours. I once sat next to an old man who said he’d been eating there since the 1920s. There were hat racks and serviette drawers and a Madame who rang up every dish as it came out of the kitchen, which the waiters had to tally up at the end of the sitting. The food was simple - egg mayonnaise or a slice of brawn, for example, as starters, or a main course of steak & chips, tripe or lentils with bacon, and all at unbeatable prices. The wine came in jugs and was cheap as chips. The waiters had been there forever and could remember dozens of orders without writing anything down, or just by scribbling numbers on the paper tablecloth. Many a jolly evening was spent there and at its erstwhile sister restaurant in rue du Commerce, which has now been sold and gone upmarket.

With the changes in culinary fashions and the increased sophistication of the erstwhile working class, the "bouillon" went out of fashion, the ornate dining halls were sold off and when I was there in the 1980s there were only a few left.  However, perhaps as a counteroffensive to the already offensive O'Tacos and their ilk, the cheap & cheerful wholesome canteen is making a comeback.  Thanks to featuring in “Europe on $5 a day” and other dog-eared backpacker classics, Chartier has now got too popular for its own good and has had to buy out the café next door just to put the queue, which runs to about an hour and a half on an average night. It has set up two more restaurants at Montparnasse and the Gare de l’Est. There are other, smaller bouillons still running in Paris, which serve the same type of fare in a somewhat less frenetic atmosphere, and a new chain called simply “Bouillon” which has picked up the formula and run with it. Bouillon have now opened up in Brussels.


In Brussels the nearest we have to a bouillon is Chez Léon, which specializes in mussels, but serves many other dishes with the same bustle and apparent chaos of its Parisian counterparts. It even has a Madame with a gimlet eye who patrols the labyrinthine premises spotting immediately if the wrong cutlery has been used.

During lockdown a number of old established Brussels eateries went under, including, sadly, the famous Scheltema on rue des Dominicains. Bouillon Bruxelles has freshened up the classic wood-panelled interior with its green leather benches and art-deco ceiling, which is the perfect decor for a turn-of-the-century bouillon. This required a try-out so Cracklin’ Rosie and Mr Greenfingers won a draw for a guest slot on Daphne’s Dinners, largely by being the only bidders. Rosie got her monicker because she makes the best Sunday roast dinner this side of the Channel, particularly her roast pork with crackling. Mr G is a keen gardener and is the Adam Frost of Woluwe St Pierre, with a nice line in tomato plants.



Rosie had done her back in lifting a particularly heavy duty tray of crackling out of the oven which she was donating to the Ukraine as tank armour, and was walking with great difficulty, but bravely soldiering on in the name of gustatory research. Mr G was sporting a new coat which he thought made him look like Luther (we wish!) but put me more in mind of Arthur Daley. Younger readers may have to google that.


The booking system at Bouillon is tortuous. No matter how far in advance you book, the website will tell you there are no places available and invite you to put yourself down on the waiting list. About three days before your booking you will receive a confirmation. A day before the booking they will ask YOU to reconfirm. And the day of the booking they send you another reminder. It’s not as if they are half empty, on a Saturday night it was heaving and they were turning away people at the door. It is a lot of hassle, and I only wish I could say it was worth it.

Despite the paper tablecloths, Bouillon still feels a bit too upmarket for a real bouillon.  The front of house staff are very young, and clearly benefiting from the post-pandemic recruitment boom in the hospitality industry. The paper menus in red and white recall Chartier in Paris, as do some of the dishes. The seafood is displayed just inside the entrance. Mr Greenfingers had eaten in the old Scheltema and said they had done a good job on the renovation, maintaining the old-school look.

Mr G ordered oysters, which arrived a good ten minutes before everyone else’s starter. Rosie ordered a croquette of minced pig’s trotter (!) and I went for an old favourite from Chartier, celery remoulade - grated celeriac in a remoulade sauce. Main courses were, well, a bit disappointing. Rosie had Liège style meatballs with fries, which came in a rich dark sauce (made with sirop de Liège if I’m not mistaken) but looked a bit dry. I had a vol au vent with fries which was basically two squares of puff pastry waving desperately for help from a bowl of pulled chicken in watery insipid flavourless sauce. A bit of cream might have saved it, and a chicken stock cube. Disappointing. Didn’t finish it. Mr G made the most sensible choice, a simple steak-frites.

(Photo credit:  Mostly Crackling Rosie, some mine)

We had noticed on our walk up to rue des Dominicains a new branch of La Fleur du Pain, the superb French bakery that already has six branches in Brussels. Bouillon charges for bread and butter which is not very French, but I suppose the low prices of the dishes won’t butter any parsnips so they have to make it up on drinks (which are not cheap) and vegetable sides. At least the bread from Fleur de Pain is worth paying for and fresh every day.

Rosie and I shared a bottle of Touraine Sauvignon at 32 euros and Mr G had a very large bottle of Petrus Grande Réserve beer. At 20 euros for 70 cl this works out pretty expensive by the glass, but see previous paragraph. They did at least put the wine in an ice bucket, unlike Chartier where the - admittedly much cheaper - house wine comes in Duralex jugs and is plonked unceremoniously on the table.



The atmosphere is not what you come to expect in a bouillon. Although full, the restaurant was quiet - and this was a Saturday night. The service was prompt and polite but the very young staff lacked the nonchalance of an old unbowed bouillon waiter who deigns to honour you with his attention. At a guess the bill worked out to about 40 euros a head, without dessert, almost "proper" restaurant prices. We all agreed that it was worth investigating but not worth a second visit.

We passed on desserts, which were not very exciting, and went across to La Mort Subite for an after-dinner snifter. An ancient beer hall, it is a little on the stark side but mercifully free of television monitors or music. After that we repaired to the terrace of the Café Métropole for Irish & French coffees and brandy and cigarettes, before rolling onto the metro in a homeward direction.

Bouillon Bruxelles

Rue des Dominicains 7-9

Tel:  02 512 2084

Closed Monday & Tuesday, Sunday evening