Going Dutch in the Philippines

Check out Philippine slide show
(I'm too lazy to read)

Video: "Eating Mussels the Belgian Way"

I must have been so enamored of the sights, museums, peeing statues or comic strip murals, but my newly-found liking for Belgian beer was the main culprit in my inexcusable gastronomic oversight. The main focus was on trying a different Belgian beer at each meal, thus after an eternity - four whole days - in Belgium I still hadn't even partaken of their national dish - a pot of steaming mussels, marinated in the sauce of your choice. So, at dinnertime I casually mentioned it to Luc.

"Mussels? You want mussels?", he sounded incredulous.
"Of course I want mussels! I'm in Belgium, am I not?", said I.
"Now?!", Luc wanted to know.

Sensing my eagerness, he pondered this matter for a few minutes, then finally weighed in. "Well, we could go to any of the restaurants around here", waving his hand to indicate the establishments circling the market square in Ghent. "All of them are good, but if you can hold on for one more day I will take you to the best place for mussels in all of Belgium."

The best mussels in Belgium? Who could resist such an offer? Later, Luc elaborated a bit more on his plan, but did not give away most of the details. He only instructed me to wait at the hostel the following morning, and he'd drop by in his car since the place was roughly an hour away. At the sound of the word "car", my ears perked up. Roadtrip!!

It was a gorgeous late summer day. Luc showed up at the appointed hour in his open-top Mercedes, and minutes later we were on the highway. To where? "We're going to cross the border into the Netherlands and visit a small town known for their mussels".

Whoa?! I could scarcely believe his words. After days of extolling the virtues of Belgian cuisine and beer, lambasting Dutch food as "inedible", and joking (or maybe he wasn't) that "we use Heineken to wash dishes", now we're going to Dutch country to wolf down the national dish of Belgium? Excuse me, but my mathematical brain is screaming "This does not compute!".

"It's quite simple, really", Luc admitted, somewhat sheepishly, "Most of the mussels consumed in Belgium are actually grown in the Netherlands". So there. One of life's great ironies. He added, "And this part of Netherlands used to be part of Belgium, and even up to now they identify more closely with us". We quickly drove through the Belgian countryside into arch-rival territory (customs control paid no heed), turned off the main highway into a narrow two-lane road, and soon Luc was giving me a lesson on license plate design. "See that car in front of us? The red and white plate? That's registered in Belgium. I bet he's going to the same place as we are". Considering that the area consisted solely of corn fields and small towns of the "don't blink or you'll miss it" variety, that seemed like a safe bet.

Yet another surprise was in store for me. As we neared Musseltown, I strained my eyes to read the welcome sign and burst out laughing. "Welcome to Philippine". So, this was where everyone flocked for jumbo mussels - a tiny town named after Spain's King Philip II (factoid of the day: the Spanish ruled the Netherlands in the 1500s) consisting of eight restaurants specializing in mussels served in huge pots.

Our restaurant, smack right in front of the town's giant Mussel monument (picture somewhere in the slide show), served them "all-you-can-eat" style for about EUR 26. Salivating at the thought of going hog wild and with the drive making us hungry, Luc and I worked on the initial pot with great enthusiasm. Amused at my efforts to separate the mussels from their shells, he did take time out to demonstrate the "Belgian way" of eating mussels, elegant in its efficiency.

Much to our dismay, even our combined efforts were not enough to finish this one (and we tried to ignore the Belgian fries). I attributed our failure to the fact that the mussels were incredibly huge, "jumbo" seemed quite the understatement. Our waitress remarked sympathetically, "Yes, it is quite a lot of food - about 3.5 kilos", which caused my jaw to drop (and my head to spin from all that uric acid), before scurrying off to attend to the two busloads of senior citizen day trippers from Wallonia. I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Philippine as an unlikely foodie destination. The Dutch might have their culinary failings, but Belgian food here is first-rate.



P.S. This is the last post from the Belgium chronicles. Thanks for reading! If you've missed the previous posts or wish to be entertained by my fine writing yet again, here are all the Belgium posts. I'm off to plan the next adventure.

A Liberal Sprinkling of Foot Powder is in Order

After an entire day of sightseeing, I greeted Luc's suggestion of a pre-dinner drink with great enthusiasm, eager as I was to sample yet another of Belgium's fine beers. We made our way to the Dulle Griet bar situated right by the market square in Ghent, which boasts a selection of over 250 beers. We plopped ourselves at one of the outdoor tables, and soon the waiter arrived.

Luc had suggested we try Kwak beer, partly due to its distinctive round bottomed glass, held in place by a wooden stand. (This brought back unpleasant memories of Chemistry lab in college, a subject I passed solely based on my skill in picking lab partners). The waiter replied that since these Kwak beer glasses are among the most favored by fleet-footed, sticky-fingered customers, then we'd have to consume the beers inside. Reluctantly, we left the nice weather outside and found a table indoors. Although quite a popular local and tourist hangout, at the moment it was somewhat empty.

After confirming that we indeed wanted to drink Kwak, the waiter then made quite an unusual request. "Please give me one of your shoes". Confused, I glanced quizzically at Luc, in case something got lost in translation. He smiled and nodded, confirming that I had heard correctly. "What's he gonna do with our shoes?", I asked, wondering aloud more than expecting an answer from him. Turning to the waiter, I asked "Are you sure?!" Not that I doubted his grasp of English, but my question was more out of concern for his health, as I pictured his fingers handling one of the well-worn brown sandals which my bare feet had logged miles in during the trip, and which I imagined must surely be fermenting with various strains of bacteria, microbes, dust, dirt, and other undesirable elements visible only under a microscope in...where else? Chemistry lab! (Involuntary shiver).

His nonchalant demeanor indicated that he had made this request countless times, so Luc and I surrendered a shoe each. Our footwear was put inside a metal wire basket, then pulled up by rope to its place by the ceiling. Out of reach except to staff. Would-be snatchers of the Kwak glass surely would be fidgeting by now, especially if they wore their best Nike sneakers.

Luc and I had barely finished laughing over this episode, when another suprise greeted us. The beers were huge! Twice as tall as we had expected. How on earth were we gonna finish THAT?! Well, the answer is, quite obviously, to drink slowly. It's quite hard to gulp down all 1.2 liters of high alcohol beer in a matter of minutes. The brilliant design of the glass made that close to impossible anyway. As the level of beer drops lower, the more extra careful you have to be in tilting the glass at a proper angle to consume the remaining content (we demonstrate this technique superbly in the complete slide show). Tilt the glass a bit too much, and your shirt will be drenched with sweet-smelling Kwak.

Left with no alternative, Luc and I took our time in finishing our respective drinks,. Pretty soon, more patrons arrived at Dulle Griet including another Belgian local escorting three visitors from Spain. They sat at the adjoining table, and spying our unusual beer glasses, the Spaniards asked their host about our drink. The local, undoubtedly familar with the bar's patented anti-theft device, did his best to encourage them to order the same, while trying not to appear overly eager. Luc and I observed this little comedy with amusement, and were delighted that one of the guests fell neatly into the trap, and practically fall off her seat when faced with the shoe request. At that point, their Belgian host howled with laughter, as did we. She was a good sport though, and didn't hesitate in presenting an expensive looking boot. As the waiter operated the pulley to bring down the metal basket, I made my way to the rest room, gingerly walking with my right foot pressing against the cold cement floor, with my mind working overtime trying to figure out how to hide this monstrous glass inside my jacket pocket.

Check out the complete pictures from Dulle Griet bar here.

For more Belgium blog posts, click here.

NOT "In Bruges"

In preparation for my trip to Belgium, I inquired among my friends if anyone had actually been there, and if so, which part(s). Unsurprisingly, a few had visited the lovely medieval town of Bruges, extolled its beauty, and wholeheartedly recommended a visit. Being the skeptical sort who becomes instinctively wary of popular and overly hyped destinations, I consulted my guidebooks and was swayed by both the Lonely Planet and Rough Guides, who were unanimous that Bruges was a "must see". Oh-kay.

Most Americans have heard of Bruges, either from the travel "expert" Rick Steves (whose endorsement is akin to a town hitting the Megamillions jackpot), or from the movie "In Bruges" starring Colin Farrell which came out in 2008. (Disclaimer: I borrowed the DVD from my library, renewed it for another week, and yet never got around to watching it). The movie was actually shot in Bruges too, and not in some Hollywood studio. Not that Bruges needed any help from Tinseltown, as its reputation for being the best-preserved medieval town in Belgium, its picturesque canals, and magnificent architecture all but ensure a year-round influx of tourists, and busloads of day trippers.


On my journey, I also spent a few days in the university city of Ghent, and couldn't resist the inevitable comparisons with Bruges. Both were charming, medieval towns, and offered those ubiquitous canal boat rides, with the one in Ghent by far the more enjoyable. I climbed up the narrow circular steps leading to the top of the each town's belfry tower and give the edge to Bruges' (higher, thus more strenuous exercise as well as better views). Food-wise, restaurants, bars, cafes, and tempting chocolate shops were bountiful everywhere. Additional points are scored by Bruges for having a Tintin shop, though Ghent one-ups them with a McDonald's outlet.

Yet, looking back, I realized that while both places were fun and interesting, I enjoyed myself more immensely in Ghent. WHY?! The decisive factor was most likely the liveliness of Ghent in contrast to Bruges, which kinda empties out at night after the daytrippers return to their respective travel bases. Moreover, Ghent had a more authentic, "un-touristy" feel (though of course there are quite a number of tourists) vis-a-vis the Disneyland atmosphere that prevails in Bruges.This is verified by my wholly unscientific Tourist Trap Indicator - the number of Japanese tour groups being led around like sheep by a umbrella-wielding guide. No wonder that while Bruges is the most popular destination in Belgium, survey after survey of Belgian natives invariably result in Ghent being voted the top destination they would like to visit in their own country. Can't argue with that. Now I'll go and rent that darned video again, and make sure to actually watch it this time.

For more photos of Ghent (20 or so), check out this slide show with hard-to-notice captions below each photo.

Check out more Belgium blog posts here.

Pictured above: (top pic) Ghent belfort tower, (bottom pic) Ghent's Gravensteen Castle (no castles in Bruges, ha!)

La Bande Dessinee is performing at a concert near you

Check out Comic Strip Murals or Graffiti Walls

Bonus offer - More pics of Tintin and the Gang!

Ages ago, in an inspired attempt at self-improvement (and escape from boredom), I signed up for Beginner French language classes at the Alliance Francaise in Philadelphia after spotting their ad (avec la tour Eiffel, bien sûr!) in the free weekly paper. The class met for ten Tuesday nights at a convenient time; moreover, the school's building was a mere seven blocks from my own apartment building. "Parfait!", I exclaimed to myself, "I've always wanted to be a French-speaking snob!".

The day of the first session came. Seven of us sat around waiting for our instructor to arrive. Most had taken French language classes in high school and had promptly forgotten most of it due to either apathy or disuse, in contrast to myself who was starting from a clean slate. A bearded, heavy set man in his early 50s who bore a resemblance to Colonel Sanders sauntered into the room, and proceeded to write these phrases on the blackboard.

Je m'appelle ...
Tu t'appelles ...
Il/Elle s'appelle ...

He turned around to find seven faces staring at him in bewilderment. Pointing his hands towards his chest, he smiled and declared, "Bonsoir...je m'appelle Norman". And then, pointing straight at me, he demanded, "Monsieur, comment vous-appelez vous?".

I sat uncomprehendingly for about ten seconds, unsure how to reply. He sensed my hesitation and repeated his spiel. Sure, I got that his name was Norman, but what to say? Finally, he placed his finger beside the first line written on the board, and prompted me, "Je m'appelle...". Ah! "Je m'appelle Newman", I squeaked, which judging from the beam on his face, was right on the money.

The class continued in this manner. Norman would write stuff on the board, then ask the question while gesturing frantically with his hands to aid our brains in figuring out what information he was looking for. At times when it got too tedious and everyone frustrated, I thought "Well, if only he'd ask in English...". Turns out, I had unwittingly stumbled upon the Alliance Francaise's "immersion-style" methodology of teaching, which explicitly forbids the use of English! Merde!

Eventually we progressed to reading simple dialogues from the textbook. A particularly memorable snippet went as follows (rough English translations mine):

Renaud: Vous aimez la diva? (Do you like the diva? Referring to a opera star, perhaps)
Jean: Oui, j'aime beaucoup la diva (Yes, I'm a big fan).
Renaud: Vous aimez la bande dessinee aussi? (And something-called-the-bande-dessinee also?)

I must've spaced out in class, because I never did find out what "la bande dessinee" was and simply assumed it was some Gallic rock band popular among the youth. I was more intent on surviving the onslaught of new, unfamiliar words and conjugations, while trying to figure out how to drop out of the course with my dignity and French aspirations intact.

Fast forward to a decade later. In the midst of doing research about Brussels attractions, I reconnect with the same phrase and ponder...hmmm...Centre Belge de la Bande Dessinee, the Belgian comics strip center! So THAT's what it was. I had to laugh at myself for my mistaken assumption all these years, at the same time trying to contain my excitement at visiting the museum to view their exhibits of my favorite comics series, the Adventures of Tintin. (Captain Haddock is shown above, surprised at Tintin's unmasking).

Comic strips, also known as the Ninth Art, is part and parcel of Belgian culture. They are quite passionate about them! In addition to the world-famous journalist/boy detective Tintin, you've also probably heard of the Smurfs. These and other local comic strip heroes are immortalized in the various exhibits in this fine museum. You can also spend the better part of an afternoon walking along the comic strip route in Brussels trying to spot as many colorful murals adorning the sides of the buildings, some of which I captured in this slide show. If comics are not your thing, perhaps may I suggest another grittier art form - masterfully painted graffiti walls - but eye catching nonetheless.

P.S. For Tintin-holics, check out this video I recorded of "The Two Faces of Professor Calculus" (Professor Tournesol in French. Tournesol = sunflower. Now that's a head scratcher).

Halloween Costume Party in Sept?!

Belgians can seem like a weird lot. Take for instance the capital of Brussels. Other than serving as the EU headquarters, most people regard it as boring and often it serves as a mere stopover on travelers’ itineraries making their way to vibrant Amsterdam or romantic Paris.

You’d think that having the world-renowned national symbol of Belgium here in Brussels would help,a few blocks away from the Grand Place. But what is the pride of this tiny nation? None other than the Manneken Pis (“Little Man Urinating”), a small bronze statue of a naked boy urinating into a fountain’s basin. (I’ll give you a few seconds to recover from the shock).

Manneken Pis new costume slide show

A veritable tourist trap flanked on all sides by chocolate shops, this much photographed landmark has several legends behind its origins which you can read here on Wikipedia (not that I’d put much stock in them), but my friend Luc told me that in reality, the statue was created in honor of the young boys in the 14th or 15th century who are hired to work in the leather tanning shops – their job is to piss on the leather hides contained inside the vats because this makes them softer – the secret to your Prada handbag, perhaps? Personally, I think Luc had a little too much Trappist brew at the Belgian Beer Fest.

Anyway, I figured that I might as well pop over to the Manneken Pis for a few photos, and then dash over to a pub. The tourist throngs were visible even from a distance, but as I neared the statue what caught my eye were ten or so masked revelers strutting around wearing colorful outfits more apt for a Venetian ball. Uniformed band members were resting nearby, tuning their instruments, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

While I jostled with other tourists for prime photo-taking territory and somewhat managed to sneak inside the cordoned off area for press and VIPs, Luc bumped into one of the festivity’s organizers who informed him that all this hullabaloo was due to the Manneken Pis being honored with yet another new costume – to add to his bulging closet containing 800-odd outfits! So you’re telling me this guy does not have to do laundry for 2 years. Who does he think he is – the Imelda Marcos of evening wear?

Without further ado, check out the photos (and captions) in this slide show. Let’s not even get started with Jeanneke Pis, the female counterpart of the Manneken Pis…another tale for another day.

For more Belgium blog posts, click here.

Let's Have "The Birds and the Beers" talk

Beer is to Belgium as wine is to France. Beer drinking culture pervades this tiny country of 10.6 million people, with 150 breweries producing about 800 different types of specialty beer ranging from the world-renowned Trappist (brewed by monks inside monasteries), lambic (“wild” beers produced by spontaneous fermentation), and kriek (lambic beer mixed with cherries, a “ladies” beer), to mention a few.

In short, Belgians appreciate variety and high quality stuff, and despite the relatively high alcohol contents of their beers they rarely drink to excess nor get drunk.

One of the highlights of my week-long trip in Belgium was sampling a wide variety of their home brews with my friend Luc and his friend Carl, both of them beer connoisseurs whose houses are equipped with beer cellars. Their precious bottles reside there awaiting to be popped open on some unknown date for a special occasion.

Thanks to these two beer masters who served as drinking buddies and teachers, my beer adventures were loads of fun (as you shall see), and my crash course in Belgian Beer 101 ensures that I will never order a Bud Light again. Ever. Nor a Heineken ("80% Marketing, 20% Beer", sniffs Carl).

Follow our adventures in this beer slide show that I created. Note that each beer comes in its own distinctive glass with its own logo. Serving a Westmalle in a Chimay glass is guaranteed to incur the wrath of Belgian beer fans. Drinking from the bottle (as we do here) is an even bigger no-no. No plastic cups too, por favor.

For more Belgium blog posts, click here.

The New "Muscles from Brussels"

Jean Claude van Damme ("JCVD") shot to Hollywood fame during the '90s and appeared as the protagonist in such hits as "Bloodsport", "Timecop", and my favorite, "Universal Solder", though it escapes me now if he was the perfect machine built to destroy mankind or if he saved all civilization from some misguided terrorist plot.

Due to his martial arts skills, muscular build, and Belgian heritage, the nickname "Muscles from Brussels" was coined - a perfect marketing slogan. In recent years though, his career and personal life have been in a free fall (including stints sleeping on the streets of LA), so now it's time to anoint a new hero to assume that title.

Watch the "Eating Mussels the Belgian Way" video

On a related note, mussels are considered Belgian's national dish, are usually served in big pots, and come in different flavors. They can be cooked in natural herbs, in white beer (usually Hoegaarden), provencale (tomatoes, onions), mariniere (white wine), or Thailandese/l'indienne (in curry). As with every dish, a side of Belgian "don't-call-them-French" fries serves as an accompaniment.

On my trip, I had mussels twice with my friend Luc, and after seeing him frown and shake his head at my ineptitude, Luc offered to demonstrate the "proper" Belgian technique for eating them. Even with no prior acting experience, he didn't appear nervous and performed his role confidently, needing only two takes. Take that, JCVD! A bright career is in store in La-la-land, I'm confident.

Although not keen on bulking up his physique like JCVD, Luc keeps fit by swimming, biking and running. Perfect profile to assume the mantle of the "NEW Muscles from Brussels"! Ok, if you think I'm delusional (or had too much Belgian beer) and it's a bit of a stretch, just watch the video right here ;-D

For more Belgium blog posts, click here.