The Grand Palais, Brussels, Belgium
Neither Michael nor I are really the kind of people who enjoy carrying things other than shopping bags, much less our luggage on our backs. Generally speaking, neither one of us are even capable of traveling with just one large suitcase each. But our budgets (yuck) were not in agreement with our tastes, so backpacks were hoisted.
By the time we hit the train station in Brussels, we were tired, dehydrated (the story of our #1 sign of dehydration shall remain personal but it is slightly correlated to the famous statue in Brussels called Manneken-Pis), and grumpy from too much wandering in circles in lands with la tongues de foreign.
Belgium was waiting to make its mark.
We exited the train station, and since I consider myself to have not only no, but negative, sense of direction, I put Michael in charge of finding the way to the Grand Palais, around which we planned to find a cheap hotel. It’s hard for me to be too chipped off about what went down next, since the most initiative I took was to delegate responsibility.
He took us…exactly opposite where we needed to go. And not only did we take the wrong way — we took the long way to get there. As memory serves, we wandered around for about 3 hours before we finally located a Belgian who spoke English and was willing to help us.
3 hours.
Carrying all our belongings on our backs like pack-mules.
Have you seen my back? It’s pathetically mutant-like in its smallness and weakness compared to the rest of my, uh, hearty body.
The Belgian woman we stopped began by laughing with pity at how far out of the way we were from our destination, since as it turns out, the Grand Palais was only about a 10-minute walk from the train station. But then, instead of giving us directions, this lovely woman got on a bus with us and took us to the Grand Palais herself. Then gave us a personal tour of it.
You could really feel how proud she was of that stunning place, even though she’d lived in Brussels her entire life. She made the encounter kind of magical for us, and I’ll always remember her careful English as she described its history.
A small sample of Belgian beers
Eventually, we were so exhausted, we longed for the piss-poor, lumpy, 2-inch thick “mattresses” waiting for us at our cheap hotel. We headed out.
I never learn a lesson.
After walking for half an hour or so, we realized Michael was leading us in the wrong direction. Again.
Somehow he managed to remain cheerful.
After regrouping, we started again, and Michael began to chat happily to me about the plotline of some movie while I gritted my teeth and plodded along.
“Have you seen that one,” he said?
“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”
“Oh.” Michael pursed his lips and fell silent. We found our room without any further cheer.
Luckily for me, he’s one of the most good-humored people with whom I’ve ever traveled and we’ve laughed about my abrupt statement many, many times since, including later that same night. Other friends in our circle say, “I don’t want to talk about that right now,” even though they weren’t there.
I love that. Things happen to you, you tell stories, you begin to use catchphrases and shorthand with your friends, and often, you eventually even forget the origins of the phrase even though you still use it.
I’m really glad I remember where “I don’t want to talk about that right now” came from. Belgium.
And in tribute, here’s a recipe for a Belgian stew made of beef, onions and beer, called a Carbonnade. I got the recipe from this great cookbook but made a few changes that made it even better, if I do say so my own self.
There’s very little wonder Belgium would invent a stew that has beer in it, as the country has the most breweries per capita of any place in the world, about 1000 breweries in a land about the size of Maryland. Clearly, their cup runneth over. Go there, and yours will too.
This stew is so ridiculously good, I will never make the following 6-serving portion again. I’m doubling down from now on out.
Gabe gave the Carbonnade serious props. Keep in mind that he is a much better cook than I am and mostly just tolerates my cooking because he’s too busy to do it himself. He loved it, and even emailed me the next day from work to tell me his leftovers were slammin’.
Carbonnade with Collards
This works in slow cookers from 3 1/2 quarts to 6 quarts.
The mandolin
Onions sliced with the mandolin
2 tbsp olive oil, divided
3 lbs trimmed stewing beef, cut into 1-inch cubes
3 onions, thinly sliced (if you don’t have one already, get a mandolin. It makes slicing things so easy and fast.)
4 cloves garlic, minced (the pre-minced garlic in the jar is fine; just use about 4 tsp)
1 tsp dried thyme leaves or powdered thyme
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cracked black peppercorns
2 tbsp all-purpose flour
1 tbsp tomato paste
2 cups dark beer (I used Newcastle, an English beer, but I felt guilty about it)
1/2 cup chicken stock (I used 1/2 cup water but an entire chicken broth cube for more intensity)
2 bay leaves
1 tbsp paprika (I prefer smoked) dissolved in 2 tbsp cider vinegar
8 cups thinly sliced, stemmed collard greens (about 2 bunches or a large bag of pre-washed, pre-torn)
The beef, onion and beer go into the slowcooker
1. In a skillet, heat 1 tbsp of the oil on medium-high heat for 30 seconds. Add beef, in batches if necessary, and cook, stirring, until browned, about 5 minutes per batch. Transfer to slow cooker.
2. Reduce heat to medium. Add onions to pan and cook, stirring, until softened, about 3 minutes. Add garlic, thyme, salt and peppercorns and cook for 1 minute. Add flour and cook, stirring, until lightly browned, about 2 minutes. Stir in tomato paste. Add beer, chicken stock and bay leaves and bring to a boil. Cook for 1 minute, scraping up all brown bits in the pan. Transfer to slow cooker. Stir well.
Adding the collards
3. Cover and cook on low for about 6 hours or on high for 3 hours, until meat starts to get tender. Add paprika solution and stir well. Add collard greens, in batches, completely submerging each batch in the liquid before adding another. Cover and cook on high for at least 1 1/2 hours, or until collards are tender.
Calories: about 350 per serving
Fat: about 15 grams per serving
P.S. Slow cooker liners are fantastic. No more stuck-on messes to scrub. Get you some.
The carbonnade & collard recipe looks interesting. It sounds tasty:)
kind of like…”I need da-button-my-jacket”…….
Great information you write it very clean. I’m very lucky to get this details from you.
That looks yummy!
And thanks so much for stopping by Theta Mom!!
They have collards in Belgium??? How neat is that:) I plan to try this recipe as soon as I can get the Belgium beer, or any beer. I have collards growing in my garden!!