What did the cheese say when it saw itself in the mirror? Haallllou-miii.
Stay with me. Staaaay with me.
Another weekend, another brunch.
A couple of weekends ago I was feeling especially delicate on a Sunday. The night before had been Brussels’ annual ‘Nuit Blanche’- a ‘sleepless night’ in French. It’s always one of my favourite nights of the year when dozens of art/dance/music/drama/interactive/younameit shows take place in one area of Brussels.This year’s offering did not disappoint.
I love Brussels (most of the time) and I also adore its amazing range of comfort food. The word ‘stoemp’ even sounds stick-to-the-ribs carborific. Sometimes though, I CRAVE the comfort food I associate with home.
I come from a small village in the north of Ireland right next to the Belfast Lough.
If Brussels does something well, it’s brunch. Acceptably eating five or more different dishes as the first meal of the day occasionally with a glass of bubbles (euphemism for Definitely Not Champagne) can only be a good thing and Brussels has accomplished this breakfast for lazy people with aplomb.
One of my favourite places to have it is Cafe de la Presse, on Avenue Louise (near the Bois de la Cambre end it, you’ll pass it on the tram).