Deciphering the notes I took while sitting at the bar of the Café Belgique took some time and editorial assistance, particularly the later ones. One section looks like a protracted muse on whether a cat was an essential addition to a bar such as this (I decided it was), while another passage looks like the beginnings of a business plan for setting up a similar place at home. It appears I fell in love with the Café Belgique.
The Belgique is a tiny bar tucked into a narrow street just off Dam Square; three small tables and a row of stools at the bar form the sum total of the seating, with little floor space left over. I levered myself up onto a stool and uttered the name printed on the first beer pump I saw.
Anyone knowledgeable about Belgian and Trappist beers will know a couple of very useful rules:
- They are, generally speaking, on the obscenely strong side
- Several are served in their own peculiar types of glasses
I had ordered a Kwak, a beer that obeys these rules in some style. The glass, as you may note from the picture, requires its own wooden frame and is cunningly designed so that you have little idea how much you’ve drunk. Seeing it arrive and remembering the Belgian Beer Rules, I made my only wise decision of the whole evening and ascended the murderously steep stairs to the bathroom before touching a drop.
The Kwak went down a treat; it hides its potency behind strong, sweet flavours. I whiled away my time reading the extensively annotated beer menu propped up on the bar. For that short window of time, I became quite an expert on the Belgique’s range of quality draught and bottled Trappist beers. I could have ably assisted new patrons with their choices, based on their palates, fruit preferences, and stances on pasteurisation and filtration. They could always read the menu for themselves and ignore the incoherent foreigner with the glazed look, but that would be their downfall.
It is important to find something distracting to do when drinking alone, such as memorising the menu; otherwise, one tends to drink faster than is good for him. The menu only delayed me a short while, however, and its one-dimensional subject matter kind of focused me on more beer. Somewhat late in the day, I opted for moderation and chose to sample the Floreffe. A comparative lightweight at around 6%, Floreffe was a cloudy wheat beer presented to me in something best described as a beer goblet. I sipped contentedly and pondered whether I’d stumbled on the perfect bar. It had the right level of ambient noise, great beer, and a cat. This could be The One. Of course, I was very drunk, but you have my word on it.