On my final evening in Brussels, I ached like a demon from walking endlessly for two days ~ hips felt out of place and sciatic, scoliosis back felt compacted and in need of realignment, I felt fcuked. Over the two days my confidence had grown about walking into busy places alone ~ restaurants I’ve been able to cope with for years, bars, nope, not at all. But I’d had my eye on this bar, Au Brasseurs while planning the trip, thanks to Trip Advisor and also a friend recommended it … “we had a fun time there” she said, so I thought *deep breath* I’ll try this. It was relatively early and not that busy, so I slinked in after another couple and sat at the bar.
What I know about beer can be written on the short side of a fag-packet – so browsing the beer menu didn’t help a tiny bit, so I opted for the *point* “what’s that? … I’ll have that” option and it worked a treat. On the basis of ooo that’s a funky glass I had Kwak to start off with. It was, I recall, quite fruity, it was, I recall, rather nice, it was, I recall, damn potent and before I knew it, I was heading down happy lane to pissed-ville!
“I’ll have *that* one” I said next (all French, other than Merci, had long flown out the window), pointing to a horn-like glass nestled in a sling attached to a stand with a ghost in a noose as a logo.
And that’s when it got a bit messy. Still perched at the bar, the music was all in English and we’re all singing along ~ the beer has joined us in indefinable camaraderie of fine brussels spirit. Staying Alive comes on and the dancing starts, not me for once, and then two strangers walk in and before you know, we’re chatting, laughing, singing … and then there’s two more guys … and before you know it, with another beer in us, we’re a very happy bunch.
We fell out of the bar at 8pm and went our separate ways, but thinking about it now, the memories of that night makes me grin and giggle. It was, without doubt or question, in the words of Ron Weasly “Bloody Brilliant!”