So, our anniversary dinner turned out to be a sort of comedy of errors.
TripAdvisor.com entries for Brussels, like those for most major tourist destinations, are littered with planted reviews. In fact, any overly-enthusiastic review in broken English submitted by a new user with one (and only one) review to his or her credit is likely a fake. (“This best restaurant in Brussels for good foods and beverages affordable!”) When shopping for our anniversary dinner destination, I screened these out right away.
Eventually, I picked Osteria a L’Ombre, a well-reviewed Italian eatery just steps away from the Grand Place (the main square in Brussels). This tiny eatery, listed as a favorite by dozens of TripAdvisor.com users, has a reputation for good food at reasonable prices (though, reviewers warned, the staff can be snippy). At least on-screen, the joint sounded perfect.
And it was. Or would have been … had we sat inside.
When we arrived, I passed up cozy indoor seating for two tiny outdoor tables on the main drag. The late-evening breeze was cool, but tolerable, and our seats seemed positioned for the best possible people watching. (And, indeed, while we sat there, many stories unfolded. A couple paused in a nearby doorway and proceeded to do everything but copulate in public. Local police non-violently subdued a rowdy drunk. About a thousand fresh-faced kids arrived at the hostel next door. A career street beggar appeared, set up his blanket on a nearby corner, arranged his pitiful doggies on their backs with their legs in the air, and began pleading for coinage from passersby.)
But as the sun dipped behind the buildings around us, the temperature plummeted and the wind picked up. Soon, we found ourselves sitting in a refrigerated wind tunnel … and all seats inside were, by this time, taken. By the time our salads arrived, we had also been sprinkled with rain.
The veal scallopini was, I’m sure, tasty, and Clyde’s pasta looked good, but we hardly tasted our meals as we wolfed them down in what was likely breezy fifty-nine degree weather, but what I recall as a blizzard at thirty below.
“It’s cold,” the waiter said, hugging his arms. “Very cold.” He dropped off our plates. He dashed back inside.
And it was cold. But we were together, with good friends, in Belgium for our nineteenth anniversary … and in addition to some lemony veal, we got a story out of the situation, to boot.
I should also note that the temperature didn’t stop us from sampling ice cream on the way home. Oh — and waffles. With chocolate sauce. (And more ice cream.)
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