Table for One

I’ll never forget the day I booked a table for one.  My inspiration, my sister.  One night over a glass of wine she confessed how tired she was. Working full time as a teacher while raising three young kids zapped her energy. In a low voice, as if admitting guilt, she whispered, “I fantasize about checking into a hotel room for one night, alone.” Having four kids myself, my sister didn’t need to explain her guilty desire to be locked away in the quiet comforts of a room, alone.  My mind raced to a scene in the movie Date Night (starring Tina Fey and Steve Carell).  Tina Feys character, in a moment of exhaustion seemed to verbally express what so many parents feel at the end of the day, or at least what my sister and I felt...

 “I fantasize about being alone.  There are times when, on my worst day, I’ve thought about just leaving our house and going someplace quiet, like checking into a hotel.  Checking into a room all by myself, in a quiet, air conditioned room, sitting down, eating my lunch, with no one touching me-drinking a diet Sprite, by myself. Every day I get up, make breakfast, go to work, come home clean the house, pick up the kids, take them to soccer, pick them up from soccer, cook dinner, clean up, give the kids a bath and get them into their pajamas which is a fight every night—it’s a BIG SURPRISE to everyone every night that they have to wear pajamas!—and then after I have washed everybody else’s food and boogers off of me, I use whatever energy I have left to physically put myself into bed…”. 

Like chiming church bells, those words along with my sister's rang loudly through my brain. Putting guilt aside, I mustered up the courage to ask my husband to gift me one night alone in a hotel room. We’ve been married 17 years.  Gasp! As soon as I asked , I could feel the bitterness of guilt gurgling inside me.  What was I thinking?  It was too late; the words had already left my reluctant mouth.  To my surprise, my husband was not only understanding, but supportive.  It turns out I’m not exactly a silent sufferer, he knew it had been a long summer entertaining our four energized girls.  Without questioning why I needed a break, he said two words, “Book it”.

I knew exactly where I wanted to spend my gifted night alone, Brussels.  It’s an easy 35 minute train ride from where we live. The goal was to find a hotel that whispered urban sanctuary and was easy walking distance to the Grand Place and Central Train Station.  I wanted the security of being within a short stroll to museums and sites.  Finding a place that catered to my vision wasn’t an easy task.  Brussels is geared, rightfully so, to the business traveler.  Most of the hotels I found seemed to scream corporate, not soothing.  Upon lots of Goggling, I found my 24 hour retreat.  Without a second thought, I booked it!

Hotel Le Dixseptième.  This lovely boutique property consists of 24 rooms and suites.  At one time it was the Spanish ambassador’s residence.  It sits quietly on a tree lined street outside the Central Train Station.  The neighborhood is home to numerous art galleries and antique shops.  Perfect!  Upon entering the hotel I was greeted with a warm smile by the hotel’s receptionist, Josephine.  Josephine was courteous, professional, and accommodating.   She was a great first impression. With my room key in hand, I headed up the beautiful 17th century oak staircase. Opening the door was a breath of fresh air.  The colors were cool, calm, and serene. Shades of grey, cream, white, with subtle splashes of lavender were easy on my tired eyes.  My nest for the night was refreshing and quiet.  I was beginning to feel a sense of relaxation.  If it weren’t that I had called a head for a dinner reservation, I could easily see myself slipping into the plush white robe and black L.D. monogramed slippers waiting beside the bed, but I had a table for one waiting.

The restaurant I chose, La Roue D’Or (The Wheel of Gold).   It sits off an artery road from the Grand Place.  Entering is a feast for the eyes.  The ceilings are painted sea foam green with drifting puffy white clouds.  The chandeliers add a touch of grandeur and offer a nice contrast to the dark wood.  If you’re a fan of the surrealist painter Magritte, you will be in heaven.  The entire restaurant is filled with touches of whimsy.  Behind the bar you’ll find paintings of numerous men in bowler hats with striking blue eyes peering over a ledge.  They seem playful and taunting.  The visual feast continued as my meal arrived.  The fish soup I ordered was accompanied with homemade butter toasted croutons made from French bread.   The broth was think, rich, and filled with clams and tender white fish.  Crumbling the buttery croutons into the soup was comfort in a bowl, whimsically delicious!  With a smile on my face and a full belly, I strolled back to my quiet oasis.  I nestled in with a great book, before falling asleep.

The next morning I splurged on room service.  It was well worth a few extra euros to have coffee and fresh bread delivered to the room.  Breakfast was included in the room rate, but that would mean I needed to get dressed and head down to the dining room.  I really wanted the luxury of having time to enjoy my robe and slippers before having to leave them behind.  As I sat reading my newspaper, enjoying my hot cup of coffee with frothy steamed milk, all I could think was how wonderful it all felt.  There was no more guilt, just simple pleasure.

A Taste of Mons

Spring is in the air.  I can smell her sweet fragrant flowers and hear her winged companions serenading melodies through my doorway.  The pale shades of grey that accompany winter are being replaced with vibrant colors competing for attention. Everything is blossoming, including Mons, Belgium!

On a recent family outing to downtown Mons, I was showered with rose petals that fell from the sky, as our family accidentally walked into a Moroccan wedding procession.  On the steps outside the Hotel de Ville we witnessed a bride, groom, their family and friends break into a lively celebration dance.  We were enchanted by the exotic music and merriment.  We could have easily continued to ride the coat tails of this happy event, but our stomach rumbles rivaled those of the Moroccan drums.   We were there to eat!

 Over the Christmas break our family found ourselves cold and hungry while roaming around the back streets of Mons.  As we headed back up a side street from the Grand Place, there was a narrow alley with a soft glow from a window.  Over the door was a sign, Le Tivoli.  As we opened the door, we were greeted by the warmth of the pizza ovens and the smell of rising dough.  The bar is the focal point, not because of liquid libations, but because of the two pizza ovens. The space feels like a familiar friend’s dining room. We quickly made ourselves at home and ordered a carafe of house red wine and soft drinks for our girls.  To my delight, I watched a woman roll up her sleeves and begin rolling our pizza dough.  After adding our toppings, they were quickly popped into the oven.  Mere minutes later they’re done and ready to be consumed. And to our delight our pizzas were delivered to our table with a genuine smile, were just as delicious as the aroma drifting overhead, and when the bill came I think I heard my wallet say thank you.  

Now, for a little sweet talk.  If you’re looking to bribe the kids to behave or possibly reward yourself for all the money you saved eating at Le Tivoli, I have a candy shop I would like to introduce you to. Our girls know a visit to Mons isn’t complete unless they fill up a few coned shaped bags with sweets from Le Bonbon Frivole.  What the store lacks in chocolate, they make up for in their rainbow assortment of sugar coated goodness.  This place is especially rewarding on a rainy day (The colors inside practically spill onto the streets), as it exudes one word, happy.

Whether you’re in Mons morning, noon, or early evening, you should know there is a place to refuel your energy in the form of coffee. Le Pain Quotidien (The Daily Bread).  Walking in your nose is greeted by the aroma of fresh roasted coffee and banquettes.  Dare I say, it feels like a Parisian café!  Beautiful pastries are waiting behind sparkling glass cases.  Behind the pastries you’ll find a wall lined with multiple shelves of fresh baked bread and apron clad employees.  Truly, this place deserves to be noticed, one of the few cafes I’ve found where you can either sit and sip for hours or grab a coffee and pastry to go.  It’s not unusual to see tortoise rimmed spectacles peering behind newspapers, writers typing behind their laptops, or university students taking a break from class.  This place exudes rustic charm.  And it just so happens they have really good coffee too!

                                                                  

 

                                 

 

 

 

                                                                 

 

Rural Beauty

I have a favorite local hideaway spot. A place where I go to be reminded how wonderful the simplicity of rural life is. 

A silver lining to not owning a GPS is stumbling upon accidental gems, in this case, Café des Etangs. I’m not certain if I was charmed more by the bar and its location, or by the humble proprietors, Michel and Natalie. Like the owners, the structure exudes warmth and welcome. The café’s name hints at the surroundings, “etangs” translates to “pond” in English. The terrace outside offers a beautiful view and a dozen tables overlooking the interconnecting ponds of St. Denis. The patrons are varied. It’s not unlikely to find yourself sitting alongside fisherman downing a Juplier before they head back to catch their dinner.  Their numerous tents dot the lake’s perimeter. On several occasions, especially Sundays, I’ve found myself in the company of senior citizens passing time with a deck of cards. And one day after hiking around St. Denis we were surrounded by celebrities and paparazzi! Our visit was at the same time a film crew was shooting a wedding scene for a popular Belgian reality TV series. The bride was sitting alongside her parents in a beautifully decorated horse drawn carriage. It was amusing to watch the TV crew wait for their instructions to proceed down the hill to the Abbaye of St. Denis. The groom along with a procession of people in ornate French costumes were waiting to welcome the bride and her parents. To pass time, the driver of the carriage enjoyed small glasses of cold beer while he waited in the hot sun. My husband and I, along with Natalie and Michel, were the only people there to witness this unique event.

Entering the café you’re most likely greeted by Michel or Natalie because they live over the bar. Their guests feel the genuine warmth that can only come from being in someone’s home. The space is dimly lit and lined with wooden tables and chairs. Overhead are tunes of classic rock. A small sun room overlooks a gated garden area. Our family tends to sit towards the back of the café, where the chalk board easel and dart board are set up, an added touch, but an important indication. It tells visitors like me, kids are welcome too!

Two important elements tucked in a corner provide insight into one of the owners, Michel. The piano is a hint to his love for music. He’s been the guitarist for a local band called the Flying Cervelazzz for nearly 30 years. I’ve seen them perform both at the Mons and Jurbise Beer Fests. His casual attire for the performances stayed true to his personality- dark jeans, boots, and a collard button down dress shirt. On both occasions his petite, smiling wife Natalie was there greeting family and friends. At both concerts, I witnessed the crowd come alive as they watched and listened to this local institution. They have a following, including our family!

The second hint of Michel’s interest sits on the piano, a statue of a Gilles. If you haven’t seen a Gilles, you will want to mark your calendar for March 2-4, 2014. Unique to Belgium, they are honorable participants of the carnival of Binche; which dates back to the 14th century.  Their purpose is to entertain during the days leading up to Ash Wednesday.  Historically they are male, natives, and are between 3-60 years old. They are dressed in colorful attire with a signature wax mask and wooden shoes. Their heads are topped with tiny white caps that tie around their chin. On the last day of carnival (also known as Fat Tuesday/Mardi Gras) they dance through town with wooden sticks with bells in hopes of scaring off evil spirits.

Afterwards, the Gilles can be seen carrying baskets filled with oranges that are thrown into the crowds.It’s considered good luck to catch an orange thrown by a Gilles. The fact Café des Etangs happens to be owned by a guitar playing Gille makes me think I’m already lucky. No oranges required.

Cheers.

Not A Typical Love Story...

The night I fell in love with someone nearly half my age wasn’t planned. After all, I’ve been happily married for 17 years.  Our marriage has produced off-spring; four daughters.  I most certainly didn’t expect a pop icon to introduce me to this new love.

Our meeting made me feel the angst and confused emotions that usually pick on unsuspecting 15 year old's.  I tossed and turned in bed while scrambled words tumbled around in my confused state.  How could I let this happen?  I knew you were trouble when you walked in.  I’m 40, I should know better!  It was difficult falling asleep, I worried you or I might come to our senses and this feeling would flee before morning.  

As the sun rose, I was happy to see nothing had changed, including my tormented emotions that refused to budge.  Like a carefree child that frolics merrily in wonder one minute, and then loses sight of a parent and becomes lost and scared the next, my words too, were lost.  The more I tried to compartmentalize these mischievous letters, the more they retreated in fear.  

The night prior that had set my nerves ablaze pushed its way to the forefront of my brain.     

Our meeting was inevitable.  We were both in London, attending the same concert, and we both knew intangible elements were missing from our existence.  It’s as though an unidentifiable force placed us within the same room.  Not just any room, a venue filled with 15,000 others.  Really, what are the chances we would be assigned the same seat?

I noted how eager you were as you made your way down the aisle to find your chair.  I wondered if this was your first concert.  You were surrounded by a gaggle of loud preteen emotions.  Girls that tried to mimic the young pop star we had all come to see smelled like vanilla and cotton candy.  Their homemade signs were adorned with glittering hearts confessing their love and devotion.  As the scent of fresh glue drifted overhead, I watched as you stood in awe.   And our eyes met.

I gifted you my seat. I could see you needed this, whatever “this” was, more than me.  As you took your place, the joy that leaped from your smile made giving up mine worthwhile.  As I slowly backed away, I noticed how you inhaled the joyful sounds of youth.  You beamed like a child when confetti magically fell from the sky.  Your heart raced remembering emotions that had long left your body.  I watched in disbelief as the lyrics washed over you.  Reminding you of first loves, heart aches, and anticipation.  And as you looked back at me, I couldn’t help but let myself go.  Our spirits merged.   My inner girl collided with the grown up I’d become.  

Taylor Swift’s Red Tour concert was the perfect backdrop to our fairytale encounter. Red, a color that represents a multitude of emotions my youthful spirit remembered well, and an emotion my grown up state had left behind.  Seemingly lost in the dizzying commotion of raising four growing girls, I had forgotten the plethora of emotions that fall under Red’s umbrella: Love, Passion, Hate, Hurt, Joy, Frustration, Fear, etc… All of these feelings and more bottled into one bursting emotion!  I began to remember the years when allowances were spent on frivolous things like gel pens, candy grams, and nail polish.  A time when fashion came over form.  And a time when a ringing phone signified one word, possibilities. 

Our love story may not go down in history books, as a matter of fact, it may just be ours alone.  How many people would understand this magical encounter? A night when my persistent preteen heart weaseled its way into an unsuspecting 40 year old.  We merged and it was beautiful…and potentially, lasting.   

 Nostalgia is comforting, especially when you know the future is bright based on the lessons learned at “15” and “22”.  I look forward to watching my four daughters live through their Red years.  If they're lucky, they too might have a night where their old world collides with their new one.  And if we're ALL lucky, the two worlds just might decide to "Stay Stay Stay"  within us, forever....

“We were both young when I first saw you.  I close my eyes and the flashback starts….”

A February Heartbeat...

 

It’s funny what love will make us do.  As we enter into February, I find myself doing something I haven’t done in over twenty-five years (by choice!). It involves being crammed into a space with strangers while listening to music I would never buy on my own.  I blame love. Love made me do something irrational.  Love made me leap before thinking.  Love made me forget sensibility.  This love is leading me away from the rest of my family.

This love is my daughter.  By the time you read these words, I will be in London fulfilling my daughter’s dream to see one of her favorite performers, Taylor Swift.  My 10 year old and I will board a Eurostar train and head out for one memorable night.  Leaving her dad and three sisters behind.  After checking into our hotel we have only two goals: to eat fish and chips and hear the young singer my daughter has admired since she learned to ride a bike.  I haven’t wanted to step into the world of big venue concerts since the Rubik’s cube and mullets.  I’m looking forward to watching my daughter inhale these lyrics live.  And if I’m lucky, my heart too, might skip a beat J

I'll write back next week.  I'm certain the Taylor Swift experience will offer inspiration.  What kind of inspiration is yet to be determined...

Amsterdam

 

Amsterdam has a heartbeat.  In a word, she's confident. Her buildings overflow with character.  And her pedestrian friendly walkways and bike paths invite the passerby to meander.  No rushing required. She likes to be admired.  This city's wisdom is shown through numerous open windows showcasing crammed bookshelves.  And it’s impossible not to notice Amsterdam's flair for color.  She loves art and seems to inspire creativity. It’s no wonder names like Van Gogh, Breitner and Toorop have lived within her realm.  Amsterdam’s confidence can also be seen in her posture.  If you’ve been along her canal lined streets, you’ve noticed how she gets around.  By bicycle.  She’s healthy, and you can see her good health in the strong upward spines that peddle through her streets. 

As if these traits weren’t enough to fall head over heels for this city, it just so happens she can cook too!  You can smell the aromas that drift through her bike laden streets.  She's no stranger to culinary delights foreign and exotic.  But she’s also really great at delivering her own twist on comfort food. One of my favorite spots is the Pancake Bakery (two blocks from the Anne Frank House).  The outside of the building is unassuming. After walking down a few steps you’ll enter a space that mimics the belly of an old ship.  A soft light showcases wooden walls, low ceilings, and lopsided framed photographs from a previous century.  While the space feels like a comfortable pair of Sunday slippers, it’s the food that will have you returning.  As the name suggest, they’re known for their vast selection of pancakes.  These pancakes are unlike anything you’ve ever tasted, a cross between a traditional buttermilk pancake and a crepe.  With over 75 options for fillings, you’ll be hard pressed deciding which one to choose.  Let’s hope you make the right choice because when it arrives at your table, the round object you’re meant to consume will be so large, it spills over the side of your plate.   We’re a family of six and no one in our family orders the same thing, and we all leave happy…and full.  Which happens to be how I feel every time I leave the hospitable arms of Amsterdam.