Of Endives and Monks

It stands to reason that when you're living in a new place whose language and customs you don't entirely understand, there will be...miscommunications. Errors. Failures big and small. We've experienced that before. When we first lived in Belgium 25 years ago, we visited the Ardennes and stayed at a lovely hotel with an all-French menu. At dinner, I was pretty sure I was ordering some nice game bird for my appetizer. And so I was.

I ordered hypothalamus of woodcock. On toast.

Phil had a similar food error this week. We went to our local cafe for lunch, and he wanted a ham and cheese omelet. But it was pretty late in the afternoon. Unbeknownst to us, the cafe only served lunch items until a certain time. Then it was on to dinner.

The waiter recognized "ham and cheese." Not so much the omelet part. "You want meatloaf?" Phil thought he asked.

"No, ham and cheese omelet," Phil insisted.

"Meatloaf!" the waiter repeated. So Phil shrugged. A meatloaf sandwich would suffice.

Imagine our surprise when, after quite a bit of time had passed, the waiter set down a bubbling casserole. "Meatloaf!" he announced proudly. "Ham and cheese!" Oh wait -- he said "witloof." Not "meatloaf." And so it was. Witloof -- Belgian endive -- with ham and cheese wrapped around it. Very tasty. Extremely large. Quite expensive.

Our other error this week wasn't one of misunderstanding. It was a simple failure to communicate. You may know, if you've been reading the blog, that we're on a quest to acquire the Best Beer in the World, the Westvleteren 12. We've made the nearly two-hour drive to the St. Sixtus abbey where it is brewed only to find that it's closed on Fridays. Since then, extensive research has taught us that to get our hands on this beer, we must pretty much devote our lives to it. It's a multistep process.

1. Call the abbey, between 8:30 and 11:30 on Wednesday. This is easier said than done, since our phone only allows calls in, not calls out.
2. Order the beer. You can only get 2 cases of the Westvleteren 12 during any 60 day period.
3. Provide the monk who answers with a license plate number. This is easier said than done, since we don't have a car.
4. Pick up the beer on a Monday, Tuesday, or Thursday between 1:45 and 4:45 in the car with the aforementioned license number. See number three for why it is easier said than done.

We'd arranged for it all -- phone, license plate number, car. It didn't occur to us that the abbey telephone line would be busy for THREE HOURS STRAIGHT.

We failed.

But we will try again. We will order food in restaurants, we will call the monks. We are not afraid. Watch this space for updates.

The Professor's Post: The Mysterious Tower

After extensive research at several Flemish archives, I have determined that the conical tower standing alongside the canal just outside our balcony has a colorful legend--or perhaps a sanguine history.

The structure was built in the mid-16th century as a toll collector's station for ships, laden with flax and tulip bulbs, coming up the canal from Damme and Bruges. The tower fell into disuse and disrepair in the late 17th century, but it soon found a new and unexpected function. In 1689 the Duke of Ghent used it to imprision a vicious dwarf, Nils Vander Witloof, a court jester convicted of embezzling money from a  local bishop who had much to hide.

Prior to his execution, Witloof asked if he could be moved from his dungeon cell in the Gravensteen Castle to the tower, alleging that he wanted to gaze upon the beloved canal (from the slits cut into the brickwork) before he died. The Duke complied, but it was a fatal mistake. While confined to the tower, Witloof made friends with the birds (magpies, gulls and moor hens), who brought him sticks, sharp stones, and bits of twine. With these materials the ingenius dwarf fashioned a bow and arrow.

One afternoon as the Duke was being rowed down the canal on his way to a banquet (or possibly a romantic assignation), Witloof took aim through the slit and shot a crudely fashioned arrow that took out the Duke's right eye.

For this he was flayed before being drawn and quartered. Some elderly local residents claim on winter nights there is a sound emanating from the tower that is a ghostly echo of Witloof's wicked laugh as his arrow struck home. Or it could just be the east wind.