"They Look Like Vaginas To Me."
Okay... So, I am in Brussels now. After two days in Amsterdam (which, to be honest, isn't for anyone over the age of 27-ish), it was time for us to move onto a new city. And today we are in Brussels. We hopped the Thalys train here earlier today, and arrived without any real plans.
"What the hell were we intending to do in Brussels?" I asked Frogger while in a taxi to our hotel here.
"Remeber?" she began... "We wanted to take a day-trip to Bruges. In Brussels we can eat moule and frites (mussels and fries) and drink Belgian ale."
It all sounded good. In theory.
We walked around for a while this evening, and found ourselves near the Grand Place, down a cobblestone street where there were TONS of Italian restaurants. It was like Little Italy (in NYC) or the North End (in Boston). Everywhere we looked, menus stated they were serving moule and frites.
We chose a restaurant that was very faux Francais...
"Le Bourgeois."
I decided to "go with the flow" and order the delicious-looking moules and frites for dinner. But when they brought me my pot of "moules vin blanc avec frites," I found myself unable to eat any of the gorgeous treats from the shell.
See... I had forgotten the following:
I just couldn't eat them. I couldn't. That was a living thing. And all they had to do to kill it was apply some heat. It's different with a chicken, where you have to kill it before you can apply the heat (hopefully). So it was a "living beautiful vagina-looking" creature before they tossed it in some bin with hot water, white wine, celery and shallots.
Even though I didn't eat the mussels, I did dip my frites in the broth.
It was yummy.
I also ordered some crepes for dessert afterward...
These were pretty good. Frogger also ordered the moules et frites. She was able to eat all of hers and insisted, "They are delicious!"
I didn't doubt her. I imagine they were very good. They smelled delicious. But all I could do was turn them over in the pot they came in... Knocking the pieces of fish out of their shell. This then allowed me to dump the empty shells into my shell-pot... Making it look like I had eaten a good portion of them, when in fact I had not eaten a single bite of them.
Next times, maybe I will go for the "poullet (chicken) et frites." Stick with something I know I will eat?
"What the hell were we intending to do in Brussels?" I asked Frogger while in a taxi to our hotel here.
"Remeber?" she began... "We wanted to take a day-trip to Bruges. In Brussels we can eat moule and frites (mussels and fries) and drink Belgian ale."
It all sounded good. In theory.
We walked around for a while this evening, and found ourselves near the Grand Place, down a cobblestone street where there were TONS of Italian restaurants. It was like Little Italy (in NYC) or the North End (in Boston). Everywhere we looked, menus stated they were serving moule and frites.
We chose a restaurant that was very faux Francais...
"Le Bourgeois."
I decided to "go with the flow" and order the delicious-looking moules and frites for dinner. But when they brought me my pot of "moules vin blanc avec frites," I found myself unable to eat any of the gorgeous treats from the shell.
See... I had forgotten the following:
- I don't eat shellfish. (Like, at ALL. Not even shrimp. I find it scary to eat something that lives in a shell.)
- That mussels in the shell remind me of vaginas. And I won't eat food that looks like human body parts to me...
I just couldn't eat them. I couldn't. That was a living thing. And all they had to do to kill it was apply some heat. It's different with a chicken, where you have to kill it before you can apply the heat (hopefully). So it was a "living beautiful vagina-looking" creature before they tossed it in some bin with hot water, white wine, celery and shallots.
Even though I didn't eat the mussels, I did dip my frites in the broth.
It was yummy.
I also ordered some crepes for dessert afterward...
These were pretty good. Frogger also ordered the moules et frites. She was able to eat all of hers and insisted, "They are delicious!"
I didn't doubt her. I imagine they were very good. They smelled delicious. But all I could do was turn them over in the pot they came in... Knocking the pieces of fish out of their shell. This then allowed me to dump the empty shells into my shell-pot... Making it look like I had eaten a good portion of them, when in fact I had not eaten a single bite of them.
Next times, maybe I will go for the "poullet (chicken) et frites." Stick with something I know I will eat?
Comments
I do want to thank you for not making the 'vagina' comment until I was done with my meal. Of course, I'll never be able to eat mussels again, but if someone else orders them I'll forever think of our dinner in Brussels. That was just funny.