Rasta-Fry Man ApprovesSecond, a word on Belgian waffles: wow. I was fortunate enough to find an American expat in my hostel (a Texan, no less!) who knew of a very good spot for waffles. This thing was roughly the equivalent of 12 simultaneous orgasms. Crispy and caramelized on the outside, warm, soft and inviting on the inside, notes of vanilla exploding in your mouth like a cream dream, all topped with delicious caramel ice cream. I may never eat an Eggo again.
Belgium to Eggo: 'Get fucked.'Finally, to the beer. To find some, I assembled a troupe of hostel rats comprising another American, two Italian girls, an Irishman, an Aussie and a couple of Columbians to accompany to a bar called the Delirium Cafe. Oh, you've heard of it? Then you must have been reading the 2004 Guinness Book of World Records, which affirmed that the bar's 2,000+ collection of beers was the largest on earth.
Struggling to sample the entire beer list, I was able to get through about six delicious drafts, including a strawberry variety in a fabulous shade of fuchsia that branded me a homosexual for the rest of the evening. The "19"-year-old Irish boy in tow probably got through a few more.
"I'm a walking cliche!"Confirmed stereotypes:
- Belgian beer = good
- The Irish love to drink
- The Italians are absurdly affectionate, and will touch your leg when talking to you. If you're me, this will make you melt faster than ice cream on a hot Belgian waffle.
- Americans are boors (again)
(Note: I wanted to post a video of an Australian pick-up artist telling a racist joke about Tasmanians [which I assume are somehow different from Australians], but I'm having a bit of trouble uploading. Check back later, if only to hear a raunchy joke in a funny accent.)
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