From the Inside Flap
Fodor's Pocket Guides are designed for people who just want the highlights. They contain full, rich descriptions of major cities and resort areas around the globe and include the most worthy sights, the best restaurants and lodging, plus shopping, nightlife, and outdoors highlights--all in a handy, pocket-size package.
Fodor's Pocket Brussels gives you:
All the basics you need to help you decide what to see and do in the time you have;
smart contacts and detailed practical information, including the scoop on public transportation, local holidays, what to pack, and more; the
very best dining and lodging in every price range;
great recommendations for shopping nightlife, outdoor activities, and essential side trips; and
detailed maps with sights, restaurants, nightspots, and hotels clearly marked.
An excellent choice for people who want everything under one cover." - Washington Post
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Introducing Brussels
Brussels (Bruxelles in French, Brussel in Flemish) is a provincial city at heart, even after it assumed a new identity as capital of the European Union (EU) in 1958. Within Belgium, Brussels has equal status with Flanders and Wallonia as an autonomous region. It's a bilingual enclave just north of the language border that divides the country into Flemish- and French-speaking parts. Historically, it's also the capital of Flanders.
At the end of the 19th century, Brussels was one of Europe's liveliest cities, known for its splendid caf?s and graceful art nouveau architecture. That gaiety, however, was stamped out by German occupation during the First and Second World Wars. Still, the city made a comeback little more than a decade later, its reemergence on the international scene heralded by the World's Fair and the Universal Exposition of 1958.
As a by-product of Europe's increasing integration, international business has invaded the city since the 1960s. The result: blocks of steel-and-glass office buildings set just steps from cobbled-street neighborhoods. Over the centuries, Brussels has been shaped by the different cultures of the foreign powers that have ruled it. It has learned the art of accommodating them and, in the process, prepared itself for its role as the political capital of Europe.
Damp and cold mist the leaded-glass windows, but inside the caf? glows a scene worthy of a Flemish Master. The burnished wooden banquettes are Rembrandt's; the lace curtain, Vermeer's. Hals would have painted the diner, a lone bearded man in rumpled black leather and heavy, worn wool, his thick fingers clasping a broad-stemmed bowl of mahogany-brown beer. Before him lies a spread of crockery and mollusks, a still-life in themselves: The two-quart pot is heaped high with blue-black mussels, their shells flecked with bits of onion and celery, the broth beneath them steaming; beside them a bowl piled high with yellow (french fries), crisp and glistening; in the corner, a saucer of slabs of floury-gold cracked-wheat bread. The man works studiously, absorbed in a timeless ritual: Fish out the shell from the broth with fingers inured to the heat by years of practice. Pluck out the plump flesh with a fork and, while chewing the morsel, chuck the shell aside on a crockery plate. Sometimes he sets down the fork and uses the empty shell as pincers to draw out the meat of the next shell. As the meal progresses, the pile in the pot shrinks and the heap of empty shells grows. As the beer follows the mussels, its strong tonic paints the man's cheeks until two ruby patches radiate above his beard. The painting's caption: "Man eating moules."
It is the central image of the Flemish lowlands -- the Netherlands, Flanders, even leaking into landlocked Wallonie and Luxembourg.
But this warmly lit interior scene wouldn't be as striking without its harsh exterior foil: Mussels, like the Dutch and the Flemish, are creatures of the sea; they flourish in cold, inky waters along rock-crusted shores, clustered and stacked like blue-black crystals in muddy tidal pools. They're a product of caustic sea winds and briny, chilly damp, and their bite tastes like salt air itself.
Mussels rations are anything but stingy here, and on your first venture you may be appalled by the size of the lidded pot put before you. It's the shells that create the volume, and once you've plucked out the tender flesh, thrown away the shells, and sipped the broth and succulent strays from a colossal soup-spoon, you'll soon find yourself at the bottom of the pot. Don't worry: Many restaurants will whisk it away and come back with Round Two -- another mountain of the steamy blue creatures, another pool of savory broth. It's called (all you can eat), so gird yourself for a feast: The locals have been doing it for 2,000 years.
