Making the Best of Things

Okay, so this will come as no surprise to most of you: I can sometimes be a bit particular when it comes to, well, nearly everything. I like my salad greens dark, my bathrooms tidy, and my detergents fragrance free. If you ever sense grumpy vibes from me, it's probably because one of these many things has not been the way I like it.

But studying in a funny new country is teaching me to be flexible, and not in the yoga way (although I could really go for some of that). Let me give a few examples.

1. Coffee
Despite my honest belief in buying local, minimizing waste, and supporting small business, I can't pretend that I don't love Starbuck's. I really do. There's just nothing like a grande soy cappuccino that I can cradle in my hands and nurse slowly until my whole being is warm and caffeinated and delightful.

There isn't a Starbuck's in Brussels. There also isn't an MJ's, a Cocoa Perk, or an Off The Ground. When you order a cappuccino here, you receive one of two things: either a Starbuck's-style drink that has gone through a Willy Wonka television transmission shrinking machine, or the WORST: a shot of espresso with a mountain of whipped cream from a can.

I don't always hate whipped cream. I think it has its use (pumpkin pie). But whipped cream in place of frothed milk in a cappuccino has a name and that's cheating. Or tromperie in French. The Belgians try to make up for this failure by accompanying every coffee with some delectable little thing: a bit of dark chocolate, a speculoos, or some other cookie. That's nice, but it doesn't cut it.

Instead, I've found a much better solution. Nearly every place that sells coffee also has these beautiful little creations called pains au chocolat. They are sort of croissant material, but rectangular and more buttery. Bits of dark chocolate float amongst layers of pastry like little pockets of paradise.

So, here's what you do: order a pain au chocolat and a plain coffee. This won't actually be a coffee, but instead an espresso. It will be tiny, so to make it last, alternate sips of coffee with bites (they can be gigantic and uncivilized; it's understandable) of heaven-in-a-baked-good.

You won't miss Starbuck's at all.



Note: You can practice being Belgian in the U.S., if you'd like. Pains au chocolat are sold at the occasional bakery, and you'll find one soon enough if you keep your eyes peeled. (Gross expression.) If you're near Hershey, go to Hershey Breads 'n' Cheese (holla!). If you're in a major city (NYC, Washington, LA, some others), you can be really authentic about it: head to Le Pain Quotidien, which is a Belgian chain with the best ones I've found so far. Theirs are slightly bigger and denser and feel like a real indulgence.


2. Living with things that squeak
Two Mondays ago was my flatmate's birthday, and a bunch of the girls from our program came over for cake and drinks. After two glasses of wine, I needed a bathroom break. I stepped into my cozy salle de bains (which is really quite charming with its classic porcelain tub and medicine cabinet and pedestal sink), locked the door, and turned around. There was a mouse.

The girl in the bathroom was not the brave Allie who used to catch toads and worms while her mud pies baked, who protected wild baby bunnies from a ravenous Phantom, who played with praying mantises until one day she got pinched and learned better, or who discovered the hard way her allergy to Madagascar hissing cockroaches. The girl in the bathroom was instead the Allie who has developed an annoying germ phobia, who buys her own rugs at Ikea and does not intend them to be a depository for droppings of any sort, and who certainly cannot react calmly to une souris in a room designed to promote hygiene.

So I panicked. I fumbled with the door handle until I got it unlocked. I ran out to the kitchen, climbed up my roommate like Tigerlily avoiding Dr. Rill, and pointed silently and frantically to the bathroom.

"What is it? A spider?"
I shook my head and let out a pathetic and whiny "mouwwwwse." The girls squealed and backed away from me, like maybe I'd unknowingly brought the thing out in one of my pockets or maybe hidden in my hair.

Except for Bonnie. I hadn't really met her before that night, but she quickly became my hero. She calmly requested a pot and a glass, which I rushed to fetch for her. After just a few courageous seconds in the bathroom, she emerged successful.

With the mouse now contained, we gathered around to examine it. It seemed so much smaller now that it was in our control. What I had first viewed as a twitchy, four-legged vessel for the Plague was now just a tiny, scared, grey-brown furball… and it was sort of cute.

That mouse lives outside now, I guess. But this building is old and full of cracks and nooks that are certainly home to others. Sometimes at night that thought makes me uncomfortable— remember that story we heard in England about sleeping people who choked when mice fell from the thatched roof into their gaping mouths? For the most part, though, I've warmed up to the little creatures. In my mind they are not the Mice, but the Borrowers, and I imagine their world composed of my lost paperclips, rubber bands, and buttons. They just better stay out of my speculoos…



3. Changing Plans
Last Friday, I went to bed absolutely elated. I had just been accepted to an internship program in Washington, DC for the summer, which I wanted more than anything. But also, I had excellent plans for the next day: a tour of the finest chocolate shops in Brussels. I was hoping to photograph (and eat) the most intriguing candies and then post it all on here.

Maybe my body was overloaded with pains au chocolat and just couldn't stand the idea of more sweets. Or maybe I ate some bad asparagus. But early Saturday morning, I woke up sick. (The keep-the-trashcan-by-the-bed kind of sick. It would have been Bathroom Floor Disease, but I'm still funny about lingering too long on the rug where the mouse was.)

I called Ceej and canceled the tour. I just about cried on the phone— not because it is such a HUGE BUMMER to be away from one's mama while sick, but because it was a rare warm and sunny Saturday in Brussels, and I knew I wouldn't be going out.

I closed the blind to my skylight and settled into my bed for what would be thirty hours of feverish sleeping. A little while later, I got a text from Ceej. "Going to run errands for a few hours, then I'll stop by. Let me know if you need anything."

I asked him for apple juice and lemon Perrier. After an hour and a half, I was dehydrated but too tired to get up for a drink. Wondering what errands could be so important as to leave me shriveling up like a raisin, I grouchily called Ceej to check his status.

He showed up soon after with my juice and lemon Perrier, which he had searched for in three grocery stores. But he also had a bouquet of white roses (from his new florist friends) and a bag full of treats from Pierre Marcolini, the ritziest chocolate shop in town and Gino's favorite.

It took a few days until my body wanted to try any of the chocolate, but it was worth the wait. And so it is with many things in Brussels: I often have to change around how I go about things. But in the end, it's really pretty nice.