Sweet Antwerp

Ha! And you thought I had gone all cultured on you. No, no, rest assured, I remain an equally avid sampler of desserts as of beers and ballets (new concept bar?). To return briefly to Belgium: On our last evening in Antwerp, our hosts whisked us very quickly on our bicycles to Goossens, the oldest bakery in the city, before it closed for the night. Despite my hosts' reassurances that I should see it in the morning, when the queue for mattentaarts stretches around the block, I was still might impressed by what they had on offer at seven in the evening, and with a side of the Belgian chocolates--each variety of which, naturally, we simply had to sample--I had little to complain about.

Lurking in the background of that picture are the famous Antwerpse Handjes, which take their name and shape from a charming folktale:


Once upon a time near the river Scheldt, there lived a big mean giant named Antigoon. Quite the savvy businessman, he charged every traveler wanting to cross his river, and when they refused, he cut off one of their hands and tossed it in the water. Thankfully for all the non-ambidextrous concerned, the brave Brabo arrived on the scene, Roman hero of admirable qualities but less than enviable name. In a rather literal interpretation of the golden rule, Brabo cut off Antigoon's own hand and flung it into the river, and thus Antwerp was born, its name derived from the Dutch phrase describing this delightful tradition: hand + werpen.

In hindsight, I actually took a picture of a little statue illustrating this tale, although I didn't think this was the stuff of which architectural embellishments are made. It looks like Brabo is waving. Bravo, Brabo! Now put that hand away, you sick man.

Rather than biting off the fingers of an Antwerp Hand--it's just a plain sable cookie, after all, and we're no cannibals--Sara and I decided to split a hand-sandwich, which is probably not the real name for that plate of chocolate-covered hands with chocolate fondant squished between them.

Lest you think I am neglecting completely the traditional pastries of Belgium, our hosts surprised us on Sunday morning with a plate of those very same mattentaarts we'd heard so lovingly praised the night before. And we didn't even have to queue! Although technically, only pastries made in the East Flanders city of Geraardsbergen can hold that name, since this baby is protected by UNESCO. Yes. Much like the lauded French dinner, this curd-filled puff pastry is part of Belgium's national heritage. And after having (a fake) one, I can totally get behind that. Especially since now I can justify taking another trip to Belgium to taste the real deal. Since we inhaled them too quickly to photograph, at left is Wikipedia's take on mattentaarts, although I'm not sure you should accompany them with a side of beer. Then again, everything comes with a side of beer and frites in Belgium, so who am I to judge.


Right, but, since I can't walk into a bakery and only get a cookie, we also got a cake to share after dinner. I won't tell you at what hour we ultimately ate dessert, after wobbling back home on our bicycles after the beer tour I posted about earlier. And I can't testify to the particularly Belgian qualities of the cake we picked out, as bananas don't grow in Flanders, but the marzipan encircling it is pretty authentic. And besides, who really cares about authenticity when you've just come back from a night spent tasting a dozen beers to find this little beauty waiting for you on the kitchen table?

Belgium, you rock. I rest my cake.