A memory, prompted by Julie Bournes despair of customer tastes. (She will get the reference at the end of this diatribe). In my time at the EEC in Brussels, repatriating some of your wasted taxes, I lived in Hoeilaart, in the middle of the Forêt de Soignes, just south of the city. The forest these days is sliced in half by the R0 - the Brussels ringroad, but it is criss-crossed by well-designed hacking tracks, and there is even a sand race track in the middle at Groenendaal. I took advantage of this by riding out as often as possible, from the Relais - a horse club with a Bar/restaurant attached, which was, in fact a Belgian cafe. run by Rene..... He used to feed me regularly, as it was often easier for him to throw steak at a pan and enjoy a bottle after a long ride. It was a small kitchen, but he frequently got invaded by parties of a down or more all expecting food at 20:00 or later. In his unflappable way, he would ask me if I would drive round the ringroad to his supermarket/butcher, and bring back whatever it would take to feed the crowd. My fee for acting as delivery boy was invariably a large fillet steak with Renes own variation of Sauce Diane, and a bottle of something from his own reserve cellar to wash it down. this was a perfect symbiosis, a Rene was a fine host, and excellent chef, and ran a first class cellar of vintage Clarets. Julie, you have an absolute right to despair. Franky I might have taken the bloody plate back from them and told them to take their vile habits elsewhere, so it is probably just as well I dont run a pub.....
Posted on: Thu, 28 Nov 2013 10:03:02 +0000