At night on the streets of Brussels, under bare bulb illuminated striped awnings, teeny cafe tables perilously balance candles, seafood platters, buckets of moules, mounds of frites and encourage smiling diners to stay a little later, have one more Kriek, share one more story.
The next day that very same street is closed up tight: light bulbs switched off, awnings drawn in, tables gone, sidewalks washed and no one at all on the street.
Save for the delivery man. Leaving bags of onions and crates of young lettuces and meter long baguettes. The ingredients to create an enchanting evening all over again.
