Belgian Monk, Pottergate

21 April 2007

Spring is here, and with it bluebells, barbecues and the butter mountains of brilliant flesh that no man should ever see. It is a time to absorb every last golden drop of sun, ideally with beer in hand.

But what to do at lunch time? Dining outside is less easy in Norwich than, say, Nice – unless of course you’re happy to snatch a pasty on the steps of Next, and observe the local teenagers be, as they say, alternative (which, as far as I can discern, amounts to little more than girls spitting and boys sharing make-up).

Two minutes’ walk from the increasingly serious gotholick posturing is The Belgian Monk. Here we find a blessedly discreet terrace out back, where, in the absence of shade, one can settle down to an indecent variety of Belgian beers and soak up the UV till exquisitely pink. The beer starts at around Stella strength and increases in liability from there. They’ll also serve it with a straw, for those on a budget.

For those unfamiliar with Belgium’s contribution to cuisine, it broadly comes down to chocolate and moules frites – The Belgian Monk focuses more on the latter, with some thirteen different ways of serving them (twenty-six if you count the snack-sized servings). There may well be a chocolate menu, but I had red mist for meatballs and was disinclined to check.

However, I was under orders to get mussels for Mrs Wifey (she having baggsied the sitting down and holding the table out in the sun job), and so I ordered her moules with salmon and leek.

One seldom has the opportunity to use both ‘medieval’ and ‘sconce’ in the same sentence, but with the chips arriving in such a vessel, it was, linguistically speaking, a dream come true.

Yet it was also grossly disheartening, as the best fries in the world are [arguably] Belgian by birth – or at least cooking technique. Serving a chubby chip with your moules is like buying a box of Leonidas and finding a Double Decker inside. However, Mrs Wifey was happy, and that was the most important thing.
I was also happy: the meatballs were good.

As a monk-free provincial Belgo, it fills a market niche, but the wise money comes during the week for the dubbel deal menu.

Eat here: but don’t make a habit of it. A habit! Ha! I’m here all week!
Keywords: lager lager lager