By 8:30, I arrived at T' Spinnekopke, well known in Brussels for its fine food and beer. With no reservations on a Saturday night, I was told to return at nine. The beer list included Cantillon, and I was looking forward to my dinner. I wandered back towards Boulevard Anspach, looking for a warm cozy spot to have my first beer and kill half an hour. Then I saw it. The cafe was called Beer Street. What else could I do?
I entered to find 74 taps, the largest draft selection in Belgium. I soon found myself sitting with the cafe's owner, a man of impressive stature named Joel Pescheur. Joel did his best to ensure that I sampled all 74 beers. A tour of the cellars revealed the most sophisticated dispensing system that I've ever seen. The pressure and temperature of each keg could be independently adjusted. The computerized control system also accounted for the diameter and length of the serving lines to get the pressure right.
After the tour, our discussion turned towards Belgium's beer renaissance. The next thing I knew, Joel and his wife's family whisked me off to Brussels' only brewpub, La Miroir. I rode with his Father and Mother-in-law.
La Miroir is well outside of Brussels proper, in the suburb of Jette. I could tell we were at a brewpub right away. The life size neon brew kettles on the exterior were my first clues. Inside, there were too many ferns and pastels, but at least the beer list was tasteful. De Dolle Brouwers, Cantillon and Slagmuylder were well represented. The two house beers were a well made Wit, and a loosely interpreted Flanders Oud Bruin. In Belgium, brewing beers of this complexity is merely the price of entry. Otherwise, no one notices. For the first time in my life, I realized that it was relatively easy to build a successful brewpub in the States.
A quick midnight tour revealed a fairly standard 10 hectoliter system, with some serving tanks being installed. The coriander seeds and curacao orange peels were in baggies below the tanks. They'd tried to put the brewery in the middle of the pub, but local legislation put it against the wall.
We soon retreated to Beer Street, where Joel again demonstrated his warm hospitality and obsession for perfection. Sated and exhausted, I tore myself away. Wandering back towards the Grand Place, I finally got my dinner. Showarmas and kebabs are the only way to eat cheap in Brussels. One thought surfaced as I collapsed into bed and drifted off, "If I had to go home now, it would all be worth it."