The Damn Architect

De Skieven Architek is a term used by the people of the Marolles about the man who designed and built the Palais de Justice, or law courts. It translates as “that damn architect”, or perhaps something a bit stronger. The damn architect in question was Baron Poelaert, yes he who lends his name to the wide open and generally waste of space in front of his creation, the Palais de Justice. It took 17 years to build, and required 1,000 families to be forcibly evicted to make space for its bulk. They did not go quietly, and there were riots and even a suicide before they were persuaded to relocate. It was the largest building in Europe during the 19th century – 4,000 square metres larger than St Peter’s in Rome – and dominates the city for miles around with its grandiose cupola.

Poelaert died in a lunatic asylum in 1879 and never lived to see his creation completed. Legend has it that a witch from the Marolles district cursed him and finished him off with a form of Belgian voodoo. But before he died, he also built several more edifices, including St Catherine’s church, and a fire station on Hoogstraat, which was recently converted into a restaurant. And guess what it’s called? “De Skieven Architek” of course. It’s a very Flemish restaurant, and the schoolmistressy waitresses greet you with a firm “Goededag” (which always sounds to my untrained ear like Hooeydaah). The restaurant serves typical Flem dishes like carbonnade and rabbit, but also has an impressive list of beers, both draught and bottled, some of which are brewed by the restaurant’s own off-premises microbrewery and can be bought to take out. Some of the beers on offer had an alc.vol. content of 10.8% - I am not sure if these figures mean the same thing all over Europe, but that’s almost the alcoholic content of wine. No wonder it is served in small glasses here. The“Witte Brigittine” wheat beer was refreshing: cloudy and not very gassy, with a slightly fruity taste. I only had the one, though.

After a leisurely perusal of the menu which includes a good deal of history about the area and the building in French, Flemish and English, I ordered authentic Brussels “stoemp” which, for the uninitiated, is a sort of potato and vegetable mash involving potatoes, carrots, onions and whatever other vegetable is lying about in the larder that day. “Stoemp” is probably a fairly accurate description of the culinary process used to prepare it. It is fairly basic peasant fodder, and the vegetables are not so much mashed as just sort of stamped on with hobnailed boots. They are served piping hot with a sausage and a slice of belly pork, and hits the spot on a chilly October Sunday after a morning tramping round the flea market. I quietly congratulated myself when I spotted two hulking great Flemish market boys tucking in to the same thing at the next table. I just love to know I’ve got the local culture right.

The Architek is a pleasant restaurant, the high ceilinged main room hung with paintings. Only one complaint – it costs 50 cents to spend a penny. This is a subject that gets me into a bate, the number of restaurants in Brussels which charge customers to use the facilities. The loo was admittedly spotless. But I am a customer, for heaven’s sake. It’s their beer I’m getting rid of. It’s simply not on.

Although you won't find me following the example of the Jannekin Pis.