Lost Monday

On the first Monday after Twelfth Night Antwerpers hurry over to their pubs and bakeries for the annual delicacy known as 'worstenbrood en appelbollen' (sausage rolls and apple pastries).

The munchkin and I thus had our task cut out for us after school. Make our way over to Bakkerij Goossens (est. 1884 or thereabouts), stand in line outside in the cold, burrow through the door, wait politely behind the rope with the other 5 people who fit in the store at one time and contain excitement.

The daily/hourly queue at Goossens

Because this place is the bane of my existence. I am incapable of thinking properly in the presence of coconut rochers, sukade breads (white bread, powdered with sugar and containing confit fruit), buttery pains au chocolat, beautifully rolled butter croissants, etc. The list, as you imagine, goes on.

The munchkin gnawed happily on the milk sandwich she was handed by the owner (this woman is able to spot a future customer/child a mile away in the sea of adult legs) and I fainted as the same woman then proceeded to walk in with a tray of warm sausage rolls, which she patted lovingly and then called out for all to hear: "freshly baked, who needs sausage rolls?".

We patiently waited our turn and then proceeded home with our precious cargo, which was promptly inserted into a 220° C oven, which should be immediately turned down to 180°, and delivered hot and crusty to the table after a good ten minutes.

At the town hall, the councillors are also traditionally served a meal of worstenbrood and appelbollen on this day, and in my old haunt (the jenever café in the centre of Antwerp) regulars are also treated to this snack.

Don't you just love traditions?