belgian beer garden

dear me, ive gone and found other endeavours to preoccupy myself with instead of blogging. how rude. seriously, its been however many weeks of no uni and i dont feel like ive accomplished quite as much as i wouldve liked to. the only area deserving of a gold star is my money-raking. for the first time in living memory im actually earning more than what i spend; a lot more for that matter. but thats not the point, the point is that as well as feeling a little disappointed with myself ive also created an immense backlog of blog entries to do. this will now be remedied.

friday was a momentous day for a few reasons. one of which was the return to the belgian beer garden. sadly this time around it wasn't with dearest johanna and that foxy probably-irish bartender who served me my first rekorderlig. instead it was emily and i dropping by for lunch at my insistence en route to picking up in's birthday cake (friday was also ineke's day of 21st celebrations).

together we shared a frosty cauldron of hoegaarden (they called it a pint but i felt more like pippin with his comically oversized not-a-pint at the prancing pony) chilli corn fritters and a croque monsieur.

the fries on the side were so-so in the grand scheme of fries, but the sandwich itself had me stop chewing for just a little to bask in the warm glow of its tastiness. the bread itself was hilariously thick, with a crispy and slightly cheesy exterior and then soft and pillowy underneath. there was ham and gooey cheese alongside a good wad of bechamel inside which binded everything together into something far too satisfying and praise-worthy than the sum of its parts. sorry im gushing quite a bit here but its not often that i feel it necessary to jizz my pants in response to a sandwich; and when it does happen then i think its alright to let people know.

i seriously need to question the existence of better bar food.