Old McDonald Had A Farm in Belgium

The train ride to Belgium seemed even faster than the two hours and Serge was at the station to fetch us. Seeing my old friend was like seeing him for the first time, and it seemed as if the twelve years since our last visit was only yesterday. We were both a few years older, but I think we look pretty damn good. Without wasting a second, he took us for what I've been raving about to Rosemarie for months - a Belgium waffle. Now, these are not your Bisquick Aunt Jemima come lately variety and never ever eat them for breakfast. Crispy around each waffle square with a delicate flaky center, I ordered mine with whipped cream and bananas while my mom stuck with the tried and true syrup variety. One bite and you'll never dream of opening a flour mix for the rest of your life.

The perfect tour guide from the start, Serge took us around Antwerp. After a stop in yet another incredible church where Rosemarie lit yet another candle, Serge gave my mother a magnet from the church shop. (Every giant church has a gift shop). He remembered she collected the souvenirs and told her that now she has one from a place she's actually been and hoped her fridge wouldn't fall over with the latest addition.

Our next stop was Serge and Phillipe's new home in St. Niklass and without a doubt, this is a farm. From the chickens and the roosters to the geese and the sheep to the aggressive goose, it is a far cry from Paris.

I've never seen eggs fresh out of the hen house. Martha Stewart would be impressed.

Phillipe hasn't changed one bit and after great wine and the most delicious (vegetarian) Belgian endive gratin, we had yet another sweet dessert to fill what I hope is not our expanding waistlines.

And the dogs, well, as my mother learned right away - they still don't speak English.

The perfect guide and host, Serge took us around Antwerp

belgium night