Max, the inventor of Belgian Waffles
Outside of Belgium, we think of waffles as “Belgian waffles.” In Belgium, they are called “Brussels waffles.” Both are misnomers, as it turns out, because the waffle was invented in Ghent, at a restaurant called Max. The charming art déco interior contains a line of hundred-year-old waffle irons, nimbly manned by Yves, whose family has been cooking waffles for six generations. The proper Max’s waffle (which is to say the proper Belgian waffle) must contain 20 squares (4x5) and when finished the cooked dough must be translucent.
He held up a few specimens to the light for me to see. Max waffles are light as air, not the least bit greasy, and the locals eat them only with powdered sugar. You can also get them with whipped cream, fruit, chocolate, and more, but the classic is worth trying, because it will be airier and tastier than the equivalents you’re probably used to. Max also specializes in apple beignets, lightly battered and fried apples served with ice cream. Not on everyone’s diet, but you’ll be eating a bit of history. And next time someone mentions “Belgian waffles” you can remind them that they should actually be called “Ghent waffles.”
Max
Goudenleeuwplein 3, 9000 Ghent
Tel. +32 9 223 97 31, Website
De Vitrine
The talk of the Ghent foodie community is a group of young chefs, inspired by avant-garde cooking like that of Noma in Copenhagen. Three buddies, dubbed “the rock 'n roll chefs” by local press, have restaurants in the city that have drawn rave reviews, not just from locals but from major league chefs from around the world. I’ve yet to try Jason Blanckaert’s J.E.F. or Olly Ceulenaere’s Volta, but I did try chef Kobe Desramault’s De Vitrine. Best known for a rural restaurant a good long drive from Ghent, this is his first city enterprise.
He remodeled a former butcher shop and offers just a few tables, and a fairly strict prix-fixe (although the waiter kindly said that the menu could be altered to taste—a nice and unpretentious touch, though unnecessary for our party). What followed was a four-hour meal, and one to remember.
From Ostend oysters served hot with horseradish and spinach to poached egg with chicken skin, from an incredible melty pork belly with oyster mushroom mayo to a milk caramel with apple ice cream and a hazelnut crunch that resembled a sepia-tone beach scene, it was a fine meal from a very promising chef, representing the top echelon of young Ghent, Belgian, and indeed European chefs.
De Vitrine
Brabantdam 134, 9000 Ghent
Tel. +32 9 336 28 08, Website
De Rechtvaardige Rechters
My favorite meal of this trip was at a restaurant beside the cathedral, De Rechtvaardige Rechters, named after the Righteous Judges, the title of the one panel out of the original twelve that comprise The Ghent Altarpiece that is missing—it was stolen in 1934 and never found. The restaurant is small, less expensive than most of the good ones in town, and has a limited menu.
I consider this a blessing, and always prefer restaurants that do a few things very well, rather than boasting encyclopedic, confusing menus. The night I ate there, chef Marijn Dierinck was on hand, sharing a bottle of wine with friends, and the whole atmosphere was elegant while remaining cozy and informal. I ate a mind-blowingly-good Stoverij, a local Ghent specialty that is essentially beef stew braised in dark beer (the other Ghent speciality to try is Waterzooi, a creamy stew made with vegetables and either chicken or fish).
There was a richness to the flavor, layered with not only dark Westmalle dubbel beer, but also the famous Tierenteyn mustard and brown sugar (some recipes even include crumbled gingerbread). It was out of this world and, best of all, meals come with a giant bowl of fries with homemade mayo—and if you finish, they offer to refill your bowl for free! Unlimited fries? It put this restaurant over the top.
De Rechtvaardige Rechters
Sint-Baafsplein 23, 9000 Ghent
Tel. +32 9 224 31 09, Website
Oude Vismijn
Word of warning: reserve ahead of time for meals out in Ghent on the weekends. On Saturday night I ended up at Oude Vismijn, a swanky new restaurant on the river, in the old fishmarket, refreshingly modernist in a Gothic-to-Baroque city—just about the only one with any tables available.
We had just filmed a sequence for a BBC documentary there, and I’d remarked on how distinctive the sleek modern interior looked, in comparison to the traditional interiors of most restaurants. I was rewarded with a baked cod dish—nothing traditional, but perfectly cooked, and a nice juxtaposition to the Ghent-specific dishes I was tasting at most restaurants.