Here’s a Brugge story…well first, a little backstory:
Until recently, in the US, there were only two styles of waffles, mainly:
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These thin, square ones, just called “waffles” and also available in frozen (“Leggo my Eggo!”).
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Then there are these big, fat, thick round ones, sold as “Belgian waffles.”
Nowadays, we can get the more traditional Belgian waffles here, the smaller round ones, but that’s a digression, not important right now.
Back to my story - Brugge has a reputation for having a high concentration of tourists, and we were indeed visiting as part of a long weekend coach holiday from the UK - arriving Friday night, leaving Monday morning.
MrsT on the way over was quite giddy about her waffle prospects, saying, “I think we should skip the hotel breakfast and go out for Belgian waffles!” - fine by me.
We did just that Saturday morning, and we didn’t have to walk too far along the main square to find a cafe advertising waffles and coffee and the like.
In we go, squeeze into seats at a table barely larger than a plate, and soon enough, here comes our waitress, and she no doubt pegs us as tourists, as nearly everyone along the square was, so she asks what we’d like, and MrsT orders coffee and a waffle.
“…but I want to make sure…are they the big, thick round
Belgian waffles? Because that’s what I’d like.”
Now, I’d never do that - even though it’s impossible not to, I just don’t like appearing like a tourist, or asking “tourist” questions…I’ll even take a chance (and end up eating organ meat, which has happened) than ask, “What exactly is this?” so MrsT trying to specify her waffle wishes to a local was causing me to shrink under that tiny table in embarrassment.
The waitress’s response was perfect, tightrope-walking between humor and weary dismissiveness: “Ma’am, every waffle here is a
Belgian waffle…we are in Belgium, no?”
