Sablon Antique Market

Andy and I hit the Sablon Antique Market the other day. The Sablon is a fancy area of Brussels -- maybe a bit Rockcliff-ish, or Westmount-y. The main square has tons of high end chocolate shops (bonjour) and expensive cafés. Inevitably, there are dozens of women swanning around in fur coats and men in shiny Italian suits. When I go to the Sablon I always feel like a schlub on field trip to see how an exotic species of human lives -- Homo Expensivis: distinguishing characteristics consisting of the driving of Jaguars, the carrying of small, yipping dogs in tiny Gucci coats and the attachment of expensive cellphone/camera/ipod/toaster ovens directly to the ear.

It was our second Sunday visiting the market, and we weren't that impressed. There seemed to be a ton of decorative plates on offer (some featuring the Belgian royal family), and an inordinate amount of silverware (maybe we should buy some to go with our tea sets), but nothing much else.

Thirsty and a bit bored, I went in search of somewhere to buy a bottle of water. I spotted an old woman running a hot dog stand and approached. Imagine my surprise, shock and delight when I realised that she wasn't selling hot dogs.

Instead, she had a big pot at the front of her cart. It was boiling lightly and emitting a strange odour that I couldn't place. I approached and saw that there were odd implements on the side of the cart: Long narrow forks, and sea shells. When I noticed salt and lemon juice in little pots I thought she was selling something fishy (tee hee).

I watched for a little while, not daring to approach, because the little old lady wasn't just little, but also appeared to be withered, mean, hunchbacked, warty-nosed and possibly cloven-hoofed. In short, standing in front of that boiling cauldron, she looked like a witch from a fairy tale, and I wasn't keen to mess with that mojo.

Finally, after several minutes of staring at the non-hot dog cart, the mystery was solved. A man approached and spoke to the witch. I didn't hear what he said, but undoubtedly it was some sort of incantation to pacify her sorceress powers. The old woman responded, reaching into the pot with a long wooden spoon and fished out... snails! She placed about four or five dripping escargots on a plate and the man grabbed lemon and salt, pouring them onto the little suckers, before digging them out of their shells with the long narrow fork and glomming them back like they were Belgian chocolate.

I stared awestruck. Firstly, there was my suspicion that these weren't real snails, but the unfortunate remains of people who had crossed the witch in the past... Possibly someone who had cut in front of her at the grocery store aisle, borrowed her broom without asking, or ordered a bottle of water instead of snails from her cart.

The second thing that fascinated me about the whole incident was how profoundly European it was… The drizzly weather, the bustle of the antique market, the fact that the street meat cart didn’t sell dodgy hotdogs, but es-car-freakin'-got.

I'll say one thing about this country, it's got class.

And witches.