Belgian National Day

One of my favorite holidays in Belgium was their National Day. It starts with a parade and children’s fair and ends with the Cinquantenaire turning into a giant beer garden with fireworks banging on overhead (or drones winging around making a menacing display). It’s a true family holiday, with something for everyone. Bouncy castles, street food, beer, folk music, rave music, and so on.

Parc du Bruxelles on National Day

The second year we were there, we had decided to meet up at my place. My Georgian mother-in-law was visiting, so we could stuff ourselves with khatchapuri and then head on out. We had our blanket in arm and started walking on down, the family and a couple of friends. And then we got to a massive crowd outside of the gates.

And on the other side of the gates?

No massive crowd.

What gave? The guards were turning people back. Too many people in the park. But a quick survey of the surroundings showed there were more people just outside the gates in a tighter area! So, I made a mental note and resolved that the following year, there would be no khatchapuri. We would sit on a blanket and eat sausages, dag nabbit jesh maritad blin!

The Belgian Revolution

Belgian National Day is celebrated on July 21. But this is not the real Belgian National Day. It’s actually a complete fabrication of a proud king’s imagination. The real Belgian National Day is on September 27. That date is about the Revolution, which started when a bunch of opera-goers from La Monnaie got super pissed off at the Dutch monarchy and hit the streets.

La Monnaie

You see, the head man of the United Netherlands, King William I of Orange (not the color, but also the color) was visiting his fair city of Brussels, and he wanted a mad-cap party to celebrate his fifteenth year of rule (not that the locals were very happy about it).

The opposition decided to cooperate with him on that.

The schedule went thus:

1. Monday the 23^rd: Fireworks.

2. Tuesday, the 24^th: Illuminations.

3. Wednesday, the 25^th: Revolution.

The opera house was playing, La muette de Portici, a musical play about revolution and dancing. Just beforehand, a revolutionary newspaper tweeted out that people should leave on the fifth act. Not only because it was a disappointment, but because the King would never suspect people leaving after paying 150 euros a seat.

The United Kingdom of the Netherlands

Just to keep this short, William was the King of a United Kingdom that was invented just after Napoleon’s bout across Europe. The Frenchman was out collecting principalities like my son collects roly-polies on our walk to school, and after his defeat, something had to be done with all these territories.

At that time, the lowlands (or Netherlands) was divided in two parts, and one part (Flanders) shared the same rule with a weird bit of Francophonic, beer-swilling Minecraft squeezed between France and Germany. This bit of land was owned by the Austrian Emperor, who had inherited it from his Spanish relatives, who had inherited it from other Austrian relatives who had gotten it when they were running the Holy Roman Empire (this is the short, simple version, mind you).

So that was the “Austrian Netherlands”. The other Netherlands was actually a republic, but it was being constantly undermined by the powerful Orange family, who had centuries earlier migrated in from France after failing to take over that throne. Despite the country being a republic, the lands were still owned by someone, and that someone was the Orange family. Finally, Napoleon and his defeat paved the way for the Oranges, under William VI, to stake out a new claim, that of the Netherlands.

At the Congress of Vienna, Europeans gathered together to divvy up land that wasn’t really theirs. William threw down his claim, not only that the Netherlands should have a king (him) but also that it made perfect sense for him to throw in Brabant, Flanders, and Wallonia because, ohpsa, what’s this, they had also married into that family as well.

William VI then became King William I of the United Kingdom of the Netherlands.

Not everyone likes a king, or does

The problem with the Dutch was that they were Protestant. The Flemish and Walloons were Catholic (having been under Habsburg rule). Now William had a brilliant idea. He thought he might fix that divide and make everyone a Dutch Protestant. Never mind that there were Catholics and Francophones in a great deal of his territories.

And that brings us back to the revolution and a newly independent Belgium, consisting of the Catholic states that were once a part of the United Kingdom of the Netherlands.

Now it wasn’t that these folk were against having a king. They quite liked the idea. They just didn’t like the idea of William being king.

"Episode des Journées de Sept 1830 sur la Place de l'Hôtel de Ville de Bruxelles" by Gustave Wappers

After two days of brutal street fighting, William’s enforcers deserted on mass and he was no longer able to keep a hold on the territory. On September 27, the not-so-Dutch declared independence, claimed they were all descendants of the ancient Belgae tribe, and voted on a new form of government, this time led by a king, Leopold I.

Leopold was a Protestant nobleman from Saxe-Coburg (same line as the British and Russian rulers) who served in the Russian army against Napoleon. Of course, it’s weird they chose a Protestant just after fighting and kicking out the Protestants, but that’s Belgium for you.

He became the first king of Belgium on July 21. Ah, recognize that date?

Belgian National Day

Leopold was not such a proud man to make a day a holiday after himself. That claim goes to his son, Leopold II, the same guy who funded a lot of Brussels’ fantastic, monumental buildings from profits off his slave plantations in the Congo. He also moved Belgian National Day from September 27 to July 21, to firmly establish the identity of the crown with the people.

There is of course, the regularly recognizable arches that he had built. But there's also this bizarre goldfish pond with a Trumpian etching of slaves with crocodiles, with an inscription for the "brave Belgian explorers" and something about how they got rid of the Arab slavers (the sculptor either had a keen sense of irony or left it at the bank), though the "Arab" part was removed at the request of the mosque nearby.

Dedicated to the "Brave Belgian explorers of the Congo"

My kid used to love visiting the goldfish here, though I'd try to discourage it. But there's only so much you can do to persuade a 2-year-old. He loved it so much, he rolled a Hot Wheel right off the side, plopping into the water straight to the bottom. So, if you're around when they at last drain that thing, grab it and send it to me in Georgia, would you?

And that’s where we are next week, when Belgium celebrates the birth of their nation. Or kingdom. Or whatever.

The Official Parade

The day kicks off with a big military/civil service parade, composed of soldiers, Bradleys, firefighters, police, customs agents (the ones looking for drugs, not the weird American gestapo-style ones), and so on. It passes by the Palace or the Parliament or both, depending on the year. Which means the best place to view it is in Parc de Bruxelles. But be warned, they typically and inexplicably shut down the metro station and force everyone to squeeze down the tight sidewalks leading there. C’est la vie.

Get there early, especially if you’re with kids. Not just because of the massive crunch, but also because there’s a ton of kids’ activities there, from inflatable bouncy racetracks to face painting to various contests and games, mostly free or for very small fees. Food and beer are readily available, so don’t concern yourself over that.

The parade itself was always a hit with my kid, who loved watching the firefighters and policemen, though he has, much like his dad, never been into military hardware himself.  

The royal propaganda

The fun then continues over at the Parc du Cinquantenaire, where they have a huge light and drone show once it gets dark, incorporating the massive arches in the whole display. It’s really cool and a must see if you’re in town on July 21.

The placement of the final celebrations at the park, and indeed, the migration from the palace to the park, is no real accident either. As I wrote earlier, the real revolution, which had invoked ideals of republic and freedom (before they elected to have a king, ahem… mind you, only rich, male property owners could take part in the Provisional Government that decided this kind of things… so it made sense they’d decide to stick with a monarchy), was in September.

It was King Leopold II who moved it to the Cinquantenaire and made it a kind of “king’s day”. And his most famous legacy is the park’s monumental architecture. So from the palace to the park. And even today, the king makes a special appearance and gives a speech just before the light show.

The light show

As I mentioned earlier, you should get there with plenty of time. And again, food and beer is readily available, as they put in a bunch of stalls (though always with long lines, so maybe bring a picnic) along with Chez Maurice which is already there. Also bring a blanket, because all the benches in the entire park are always taken. Place the blanket towards the center so you can reserve a clear view of the show.

Lasers turning the 50 into a rave

They typically start a mix of rave-style, folk, and pop fairly early, and there’s also the big sandbox playground if you need to entertain your kid for a spell.

Then when it gets dark, there’s not much else to do but to cram into the center aisle and enjoy the show.

Schedule

Action at the Parc du Bruxelles starts at 10 am and wraps up at 8 pm. The parade starts at 4 pm, and the concert, fireworks, laser, etc. show at the Cinquantenaire starts at 9 pm.

Jans of Prague and the 1st defenestration

Walking through the Old Town in Prague, you’re in for an enrapturing experience. The old Baroque architecture, the winding alleys, the brutal crowds of gaping tourists. And this weekend on Sunday, when you come out to spy the secrets of the Astronomical Clock and take a selfie with a thousand other people, you might also notice a huge pile of wreaths stacked around the statue in the middle of the square.

Yeah? It’s Jan Hus Day. That statue, by the way, is Jan Hus, now considered a saint by the Orthodox, mainly because he bit his thumb at the Catholics.

Though it wasn’t really his intention. But you know what they say: the road to getting burned at stake is paved with good intentions.

Jan Hus

Before Martin Luther, before Calvin, before burning heretics was even a thing, there was Jan Hus, the man who would be the kindling of the Reformation (while many consider Wycliffe the match).

Jan was curious about why the regular folks couldn’t drink the wine at Church, that is, to take the Eucharist “in two kinds”. Back at that time, they’d just give the laity the bread, while the priest got the best bit of the service and downed the wine (the body and blood of Christ, respectively).

He was also spending a lot of time at the somewhat schismatic Bethlehem Church, led by yet another Jan, Jan Křiž, along with Hanuš of Mühlheim. It was a "preaching church", that is to say, non-sacramental, where the preaching would only be in Czech and not Latin.

Jan Hus

It was a weird time for the Catholic Church too. Back then, we had two popes! And the pope claiming authority over Prague was a real stickler and didn’t think much for people questioning things like sacramental distribution. So he kicked ole Hus out of the Church.

Which wouldn’t have been that big of deal, except that Hus was a priest and an exceptionally good orator. After this, he jumped off the Wycliffe and started preaching things like against plenary indulgences, kind of “get out of hell free” cards that the pope was dealing out to fund his own projects along with other anti-papal criticisms.

The birth of the Czech nation

The Biblical language at the time was Latin, while the political language of the Holy Roman Empire was German, as multi-ethnic as it was. Czech was slowly becoming the language of farmers and dull village folk, while the supposedly educated would speak in High German, so much so that by the 1800s (long after this) Czech German was considered the highest scholarly German there was (this is not to say that everyone was speaking German, far from that, but rather concerning the attitudes towards the two). And in order to preach religion, you had to do it in the “Biblical language”, which was naturally Latin, since the Bible was written in Latin… oh, wait a second.

Latin was really just a power move by Italian and French ecclesiastics, whose languages remained very close to the Vulgate Bible that St. Jerome translated the Bible into. But we’re not really talking about that anyway.

So, Jan went to his roots. He went along with the Bethlehem folk and started speaking the language of his people. The villagers. The poor and the downtrodden. Czech.

And he got so far into preaching in Czech, that he even figured new ways to write the language, adding the precursors of the diacritics, the funny markings that change the sounds and make Čech so much easier to read than Polish.

The Council of Constance

The pope, or antipope as we call him now, didn’t like that at all and summoned him to a council in Constance, a kind of halfway point between Prague and the holy city of anti-Rome, which the French call Avignon. In Constance, they were having a big council to resolve the whole antipope thing anyway, so why not a trial on top?

The Council of Constance by Vaclav Brozik, 1883

But instead of any kind of real hearing, a bunch of the antipope’s minions captured him, tied him up, pushed him through a show trial, and then tossed him to the secular courts who promptly burnt him at stake. His last words were something prophetic, like, “In another 100 years will come a guy you can’t just tie up and burn at the stake”. Possibly in reference to Martin Luther, who would splinter the Church and the Holy Roman Empire forever. With that threat, the executioners gathered his ashes and tossed them into the Rhine River, preventing people from pretending to create relics from his bones.

The Hussites

But really, it didn’t take that long. After the local authorities had rounded up some rowdy Hussites and took them prisoner at the New Town Hall, a riot had formed outside, with the famous one-eyed general, Jan Žižka at the head. The rioters, excuse me, “peaceful protesters”, were demanding the release of some Hussites who had been taken prisoner by the Catholic-aligned authorities.

The peaceful protesters stormed the town hall and launched the authorities out the window, which started the timeless Czech tradition of “defenestrating” people you’re upset with.

After the defenestration, Žižka and the Hussites took Prague.

Jan Žižka

Žižka was such an amazing and interesting character that Pilsner Urquell should make a beer advertising campaign off the guy.

Jan Žižka at Vitkov Hill

Žižka once led an army of peasants and farmers to victory against armored knights using castles made of wagons.

He didn’t always have one eye, but when he did, he could still take the strategic advantage.

He never lost a battle, even after losing his other eye. And even when he didn’t have any eyes, he still won. Some say he could feel the enemy’s fear in the wind.

He once trained an army to fight with farm tools and tore down the king’s guard with a farmer’s flail.

Just before he died, he wanted to keep fighting, so he demanded his men turn his skin into leather used for war drums.

He is Jan Žižka. Stay thirsty, my friends.

A free throne

The rebellion of Žižka was perfect in timing. Just after the defenestration, the King died from a heart attack, and the nearest possible heir was King Sigismund in Hungary. So the Bohemians said screw it, we’ve had enough with these royals.

King Sigismund didn’t have enough with the Bohemians though, and he gathered forces loyal to the Holy Roman Empire and the Catholic Church. His army of Hungarians and Germans began marching towards Prague, far outnumbering the Hussite. Žižka sped down to Tabor and gathered some reinforcements, and he set up camp on Vitkov Hill in his neighborhood of Žižka.

Jan Žižka in Palace Lucerne by David Cerny

Žižka would win his battle against the King at Vitkov Hill, where his statue now stands (which is, by the way, the third largest horseman in the world, and also there’s another Žižka statue of him riding an upside down horse in Palac Lucerne).

The Hussite Legacy

The Hussites were fierce warriors, winning battle after battle, defying expectations and proving that ordinary believers could stand against established powers. They did awesome things like making wagon forts, waging early chemi-biological warfare by flinging poop over castle walls, and eventually turn against themselves with many rejoining the Catholics in the classic Czech attitude of “yesh mariatad” or something like that, which is Czech for “I have strong feelings about this but there is nothing to be done like everything else in life”.  

Years later, the Church basically said, “About Jan Hus, seems like a decent fellow, our bad.” And then they started letting the commoners drink wine at mass.

So anyway, that’s what all the wreaths and flags are about.

Street khatchapuri: More than cheesy bread

A lot can be said about the “Georgian table”.

It’s big. It’s bountiful. But after a few feasts it blends into monotony. I’ll be honest. And perhaps this is something of a hot take. But the sit down meals aren’t the best about Georgian food. Where Georgian food excels is its street food culture.

The street food here is the best in the world, let me tell you.

It’s hard to stay fit when every few minutes you pass some bakery with fresh pastries dripping with steaming, delicious cheese.

But it occurs to me that it’s not so easy to order. There are a lot of choices, and though sometimes you’ll get a selection in “English”, how do you really know what you want? Or even what all that stuff actually is?

The satskhobi at Freedom Square Metro

Most people, upon coming here, or perhaps before coming here, will know the basic. You’ve got khatchapuri (the cheesy bread), adjaruli khatchapuri (the famous egg boat), and khinkali (hand-eaten dumplings). That’s what Georgians are always bragging about. But put down the dumplings, man, and head over to the local satskhobi (place of baking, i.e. bakery) or sakhatchapure (place of xatchapuri). Here’s what you’ve got cooking.

And a word you need to remember when you order: “Akhalia?” which means, “Is it fresh?” Because you want this jazz straight from the oven, not sitting there being fly food for hours on end. Stand in a line for the best, or at least time it around mealtime, because that’s when these places gear up. I find 11:00 or 12:00 are the best times at a window.

You could of course ask them to nuke it in a microwave, in which case you want to ask, "datskhele, tu sheidzleba". If they do that, make they don't put it in a plastic bag and then place it in the microwave. If you catch them doing that, shout out, "Uplasmo!"

The history

I remember walking through the streets of Pompeii. One of the incredible things to see were the remnants of streetside cafes and fast food shops. Places that would sell bread pies and soups for the lunch breaks and those hurrying down the streets on errands. It was a fascinating detail in ancient life, and one that still very much exists today.

Georgians are super proud of their cheese, ranging from the top-tier sulguni (brine cheese originally made from bison milk, though more often from cow now), to salty imeretian cheese to cottage cheese style dombalkhacho and in-between "khatchapuri cheese". Georgian cheese tradition is as ancient as probably their streetfood khatchapuri tradition: in excavations at Khami Didi Gora, they've found 8000 year old clay pots for cheese among other things.

So, it's rich, delicious, and old... but let's move on what to order.

The food

We begin with the standard.

Khatchapuri – this is a cheesy bread.

Lobiani – This is a bean bread.

There are many types of khatchapuri and lobiani, and I’ll hit them all below. But generally, each pastry has a type in both options. So, if you’re vegan, go with the lobiani, if not, go with either. Vegan options of standard dishes are especially important in Georgia, because many people enjoy fasting for months without actually giving up anything, just switching to bean or sugar-free versions (not sure why you have to give up both sugar AND meat AND cheese for a fast, but whatever, it's religion, doesn't have to make sense to everyone).

Khatchapuri and lobiani list

Keep in mind, with each of these you have to specify “khatchapuri” or “lobiani” when you order, though some only exist as khatchapuri.

Imeruli – this is what you find at most restaurant tables or in most homes. It’s the standard cheese or bean pie. Circular stuffed pizza crust, not much else to brag about here. But did you know there are some interesting variations that make for better street eating?

Imeruli khatchapuri

Penovani – “penovani” means layered, and the crust used here is like a non-sweet croissant crust. It’s flaky, it’s messy, it’s great street eating, especially when fresh. You can get a penovani khacthapuri or a penovani lobiani.

Flaky crusted penovani

Nakhevari penovani – Sometimes the penovani can be too puffy, too cheesy, or too much. At these windows, you’ll want to keep an eye out for little square portions of khatchapuri, that clearly aren’t imeruli, but they’re not so puffy either. This is the “half-puffed” khatchapuri. Almost always a great snack. Mostly this option is only available for khatchapuri.

Nakhevari penovani

Lorit – With ham. Ratcha is a mountainous region famous for its smoked ham. When you have “ratchuli lobiani”, it’s served with either with a slice of ham, or bits of ham. The khachapuri equivalent though is “khatchapuri lorit”. This is personally my favorite of the street food options. You’ve got protein, you’ve got calcium, and it’s something somewhat familiar, like a grilled cheese sammich. Good stuff.

Guruli – This one is typically only served as khatchapuri. They take some hard-boiled egg, chop it up, and serve it in a moon-shaped cheese pie with a similar consistency to imeruli. Great for breakfast.

Khatchma – Sometimes you’ll find this khatchapuri-only option on the street. This is basically cheese lasagna. Layered noodles and cheese. Can be a bit messy to eat (not the flaky messy, but the oily, oozey messy that’d bad for street nosh). I generally avoid this for park life.

Ispanagit – This is a cheese and spinach option. Pretty good if you want to convince yourself you're eating healthy. It is, of course, not healthy.

Khabidzgina – This cheesy bread comes from Ossetia. It’s a cheese and mashed potato mix. One of my favorites, because like the spinach option, you can sort of pretend it’s healthy or has potassium at least.

Not your cheesy bread

Kubdari – Looks like an imeruli, but it’s stuffed with meat instead. Usually minced meat, sometimes chunks, and you never really know the source. Is it pork? Is it beef? Do we really care? Well, I guess you would if you’re Muslim, Jewish, or Hindu, so best to just ask. Better you learn then: “Ghori?” Pork. “Sakoneli?” Beef. Kubdari is originally from Svaneti, one of those “must-see” places in the mountains, full of snow-capped peaks, crazy stunt horse riders, and Mary Jane.

Kebabi – Something like meatloaf. It’s a modern trend now to serve “Georgian hamburgers” at sakhatchapures. And indeed, you might even have to call it a "hamburger" to get them to serve you one. These will often have lettuce, tomato, and kebabi. Sometimes cheese. Sometimes no tomato. Sometime cucumber. Who knows. Usually served cold, which is weird. You’ll have to time this one when it’s freshly made, I guess.

By the way, after finally trying one today, it has become one of my favorite meals. The meat was from a proper kebabi, a little bit spicy to tune in the taste buds. Good stuff.

The Georgian meatloaf hamburger

Hot dogi – With the same kind of sausage as you'd find in an American hot dog, they're wrapped up in a flaky pastry and baked. Sometimes with sauce inside, sometimes on top, sometimes none at all. Who knows. Part of the deliciousness is in the surprise.

Pizza – A distant cousin to the Italian pizza, this flat pastry appears similar but is covered in mayonnaise. For a long time, many Georgians did not know the difference. My host family in Peace Corps dragged me downstairs amidst one bout of depression, hoping to cheer me up. "Shawn, we made you pizza!"

"Pizza does not have mayo on it!" I replied, though I did appreciate the effort. This was during what I call, "the year of beans", when the grandma only served me beans, and would beat me with a wooden spoon if I insisted on cooking something else.

"How do you know it doesn't have mayo?" the host mom asked. "Have you been to Italy?"

She had a solid point. I had not been to Italy then.

But now I have. And pizza does not, in fact, have mayo on it.

"Pizza"

Though it seems like it would be messy, if you fold it in half, it's actually quite tidy and good. I say this now after having lived in Belium and become accustomed to mayonnaise. This is a fad that's only just waiting to explode in the hipster havens of Leige and Namur.

Ghvezeli – With the "gh" having a sound that's not really at all like a "French r", this long pastry comes stuffed with a variety of things. You can get kartopili (potato), ghortsi (pork), soko (mushroom), ispinagi (spinach), or lobiani (bean).

Sometimes you'll get an English translation that calls this a "pie". Meat pie, bean pie, etc. It's not a pie. It's just a long, stuffed, baked thingy. Don't expect any sweet sensations here.

Tone (tonay) / Shoti

Tone is a big, upside-down clay oven. The fire is in the middle, the clay vessel goes around and over it with a hole in the top. They slap bready goodness on the walls and let it bake. When it’s done, they scoop it out with a large wooden bread-scoop thing.

Before, they only made standard bread, “shotis puri”, out of these things. And frankly put, outside of stuffed breads, Georgian bread is fairly crap. But when baked in a tone, it’s absolutely delicious, especially when fresh. This is really the only way to eat bread in Georgia.

Tonis khabidzgina hovering over a stander tonis puri

A few years back, they started serving “tonis lobiani”, that is, stuffed bean bread cooked in a tone. Nowadays, many tones will offer a full catalogue of stuffed breads, like “tonis khatchapuri”, “tonis khabidzgina” and even “tonis kubdari” (the last two are perhaps my favorite; the kubdari has this nice meat sauce that gets soaked up in the tonis puri that’s just fantastic).

Picnic time!

So, if you’re in Tbilisi and looking forward to trying some of the cheese bread, consider a picnic instead of an overpriced restaurant. Just go by the satskhobi, order a variety of pastries, walk down to the park and enjoy the true taste of Georgia!