Updated: Jun 20, 2025
Guinguette season is upon us! Sometimes. A day here, a day there. That's how Brussels goes, I guess. But today, definitely so.
When I was living in Brussels, I used to love sitting on my balcony and drinking coffee, watching the workers across the street in the park prepare the area. I first discovered the guinguette (gan-get) when we were looking for a place to rent a few years back. The din of relaxation pulled us in and, along with the clusters of playgrounds nearby, convinced us to stay in the neighborhood.
It’s a place that I loved immediately upon moving to Brussels. Just a short walk from our pad, we could combine it with an evening stroll with the kiddo, a “night out” (rare for parents of youngins) where we could enjoy a drink while Vato either had a juice, played with his toys in the dirt, or disappeared into the dark overgrowth of the nethers, chasing balls tossed by trolls. Kidding on the last one.
It—along with all its brothers and sisters—is the best place to drink in Brussels, mainly because it comes with that shot of Vitamin D sunshine that is so rare to behold in here SADland.
What is a “guinguette”?
“Guinguette” is basically French for “temporary summertime beergarden in a large city park”, and the entire Brussels concept of the thing is very optimistic. Given that Brussels gets about two actual days of sun a year, one would think that it would be silly to set up a guinguette, and yet, on those two days, the experience is glorious.
The guinguette was a 17th-century invention, when the peasant stock of the suburbs of Paris couldn’t afford the good wine and had to drink the cheap swill, called “guinguet”, in gardens along the Seine outside of town where they could avoid the wine tax. Often there would be music, a bit of dancing, and a bit of other merriment.
But what is a guinguette without a river? Well, Brussels had long buried their own Senne, but the guinguettes found their way to Brussels parks all the same, just not until 2017. And now there are 9 guinguettes spread throughout the city, none of them serving cheap swill.
Those are the ones by the guinguette company Barc, but there have since been rival guinguettes popping up as well. I spotted one last year in Ambriorix running out of what appeared to be a container. So here’s a map, where I’ve also included a few more, so that if you’re like myself, you like to do a bit of public imbibing. Just make sure you have that map of pissoirs on you that I set you up with the other week for your walk home.
Here's a map, not the pissoirs, but to the guinguettes:
The best of the best
My own favorite guinguette is at the Cinquantenaire. Chez Maurice. Named after a joker, Chez Maurice is the flagship of the guinguettes and part of why we moved to the neighborhood. They did have live music every Saturday afternoon, but that was later shot dead by another neighbor’s complaints. Why move to a busy location when you don't like things busy?
But recently, there’s been a contender to arrive in the Cinquantenaire. Chez Tipi is in the gallery next to the big triumphal arches. You walk up the big stairs/stage and settle down at the tables beneath the massive columns and beautiful 19th-century murals. While drinking your beer, you’ve got not just a fantastic view of the arches and murals, but also of the park and the city skyline. Not that Brussels has much of a skyline, but still.
Warning for Tipi though, it does have an annoying toilet situation (as if that's unusual in Brussels, see my last blog!). You've got to go all the way down the stairs to the portapotties stairs-left hidden behind some bushes against a wall. Don't worry it's free, but don't be surprised to find some guys peeing in the ease of a pissoir.
My third favorite would be the one in Georges-Henri Park. Mostly because that's the next familiar place to me since there's a really cool playground there. And knowing where the best playgrounds are pretty much dictates my life these days.
Plastic cups
Don't be surprised by the plastic cups. That's the thing about Brussels' guinguettes: the focus on "sustainability". Though I'm not sure why they think plastic cups are more sustainable than glasses, I guess they're less likely to be stolen or broken, and cleaning up broken glass on dirt isn't anyone's idea of fun.
The plastic cup typically costs 1 euro deposit, which you get back upon turning it back in. This has created a kind of "trade", where beggars will come and clear the tables to keep the deposits. Sometimes the guinguette decides to crack down on this practice; other times it's no problem.
I don't really understand why they'd crack down on it though. I've been approached by one guy who had 30 cups and wanted me to turn them in for him (and give him the 30 euro in advance). I declined this bargain, knowing that the guinguette might not keep their side of the deal if they had refused him. So keep that in mind if anyone is trying to get you to turn theirs in.
A note on the season
The (true) guinguettes typically open around the first weekend of May (kind of a bit staggered though), and they close the first weekend of October (also a bit staggered). Kiosk Radio in Parc Royale and the park Woodpecker locations I tagged on that map are open year round (though might close for rain).
A little bit of sunshine
Having lived in sunny places—one cannot be Denver in this regard—I had begun to somewhat take sunshine for granted. When it’s sunny every single day of the year, there’s really nothing special about it. You don’t take advantage of the situation; you put off outdoor activities because you get the sense that, “Well, I can always do that tomorrow.” It’s like New Yorkers seeing the Statue of Liberty. Have you ever met a New Yorker who’s actually seen the damned thing other than en passant on the Staten Island Ferry?
And that’s how sunshine had become for me.
But years later, living in my share of solar-impaired cities (Prague, now Brussels), I’ve done a complete about-face on the attribute. And I’ve also come to realize why, on the whole, Northern Europeans are so much more active and athletic than Americans.
Where we Americans (from Colorado) have the sun, Northern Europeans have the sun-to-look-forward-to. When you’ve got ONE day where you can get your footie done and finally it’s not a miserable downpour, then it makes the experience that much more incredible and golden. You appreciate it more. It makes you want to join a team, practice up, and get out there and play all that bit more. It makes all those slogs through the rain worth it, and even more, necessary so that you can experience the full Vitamin D-supplying intensity of the great Apollo.
The importance of Vitamin D
If you’re living in Brussels, you may have noticed the lack of sunshine. Or if you’ve read this far, you might have noticed I’ve mentioned it with some capacity. If you moved here though, it really is essential that you get to a Medimarkt or wherever a green cross near you is and pick yourself up a vial of the vitamins. Having just had a bloodwork checkup myself, I’ve found myself at quite a phenomenally low level, despite going out on daily walks. Because apparently walking under the clouds and rain doesn’t do much for you.
And so it goes.
