Travel Scribble: My Backyard And Beyond

“Why can’t we just eat the potatoes instead?” asked my husband, bewildered that I was going to make him go through a maze of old, possibly rotten, potatoes to learn the story of the French fry. Marriage, as anyone will tell you, comes with its fair share of compromises. And so, there we were at Bruges’s Frietmuseum: my disgruntled husband and triumphant self, with my smug grin and growling tummy, yearning for chocolate and chips. They say food defines a large part of our experience while travelling, and what could be more Belgian than this!

We had made it past the Belfry, where we had spent a rather drenched morning queuing up to climb the 377 steps of the bell tower. Deafened by not-quite-gentle chimes as we reached the very top, we hurriedly took the customary panoramic click and made it back down the historic building that dominates the Markt: a cobblestoned square, often regarded as the soul of this medieval tourist hotspot.

You see, we had it all figured out. A hop-skip-and-jump trip from our home in the Netherlands, we'd be one among many day-trippers who constitute a majority of Bruges's population. Our itinerary: Soak in the brick-red beauty of the city atop the Belfry; visit Michelangelo's Madonna with Child, Bosch's The Last Judgment (and few other token pieces of art); not to mention, sneak a moment of teenage romance atop one of many bridges that arch over the city’s dreamy canals.

Fate had other plans, however. The weather was too indecisive for any kind of romantic stroll through cobblestoned squares. We ended up like the rest of them: huddled up at a restaurant whose friendly Nepali maître d’ promised us a "fine vegetarian lunch." He had lied, just like the weather report. And so, I suppose, you might understand my enthusiasm in suggesting a visit to the Museum of Fries. I should also mention that we were entitled to free fries with the ticket. “A great way to imbibe Belgium's culinary culture,” I had pitched to my increasingly sceptical partner. Besides, how wrong could we go with potatoes?

Very wrong, it turns out. Experiencing the city's culinary delights would be a part of our Belgian sojourn, I had thought. But alas! No amount of authentic hot chocolate and sugar-crusted waffles could replace my (not so) secret love for the fry. All I wanted was for it to not be swimming in beef oil (or horse fat, as we later learnt at the museum). Woe, my inner Hindu! It will be a while before I forget the day I said no to free fries.