Through the Canals and Cobblestones of Brugge

The young coachman at Brugge’s Markt Square stood tall beside his carriage, the leather reins coiled loosely in his gloved hands. I approached him, reflexively greeting him with a sprightly “Bonjour.” A slight mistake. His lips curved in a polite smile, his voice tempered with patience. “A small piece of advice, if I may? Here, it is more polite to begin in English, rather than French, if you don’t know Flemish.” His words hung in the chilled air, a gentle reminder of Flanders’ ties to the Dutch-speaking world. “Not so much for my generation,” he continued, “but there are still grudges within the older population.”

“How do you say hello in Flemish?” I asked.

“Hoeijendagh,” he replied, breaking it into careful syllables. “Or you can just say, dak.”

Thus, I was inducted into Brugge's subtle cultural code, one of the many secrets tucked into its cobblestone streets. Known as the Venice of the North, Brugge unfolded before us in labyrinthine canals, Gothic spires, and the rhythmic clop of hooves against stone—a city that invites lingering. A thirty-minute carriage ride offered glimpses of the Princely Beguinage, where pious women once prayed for their benefactors’ souls, and Apollo’s chariot statue, its frozen gallop a testament to Brugge's eternal motion. Our horse, Seanna, introduced with a fond pat, quickened her pace instinctively as we passed the statue, her hooves drumming a sharper beat against the cobblestones as we neared the city’s oldest brewery. It was here that the famed beer pipeline burrowed beneath the streets, discreetly transporting liquid gold to the bottling plant just outside the old quarter—a marriage of medieval tradition and modern ingenuity.

The morning chill eased as we climbed the 366 steps of the Belfry of Brugge. From the summit, the panorama unraveled in waves—canal threads stitching Brugge, to the North Sea, medieval rooftops blushing in the soft morning light. Below, the Hotel De Orangerie gleamed by the canal’s edge, its stone façade warmed by centuries of sun. Once a 15th-century monastery, the hotel seemed almost too beautiful to be real. Our room, with its carved oak furniture and lace curtains, offered the perfect perch to contemplate the stillness of the water below. Across the canal lay the Church of Our Lady, its alabaster interior guarding Michelangelo’s Madonna and Child. The statue, the only Michelangelo outside Italy, radiated an ethereal life, as if the marble held its own breath. It’s hard to say whether the gleaming white of the church was chosen to complement the statue or whether the sculpture found its perfect home by chance. Standing before it, time softened into something abstract, a reminder that art, at its best, transcends its era.

Descending the tower, we wandered into a narrow lane off the Markt, drawn by the intoxicating spirit of exploration. A family-owned chocolate shop appeared like a jewel box, its window display glinting with confections arranged like diamonds. Inside, the air shimmered with sweetness. Chocolate-covered orange peels, classic Belgian pralines, and the shop’s signature treat—a thin chocolate shaped like a Pringles potato chip—tempted us. The chocolatier described its delicate creation, and we couldn’t resist a tube, or three; one each of milk, dark, and white chocolate. Each bite melted into a silky sweetness, a fleeting moment of indulgence that felt entirely of the place.

“Bruges is a beautiful medieval city almost untouched by time. If you like jazz, you will be well catered for. If you like chocolate and beer, you will be in heaven. – James Frain”

Next to the cathedral is another museum of the medieval life of the rich and ruling class. It is probably my favorite interior in all of Belgium, its gilded rooms a sharp contrast to the stone austerity of the surrounding streets. Wealth, then as now, had its privileges. Today, it might be in-home theaters or private jets, but then, it was the luxury of attending mass from an enclosed pew high above the others—an elegant perch that allowed one to see and be seen without ever venturing into the elements. The museum was a fitting lens through which to view Brugge, a city where history is palpable but never static.

Later that afternoon, Brugge indulged us once more. On the outdoor patio of a canal-side bar, we ordered a flight of Belgian ales. The lineup was a master class in flavor: crisp golden triples that sparkled like morning sunlight, velvety dark stouts with hints of coffee and chocolate, and fruity lambics that tasted like spring. Between sips, we nibbled on slices of aged gouda paired with tangy mustard. The March chill was tempered by patio heaters and we were kept dry by the large umbrellas as we watched the last tour boats float lazily by, their wakes rippling softly against the canal walls. Above the gentle hum of conversation, the city whispered its timeless secrets.

Brugge, like Venice, reveals its mysteries in the quiet hours. Early mornings and late evenings are magical here, when the canals are mirrors reflecting the city’s Gothic spires and gabled rooftops. It’s in these hours, before the tour boats churn the water, that Brugge feels timeless. We strolled along the canals, jackets clasped to keep out the damp, watching locals on bicycles zip past the sleepy streets.

After two days, we ventured to nearby Ghent, the train ride stitching past fields and rivers. We climbed yet another bell tower, this one blessedly equipped with an elevator, and gazed across the city before crossing the square to view the famous Adoration of the Mystic Lamb. Seeing it in person was transcendent—proof of art’s power to bridge centuries. This masterpiece heralded the Renaissance, its gravitas impossible to ignore. We paused for lunch by the river on our way to the castle, where I savored another Carbonnade, a rich Flemish stew of tender beef simmered in beer and onions, paired with crisp frites and a bold dark ale. The warmth of the meal lingered as we returned to Brugge for one last night.

What I love most about travel are the moments that tether the imagined to the real. The first time Big Ben rises before you like a clockwork sentinel, the moment a Bernini sculpture breathes its impossible life into stone, the Eiffel Tower slipping into view as you turn a corner—these are not just sights but awakenings. The Ghent Altarpiece is one of those moments. Standing before it, you don’t just see art; you feel the exact instant when the world pulled itself out of the dark ages and into the light. It’s there, in every brushstroke—the birth of the Renaissance, the dawning realization of art’s power to ignite and transform.

The next morning, as I wrote at a desk as old as the hotel itself, I reflected on Brugge's greatest gift: its rhythm. A slower, quieter pace where every detail—from a horse’s steady gait to the snap of thin chocolate—felt imbued with significance. It wasn’t just a city; it was a whisper, a secret held out to those willing to linger.

Arriving back in New York, the memory of the hearty Carbonnade remained, its warmth a perfect reflection of Belgium's rich culinary tradition. Inspired by that meal, I couldn’t resist recreating the recipe upon returning home. I hope you enjoy.

Beef Carbonnade

Ingredients:

• 3 lbs chuck roast or stewing beef, cut into 1-inch pieces
• Salt, to taste
• Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• 4 tbs butter, divided
• 3 medium yellow onions, sliced 1/4 inch thick
• 3 tbs all-purpose flour
• 1 cup beef broth
• 1 1/2 cups Belgian beer
• 4 sprigs fresh thyme
• 2 bay leaves
• 1 tbs mustard
• 1 tbs brown sugar
• 2 tsp red wine vinegar

Instructions:

1. Season the beef pieces with salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste.
2. In a large Dutch oven or heavy-bottomed pot, heat 2 tablespoons of butter over medium-high heat. Add the beef in batches, being careful not to overcrowd the pot, and brown on all sides. Transfer the browned beef to a plate and set aside.
3. Reduce the heat to medium and add the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter to the pot. Add the sliced onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until they are soft and caramelized, about 15-20 minutes.
4. Sprinkle the flour over the onions and cook, stirring, for 1-2 minutes, until the flour is well incorporated and lightly browned.
5. Gradually pour in the beef broth and Belgian beer, stirring to combine and scraping any browned bits from the bottom of the pot. Bring the mixture to a simmer.
6. Add the browned beef back to the pot along with the fresh thyme sprigs, bay leaves, mustard, brown sugar, and vinegar. Stir well to combine all ingredients.
7. Bring the mixture back to a simmer, then lower the heat to maintain a gentle simmer. Cover the pot with a lid, leaving it slightly ajar to allow some steam to escape.
8. Cook for 2 to 2.5 hours, or until the beef is tender and the sauce has thickened. Stir occasionally during cooking to ensure even cooking and to prevent sticking.
9. Once the beef is tender, remove the thyme sprigs and bay leaves. Taste the sauce and adjust the seasoning with salt and freshly ground black pepper as needed.
10. Serve the beef carbonnade hot, accompanied by mashed potatoes, egg noodles, or crusty bread to soak up the sauce.