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The other night I won 30 litres of beer. Three, zero.
That's a lot by anyone's standards. I didn't actually
win them up front - they weren't rolled up to me in
giant kegs by grinning Belgian's proffering straws.
Rather I won the opportunity to drink 30 litres of beer
at my convenience, on the date of my choice, in the
new Belgian Beer Café (BBC) in Festival City's
Crown Plaza.
 It
took about an hour to get there by taxi, coming in rush
hour from the middle of Sheikh Zayad Road. As we sat,
stuck in traffic, 'P' and I discussed the merits of
this new Belgian establishment and vowed to drink a
pint for every jam we got stuck in, on the way there.
It's been a stressful week you see, moving flats. We
finally found a place, by the way. But of course, the
search has left a gaping void where our social lives
used to be; not to mention a hole in our wallets. The
chance to get out on the town left us giddy with excitement
- like grandmas on their way to the weekly bingo. Who
would be there? Would there be nibbles? Would anyone
remember us anyway, having been away from "the
media scene" for so long? (Well, about three weeks
in all, but the turnaround in this transient town is
such that should you overstay on a weekend camping trip,
you may well return to find everyone you ever knew in
Dubai gone, forever… with nothing but a dusty trail
to remind you of their presence).
Luckily, there were a few familiar faces as we sidled
over to the bar and ordered our Leffe. We've been looking
forward to this bar opening for ages. 'P' was lucky
enough to attend a party next door at the Intercon that
he doesn't quite remember a few months back, where he
got to eat some chips in the BBC, courtesy of a specially
licensed sneak preview. He regaled the tale of the sweet
mayonnaise, and the sausage and mash, and the way the
giant mugs and dark, wooden panelling reminded him of
happy times in European boozers… although the minor
details, as to who he was with and what had been in
his cocktail glass before he lost his friends, grew
hazier by the second in his memory.
Anyway, we've also been looking forward to this bar
opening because of the moules frites. That's mussels
and chips to the rest of us. Giant steaming bowls of
Belgian's finest, coupled with potatoey soldiers. None
of that fancy-pants overpriced seafood stuff with funny
names in here, thanks very much. We're simpletons at
heart - we want the comfort stuff. We want the dish
we used to get back at home in Belgos (anyone know Belgos?)
and we want it to come with the very same beer.
I can't tell you how good it was to hold that Leffe
in my hands after such a stressful couple of weeks.
The great apartment hunt didn't seem like such a nightmare
after all. The annoying estate agent was actually a
really nice bloke, and even my ex manager, who couldn't
'manage' his way out of a toilet cubicle could have
deserved a cuddle. That's how good it made me feel.
As the ribbon was cut and the raffle jar pulled out,
I couldn't help but harbour an ounce of hope that maybe
this time… I just might win. Even though I knew
I wouldn't. I never win anything.
But then I did. 30 litres of beer. Of course, I have
to share it with my friends but that's OK. At the end
of such a perfect Dubai day, I would have shared my
pint with anyone who asked. Sometimes, it's not so bad
here after all.
Posted: 01 May 2008
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