The illegitimate son of an aristocrat, Louis was indeed an odd one, and red-haired to boot. He started producing different types of lambic by spontaneous fermentation, often mixing it with the then-plentiful local cherries to create his own kriek beers. It didn't take long before Brusselaars discovered Louis' brews, and made De Rare Vos their favourite countryside retreat.
Backed by this success, Louis began organising folk festivals called pensenkermissen, around sausages (blood or otherwise). He was a beloved figure in Flemish Brabant and beyond, his presence sorely missed since his death in 1997.
The good news is his spirit lives on in the traditional café that doesn't appear to have changed a hair since the post-war period. Snug and cosy, the room is fitted with a dozen or so wooden tables and chairs, a simple bar and a whole lot of knick- knacks - beer posters, clocks, antique tins, old photographs, lanterns and even a stuffed fox.
But my companion and I are here to eat. We make our way through the antique interior to the back terrace. Beyond this stretches another lawn and outdoor seating area, bringing the total capacity up to about 400 people - something you don't expect when entering from the modest street-side doorway.
Other expectations are met, however, when our eyes fall on the extensive selection of geuze, lambic and kriek beers. Without hesitation we order a bottle of Oude Geuze 3 Fonteinen. Its nose is sour and the finish dry and yeasty. Perfect, except for the server's failure to place the bottle on our table, let alone even show it to us.
Most of the menu contains brasserie-type dishes such as scampis and steak. In addition there's horse steak, rabbit stew and the very tempting pigeon prepared in Orval. But it's the special Easter menu that draws us in with its promise of four courses at €35 each.
My companion takes the Carpaccio starter, thin red slices of succulent raw beef topped with rocket salad, sharp aged cheese and coarse grains of sea salt. Although this is one of my favourite dishes, I am not the least bit envious thanks to my cutely named blushing tuna. Four thick chunks of rosy tuna rest on slices of pan-fried courgette. It comes with triangles of toasted white bread and what couldn't be a more perfect sauce: a mixture of warmed honey, parsley and red chilli peppers.
The next course is creamy carrot soup, subtly seasoned with curry powder. Floating on top are a handful of tiny crunchy croutons. My companion's main arrives: rack of lamb with diced garlic still clinging to its roasted exterior. He takes a bone in his hands and bites into the juicy meat, a lovely reddish pink colour. It comes with a dark brown sauce, a batch of tender green beans and some sinfully creamy gratin dauphinoise potatoes with a golden, bubbly broiled crust.
Meanwhile I'm struggling to finish my trio of fish, but not for lack of taste. Two overly generous pieces of white fish (one skin-on) and a hunk of salmon are beautifully laid out over a heap of mashed potatoes surrounded by a moat of orange lobster bisque. The trio tastes fresh enough to have come straight out of the sea that morning.
Seriously stuffed, I'm thankful to be able to swap my dessert for a Hasseltse coffee. My companion, however, can't resist the old dame blanche and is presented with an enormous glass of vanilla ice cream with warm chocolate dripping down the sides and a cloud of whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles.
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