When it comes to eating overseas, forget what's new. Go for what's old
This article is part of Traveller's Holiday Guide to bucket-list places to eat. See all stories.
After a lifetime of chasing the newest hotels, hottest restaurants and latest food trends all over the world, I've changed my mind. Maybe it's just my age and stage in life, but I'm starting to place a new value on all things old.
On a recent eating holiday in Brussels, I relinquished my obsessive need for the shiny and new, and instead spent time researching and discovering the old, the classic, the historic and the tried-and-true.
It's quite the switcheroo, to ask 'what's old?' but Brussels is the perfect city in which to celebrate old-school cool.
Suddenly, I was sitting at a dark, heavy, wooden table in a Belle Epoque dining room at La Roue d'Or, which opened in 1882; its muralled walls painted in homage to Magritte. The menu lists real Flemish and Belgian food, not just mussels and frites for the tourists; things like carbonnade (beef and onion stew, cooked in beer), and stoemp (carrot and potato or swede mash). The waiters are old, and have seen it all, but still bustle about carrying heavy trays that must kill their knees. Many of the tables carry a small brass plaque of the names of regular diners, just in case someone else imagines they can sit there.
Lunch was at the legendary beer hall, La Mort Subite, now a classified historic monument. It's cheap, wonderful, and opens a window to a culture that has been brewing beer for a thousand years, and knows instinctively what goes well with it. That turns out to be big trays of cold meats and cheeses, and tartines of jellied tête pressée (basically braised and pressed calf's head, smashed onto a baguette).
The oldest restaurant in the world, according to the Guinness Book of Records (which may or may not be correct) is Sobrino de Botin, or Casa Botin, in Madrid, which dates to 1725. It's a very old-fashioned, beautiful, lace-curtained, tiled restaurant that, these days, is full of tourists. But never mind because it is also full of cool, summery gazpacho, served at the table, and the kitchen is aglow from the huge medieval oven; every shelf around it lined with young pigs in terracotta dishes. Terrifying, but compelling.
London is filled with exciting new restaurants, but, oh, give me the old ones. Like the 138-year-old Sweetings in the City, for terribly English potted shrimps and skate wing and bacon, with puddings of spotted dick or steamed jam roll. It's lunch-only, with no reservations, but happiness is getting a seat at the mahogany counter, nursing a half-pint of Black Velvet, made with Guinness and French champagne.
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The Age
5 days ago
- The Age
When it comes to eating overseas, forget what's new. Go for what's old
This article is part of Traveller's Holiday Guide to bucket-list places to eat. See all stories. After a lifetime of chasing the newest hotels, hottest restaurants and latest food trends all over the world, I've changed my mind. Maybe it's just my age and stage in life, but I'm starting to place a new value on all things old. On a recent eating holiday in Brussels, I relinquished my obsessive need for the shiny and new, and instead spent time researching and discovering the old, the classic, the historic and the tried-and-true. It's quite the switcheroo, to ask 'what's old?' but Brussels is the perfect city in which to celebrate old-school cool. Suddenly, I was sitting at a dark, heavy, wooden table in a Belle Epoque dining room at La Roue d'Or, which opened in 1882; its muralled walls painted in homage to Magritte. The menu lists real Flemish and Belgian food, not just mussels and frites for the tourists; things like carbonnade (beef and onion stew, cooked in beer), and stoemp (carrot and potato or swede mash). The waiters are old, and have seen it all, but still bustle about carrying heavy trays that must kill their knees. Many of the tables carry a small brass plaque of the names of regular diners, just in case someone else imagines they can sit there. Lunch was at the legendary beer hall, La Mort Subite, now a classified historic monument. It's cheap, wonderful, and opens a window to a culture that has been brewing beer for a thousand years, and knows instinctively what goes well with it. That turns out to be big trays of cold meats and cheeses, and tartines of jellied tête pressée (basically braised and pressed calf's head, smashed onto a baguette). The oldest restaurant in the world, according to the Guinness Book of Records (which may or may not be correct) is Sobrino de Botin, or Casa Botin, in Madrid, which dates to 1725. It's a very old-fashioned, beautiful, lace-curtained, tiled restaurant that, these days, is full of tourists. But never mind because it is also full of cool, summery gazpacho, served at the table, and the kitchen is aglow from the huge medieval oven; every shelf around it lined with young pigs in terracotta dishes. Terrifying, but compelling. London is filled with exciting new restaurants, but, oh, give me the old ones. Like the 138-year-old Sweetings in the City, for terribly English potted shrimps and skate wing and bacon, with puddings of spotted dick or steamed jam roll. It's lunch-only, with no reservations, but happiness is getting a seat at the mahogany counter, nursing a half-pint of Black Velvet, made with Guinness and French champagne.
Sydney Morning Herald
5 days ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
When it comes to eating overseas, forget what's new. Go for what's old
This article is part of Traveller's Holiday Guide to bucket-list places to eat. See all stories. After a lifetime of chasing the newest hotels, hottest restaurants and latest food trends all over the world, I've changed my mind. Maybe it's just my age and stage in life, but I'm starting to place a new value on all things old. On a recent eating holiday in Brussels, I relinquished my obsessive need for the shiny and new, and instead spent time researching and discovering the old, the classic, the historic and the tried-and-true. It's quite the switcheroo, to ask 'what's old?' but Brussels is the perfect city in which to celebrate old-school cool. Suddenly, I was sitting at a dark, heavy, wooden table in a Belle Epoque dining room at La Roue d'Or, which opened in 1882; its muralled walls painted in homage to Magritte. The menu lists real Flemish and Belgian food, not just mussels and frites for the tourists; things like carbonnade (beef and onion stew, cooked in beer), and stoemp (carrot and potato or swede mash). The waiters are old, and have seen it all, but still bustle about carrying heavy trays that must kill their knees. Many of the tables carry a small brass plaque of the names of regular diners, just in case someone else imagines they can sit there. Lunch was at the legendary beer hall, La Mort Subite, now a classified historic monument. It's cheap, wonderful, and opens a window to a culture that has been brewing beer for a thousand years, and knows instinctively what goes well with it. That turns out to be big trays of cold meats and cheeses, and tartines of jellied tête pressée (basically braised and pressed calf's head, smashed onto a baguette). The oldest restaurant in the world, according to the Guinness Book of Records (which may or may not be correct) is Sobrino de Botin, or Casa Botin, in Madrid, which dates to 1725. It's a very old-fashioned, beautiful, lace-curtained, tiled restaurant that, these days, is full of tourists. But never mind because it is also full of cool, summery gazpacho, served at the table, and the kitchen is aglow from the huge medieval oven; every shelf around it lined with young pigs in terracotta dishes. Terrifying, but compelling. London is filled with exciting new restaurants, but, oh, give me the old ones. Like the 138-year-old Sweetings in the City, for terribly English potted shrimps and skate wing and bacon, with puddings of spotted dick or steamed jam roll. It's lunch-only, with no reservations, but happiness is getting a seat at the mahogany counter, nursing a half-pint of Black Velvet, made with Guinness and French champagne.
Sydney Morning Herald
15-06-2025
- Sydney Morning Herald
I despised rats, until I visited the country where they are heroes
I've just arrived in Siem Reap and have been told by my guide one of the top things to see besides the World Heritage Site Angkor Wat is meeting 'Hero Rats'. I'm quick to imagine cartoonish cape-wearing rodents. Cute, but in reality, I despise rats. I shudder at the thought of their tiny claws trawling through landfill-destined dregs and swiftly criss-crossing gutters led by their pinkish snouts, ready to pounce on whatever is deemed toothsome. Beyond their filthy haunts, they are destructive to native species and guilty of spreading diseases. So, what gives these pesky, long-tailed rodents legendary status in Cambodia? My unexpected rat redemption tour begins at the APOPO Visitor Centre. Translating to Anti-Personnel Landmine Removal Product Development, the Belgian NGO helps vulnerable communities worldwide with specialty-trained scent-detecting animals. As one of the world's most landmine-affected countries, APOPO assists Cambodia by training African giant poached rats to sniff out the chemical compounds in TNT. It's estimated Cambodia has four to six million landmines and explosive remnants scattered throughout the country due to three decades of conflicts. Clearly, these rats have a big job to do. And becoming a Hero isn't easy. I join a guided tour to discover how these giant rats put their superhero noses to work. Bearing a slight resemblance to Rottnest Island's famed quokkas in Western Australia, they undergo vigorous clicker and scent training before becoming fully-fledged Heroes, searching for explosives. Their mass is advantageous, too, with their slender frames weighing no more than 1.5 kilograms; landmines usually require five kilograms of pressure to be triggered. APOPO's Hero Rats were first deployed alongside manual de-miners, technical survey dogs and machines to clear minefields in the Siem Reap province in 2014. The rats have since expanded operations in Cambodia, proving their efficiency in scouting an area the size of a tennis court in 30 minutes; an area that would take a human four days. The rats' excellent productivity is a game-changer. It's time to see them in action. Two trainers stand opposite each other on a pitch, a rat on a leash between them. The rat is on a mission, darting back and forth between the trainers in a straight line, eventually snuffing out planted finds. The rat is treated to a banana, and I join the crowd applauding its fieldwork. Soon after, I exercise my new-found affection for rats with a meet and greet, exuberantly holding Cambodia's furry Hero in my arms. Bananas and human endorsements aside, other rats are rewarded with gold. One of their comrades, the late Magawa, was awarded a PDSA Gold Medal for life-saving bravery – the animal equivalent of the George Cross. A large picture of Magawa with his pea-sized gold medal around his neck hangs in the APOPO Visitor Centre. These rats really are heroes….
