Cracking "out" of the Archives

So, yesterday I managed a feat never before reached by even the most dedicated of Fulbrighters.

I got myself locked into the archives.

First, I have a bone to pick with the staff of the archives. You'd THINK that the level of security would be rather high in a building that houses Belgium's precious papers, some of the only surviving bits of its past after so much of it has been ravaged by war after war. And you'd THINK the staff, the very same staff that asks you to jump through (albeit small) hoops in order to even view the documents, would at least have a quick glance around the building before locking the doors for the evening. That perhaps they would consider that a couple of American girls are still in the bathroom, 2 minutes before closing, never even thinking that they might get locked in.

When we came out (I had bumped into a friend Z, a fellow Fulbrighter also studying music) all the lights were out, the doors were locked, AND a security fence had been pulled in front of the door to prevent even the most determined burglar from getting in. Never mind the fact that Z and I could easily have gone down into the basement and set fire to all of Belgium's precious archives. Perhaps we should have considered at least knocking a few boxes off the walls to protest the injustice of it all.

And this may have not been such a big deal, but mind you, this was 30 minutes before we had to attend a reception at the Home of the US Ambassador. 30 minutes before we had to arrive at the invitation-only, we-may-have-to-call-out-the-guard-if-you-neglect-to-come reception that the US government generously hosts in honor of responsible, would-never-get-themselves-locked-into-the-archives Fulbrighters.

*sigh*

Long story short (too late!) we happened upon a maintenance worker who showed us the secret, underground passage out of the archives and back into Brussels. We even arrived EARLY at the reception, though it took me a good 30 minutes and three glasses of water before I stopped sweating profusely. BUT I suppose we can just chalk this up to another unforgettable experience. My next challenge is to find a way to fit this adventure into my dissertation. Perhaps in a footnote . . .

Thanksgiving in Belgium

If I have never mentioned how good the food is here in Belgium, let me do so now. Belgium holds few distinctions among its more popular neighbors in Western Europe. And what does make it unique--the EU, the beer, the linguistic divide--remains a source of pride for even the most humble Belgian. And as Belgium draws more tourists and businesspeople to its cities every year, so the restaurants have battled to bring this little country out ahead of its great rival in all things gourmet: France. Even the shabbiest looking brasseries in Belgian cities serve up their meals with great attention to taste and presentation. So it should come as no surprise that our Fulbright Commission pulled out all the stops for that greatest of American gastronomical events: Thanksgiving!

Every year the American Club of Brussels hosts an annual Thanksgiving dinner at the Sheraton on the Place Rogier. And every year our fabulous Fulbright director makes sure that all Fulbrighters are invited as guests of the Commission. Our dinner dutifully contained many traditional dishes--turkey, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, green beans--but, in a distinctly European twist, we also had fine aperitifs and a pairing of wines (red and white and NEITHER of them French!) The stuffing was our director's personal recipe, a wonderful combination of bread, nuts, raisins, and other dried fruits. The meal began with New England Clam Chowder, not nearly as good as you find in New England, but a reasonable substitute all the same. And the bread--well, both my stomach and my pocketbook decided long ago that I could live quite happily off of Belgium's beautiful artisanal bread, which is everywhere you go cheap and plentiful!

So, it was all mostly wonderful. I did have friends, self-proclaimed turkeys experts, who insisted that the turkeys were in fact just overgrown chickens, and the mincemeat pie was about 80 times too sweet for even me. Of course, no one headed the pleas of M, a Wisconsin native, to wheel out a TV so we could watch a little football. And at the end of the night I missed all the express trains back to Leuven and had to suffer through the local "stop and start" train, generally staffed by drivers who haven't quite learned to gently pop the clutch when pulling out of the station. But it was, in all, a nice little slice of home!

Cracking into the Archives

After nearly one hundred pages of secondary research, a bibliography of almost 150 sources, an outline, and at least a vague idea of what my actual thesis topic is, I am ready to hit the archives. This means that, rather than read what other people have to say about primary sources, I get to actually put my hands on the documents themselves! I have this romantic notion that I will immediately be able to decipher the ancient forms of language, and, perhaps on my second (or third) day stumble upon that hitherto-undiscovered piece of information that will not only unlock the secret to all things Peter Philips but may also secure me a spot in musicological history.

Walking into the Algemeen Rijksarchief (the Belgian State Archives) and beginning a search through old documents requires only the ability to find the buidling from the Central Train Station in Brussels, fill out a little form, have your picture taken for the ID card, and pay 10 euros. No need for the passport, letters of invitation, proof of residency, and every other bit of information I have learned to carry with me when embarking on new events. Once you have your card in hand you can settle in amongst other eager students pouring over books, maps, papers, and all sorts of other interesting documents. You look up your documents in a catalogue, walk over to the computer, type in the requested information, and--voila!--30 minutes later your documents arrive via an ancient little elevator lift from the basement where the mysterious archival "elves" scurry around, selecting your requested box from among thousands of other dusty little boxes and sending it on its way to your eager little hands. I have images of these workers being a little like the creatures that work in Gringott's bank in J.K. Rowling's Diagon Alley. Perhaps I will never know...

For me the first task was determining exactly what set of documents I needed to examine. Archival research can be a little like a fishing expedition, and the key is to LOOK like you know what you're doing, even if you aren't exactly sure. The catalogues themselves range from detailed accounts of documents to vague descriptions--"Various papers belonging to the Royal Court, 1396-1743"--and that sort of thing. Unfortunately my own research covers such a wide swath of topics ranging from music to liturgy that I could really take a stab at looking just about anywhere. I am also hampered by the fact that many documents from my time period, 1598 to 1628, have gone missing or have been destroyed for one reason or another. So on my first day I thought I would start with something relatively simple: correspondence between Brussels and Rome in the early seventeenth century.

Well, five hours later I didn't manage to stumble across that jaw-dropping piece of information, but I did manage to learn a lot about old books (very moldy), old handwriting (nearly illegible), and courtly diplomacy (for example, when one writes to the Pope, one begins with a VERY lengthy and suitably humble introductory phrase that in itself should take up at least half the page.) My plan at the moment is to spend at least two days a week in the archives, fishing around for various little bits of information that can help support my thesis. Wish me luck!

Where have all the Flemings gone?: A Sarcastic Commentary on Klara's Top 75

(Note the distinctly musicologist-y title above. Too much research ...)

Even in these darkening days of late autumn I look forward to waking up in the morning. I have a kind of routine that gets me started on the right foot: I roll out of bed, put on the kettle for a cup of instant coffee, get the computer going for a look at the New Yorks Times or NPR online, and flip on the radio for a listen to what is rapidly becoming my favorite classical music radio station. There are actually two popular classical music stations in Belgium, one Flemish (Klara) and one French (Music 3). Maybe it's the inner Fleming in me, but I prefer Klara. Klara has the best evening jazz program (complete with smokey-voiced radio announcer sounding quite cool in Dutch), the best news reports (I think), the least amount of annoying announcements, and, of course, the best selection of early music which can be heard often throughout the day rather than relegated to early Sunday mornings as it might generally be in the States.

So imagine my surprise when I flip on the radio at 8:00 AM and hear Puccini's "Nessun Dorma" wailing forth from my little boombox. No one would argue that is it a beautiful piece of music, but not quite so early in the morning. I turn the radio off, patiently go about my routine and wait it out, hoping for a little Willaert or Monteverdi to clear the air. I flip the radio back on to hear some wild and bizarre jazzy symphonic thingy. What the ... ?

Today is the airing of the "Top 75 Classical Pieces" on Klara (www.klara.be). Ok, now it's all becoming clear. Puccini, yes of course. And the jazz thingy? The Jazzsuite by Shostokovich. On the Klara website the list is nicely displayed, and I am curious to see what the Flemings, the descendents of some of the most brilliant early-music composers EVER, consider to be the greatest pieces of all time. Gombert? Du Fay? Surely Josquin. Certainly this will be no ordinary list but one that aptly reflects the rich musical and cultural heritage of the country. (You must know what is coming ...)
Alas, it is not to be. This "Top 75" list is saturated with the usual suspects: Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Mozart, Brahms, Haydn, etc. There are some nice surprises--more Monteverdi than I would have thought, the Psalmen Davids by Schutz, and something called Vlaamse Dansen by one Jan Blockx--but only a smattering of early music that includes Josquin's Stabat Mater and Tallis's Spem in alium. Not to mention an almost non-existant showing of American composers, Gershwin and Barber being the sole contributors. And, please, I must say (strictly for the benefit of Z): Vivaldi's Gloria??

My Flemish friends would probably say that this is Klara's attempt to glamourize the classical music industry. Klara is already peppered with call-in quiz shows and name-that-tune competitions. And let's have a look at today's announcers (see above): Vincent Verelst and Thomas Vandervecken. Now, let's be honest, these are not your typical classical radio music announcers. Leather jackets, brilliant white smiles, expensive hair gel that is clearly NOT Brylcream. I mean, are they even Belgian? Perhaps we should call them "Vinny and Tommy" and put them in the judging corner of Project Runway.

But perhaps I am being unfair. In fact, even as I sit here they are playing the Sibelius Violin Concerto, not exactly Flemish is origin but a brilliant piece nonetheless. But I'm sure if I wait long enough I will hear the call-in questions: "How can you NOT know in what year Sibelius wrote this piece?" Wait, here it comes ...

All good things come to those who wait ... and wait ...

Today, my friends and family, I have experienced the sweet taste of victory. After two months of residency here in Belgium, I, in one short afternoon, have accomplished three monumental tasks:

1. I have been invited to submit my paperwork at the City Hall for my residency card. (I was told that I should have it in one month. So, by applying my newly-designed Belgian mathematical formula of multiplying by 2, adding the number of days I have already been living in Belgium, and taking into account the 148 or so public holidays, I should have my must-be-obtained-within-ten-days-of-arrival-in-Belgium residency card by April.)

2. I have finally received my contract from my electric company so that I can now actually *pay* for the electricity that I've been using for two months. I haven't actually received a bill yet ... (see formula above.) I suppose eventually I will be made to pay for the water and cable TV as well, but in the meantime ...

3. I HAVE A BANK ACCOUNT! Yes, I can now start keeping my money in the bank rather than in various hiding places throughout my little studio.

So, contrary to my increasingly-hopeless attitude, I have now been reassured that Belgians actually do live in the 21st century.

Nevermind that in the States these very same tasks would have been accomplished within 2 days of my arrival at a new address. But we don't need to go there ...

Care package

How is it that moms ALWAYS know?

I've been working hard for these past two days, putting together an outline from the nearly 100 pages of notes I've taken so far. My brain is tired, I'm getting listless, I am starting to not really care why, where, or when Peter Philips wrote his small-voiced motets. But I had a deadline--my first real deadline--to submit my "research schedule" for the next seven months. On any normal pair of November days this may not have been such a big deal. After all, what else is there to do when it's grey, rainy, and cold? But, of course, the sun has been out, it's been in the mid-60s, university students are frolicking in the park. And I am here in my little studio stuck in front of the computer, playing solitaire every five minutes to keep myself from going crazy.

And then it comes. My saving grace. A care package from my mom, the master of frivolous fun!

Now, I should mention that this is not the first care package to arrive from the 'rents. About two weeks I received a DVD recorder with carrying case! So how does mom manage to top such a spectacular gift?

--two sets of warm fuzzy socks
--little bottles of scented lotion, face scrub, and lip balm
--hot chocolate-flavored Pop Tarts
--turkey-shaped pot holders and travel kleenex carrier
--fun scrunchy for my (getting-longer-every-day) hair
--Go Lean granola bars
--packaged pasta sauce mix
--candy, candy, and more candy! among the cornucopia of heavenly sweetness are Spree, Dum-Dums, Spongebob Squarepants gummies, Nerds (complete with green plastic Smiling-Nerd-on-top-of-Skateboard candy dispenser), Pez, Jolly Ranchers, Lemonheads, and Pop Rocks.

It's absolutely wonderful. Thanks, mom!! :)

Belgium Endive, New England-style

It's not really my intention to turn this into another food blog, but since so much of my mood depends on how I eat I felt this post would be an appropriate end to a very nice day.

This past weekend a small group of us were invited to D's house for a home-cooked meal before an evening of snooker (to be discussed in a future entry.) D owns a lovely home on the outskirts of Leuven with, among other things, a recently-remodeled, KILLER kitchen. Now, I've been doing my best in my little studio with two pots, two burners, one spatula, and a variety of generic dried spices to recreate the kind of meals I'm used to cooking at home with Z. But I must admit that one can only eat so many stir fries and pasta dishes before one gets, well, more than a little bored. So I was very pleased that, among other deliciously fatty dishes on the menu was included some wonderful endive stewed in a sweet cream sauce.

Endive, called "witloof" in Dutch, is a rather bitter root vegetable that is most often served in salads (leaves only), stewed, fried, or baked. Since the weekend I've had endive on the brain and so went to see what good ol' Chris Kimball and his staff at Cook's Illustrated had to offer in the way of innovative recipes. Number 1 on the list was an interesting-looking braised endive with apples. I thought this would be a good way to put a distinctly New England twist on a traditional Belgian vegetable, especially on a gray, rainy November day. So tonight I passed on stir fry and pasta in favor of a "real" meal!

I've pasted the recipe below. I did not follow the recipe exactly--Jonagold apples instead of Granny Smith and apple juice instead of cider--and I'm afraid the full range of flavors was a little muddled. But it was what I would call "mildly" successful, and I'll definitely try it again. My thanks to Chris Kimball who, I'm sure, was quite determined to "turn the usual mushy cooked endive into something even my old meat-and-potatoes neighbor up the hill would eat."

Cider-Braised Belgian Endive with Apples

To avoid discoloration, do not cut the endive far in advance of cooking. Delicate endive can fall apart easily if not handled gently. Move the halved endive in the pan by grasping the curved sides gingerly with tongs and supporting the cut sides with a spatula while lifting and turning. You will need a skillet with a tight-fitting lid for this recipe.

Serves 4

3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 teaspoon granulated sugar
table salt
4 Belgian endive , medium sized (about 4 ounces each), wilted or bruised outer leaves discarded and each endive halved lengthwise
1 Granny Smith apple , peeled, cored, and cut into 1/4-inch-thick wedges
1/2 cup apple cider , plus 2 tablespoons
1/2 teaspoon minced fresh thyme leaves
1 tablespoon minced fresh parsley leaves
Ground black pepper

1. Heat 2 tablespoons butter in 12-inch heavy-bottomed skillet over medium-high heat; when foam subsides, sprinkle sugar and 1/4 teaspoon salt evenly over skillet and set endive (cut-sides down) and apples in a single layer. Cook, shaking skillet occasionally to prevent sticking and adjusting burner if browning too quickly, until golden brown, about 5 minutes. Turn endive and apples over and cook until curved sides are golden brown, about 3 minutes longer. Carefully turn endive cut-sides down. Add 1/2 cup of the cider, and thyme; reduce heat to low, cover skillet tightly, and simmer, checking occasionally and adding 2 tablespoons water if pan appears dry, until leaves open up slightly and endive and apples are tender throughout when pierced with tip of paring knife, 13 to 15 minutes. Transfer endive and apples to warmed serving platter; set aside.

2. Add remaining two tablespoons of cider to the skillet and increase heat to medium-high to bring liquid in skillet to boil; simmer until reduced to syrupy consistency, 1 to 2 minutes. Off heat, whisk in remaining tablespoon butter and parsley. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper, spoon sauce over endive and apples, and serve immediately.