The joy of being able to eat a Belgian meal without having to be in Belgium is hard to describe. No, it's not. I spent two years in Brussels and it was one of the most beastly periods of my life. And I speak as someone who was in Moscow for four years as a foreign correspondent during Soviet days. That was a piece of cake by comparison.

Brussels is segrated into 'wards', some run by the Flemish, some run by the French, each with its own separate policeforce and council. The Flemish won't speak to the French. The French won't speak to the Flemish. It was the perfect place to commit crime then take refuge in another ward - the police refused to share their files. Walking the basset hound one morning, nose down to slalom cleanly through the never-collected poop, I was too distracted to look up. So the bucket of cold water that cascaded over my head came as a total shock. The basset wasn't too happy either. "Don't you let that dog mess on my doorstep," shrieked its wielder. As if his doing so would have made any difference to the purity of the street. But I was carrying bags.

So a meal at Brasserie Beck is a real treat. It's as noisy as a train station, which tells you how hip it is. But once you get tucked in behind the efficient screen that shelters the window tables, you hardly hear a squeal of the birds of paradise squeezed on stools round the bar who stare with such wide-eyed interest at men trying their best to look indifferent you'd think they had a thyroid condition.

Ask for a booth and you'll get some peace. Very cleverly these aren't built with those dreadful banquettes that force you to sit on the edge of your seat like a bad student in trouble with the school principal. There are chairs for you to pull in as you like. I can't eat without dropping stuff straight onto my clothes, so am glad to pin myself to the table's edge. Here was no exception. But that was fine. I was happy to suck the mayonnaise which slumped off the perfectly crisp string fries onto my shirt. It's delicious, and one of three different kinds.

Belgian brasserie standards are well executed - fat home-made sausages on mounds of lentils, potato puree as soft as a cloud, good hanger steaks. But if you don't order one of the mussel dishes presented in a big Le Creuset frying pan, you're missing out on a seriously good experience. From the size of each mussel - as plump as a Hallowe'en marshmallow - you might imagine each one had been carefully injected with brine. Where did they get mussels as fat and succulent as these?

The waiters are anxious for you to try as many of their excellent Belgianbeers as possible. Of course the country of edgy clothing and furniture design can't leave well alone: some of the beers, like the Kwak, are served in daft glasses that have to be presented in wooden holders that look like medieval instruments of torture. But they taste great. Go for the Garden Carolus Hopsinjoor, the Piraat and the Carolus IPA. You're wasting time with Stella, made with chemicals and known in Europe as 'the wife beater' for its effect on drinkers. It's an insult to the golden brew.

Brasserie Beck (202-408-1717) is located at 1101 K St. NW. Main courses cost $16 to $24.

Related Information...