#205: World Cup City - Brazil š§š·
Day 39: sweet Samba treats
Welcome to an ongoing Brussels Notes series exploring the 48 participating countries of the 2026 World Cup, without leaving Brussels. Read the explainer, check out the other entries, and then subscribe.
Essencial Brasil Panificadora 1, Rue ThƩodore Verhaegen 44, 1060 Saint-Gilles
I knew things were going to go awry when I noticed that none of the pastries had any labels on them. The display cabinet at the Panaficadora on Rue ThĆ©odore Verhaegen is full of delicious-looking Brazilian pastries most of which I have never seen before and do not know the names of. Thereās big shiny chocolate cakes studded with strawberries, cookies dusted with sugar, rings of biscuits covered in a bright white glaze with colourful sprinkles, squares of yellow sponge and big logs of pastry rolled in what looks like cinnamon sugar.
On top of the counter are large round flans the size and colour of hemorrhoid pillows and dripping with liquid caramel. I ignore the savoury pastries, though these are the only things I do recognise and do know the name of - deep-fried conical brown coxinhas. But they are stuffed with meat and so out of bounds.
āPrĆ³ximo, por favor.ā
I knew things were really going to go awry when I reached the top of the queue and it was my turn to order. Iād run through in my mind how to say, āI donāt really know what anything is, are there a few pastries you could recommend?ā in French while I was waiting for my turn. But when I fumbled the words out of my mouth, I got no reaction from the woman on the other side of the counter. No acknowledgement of my plea for help. She just stared at me and waited for me to tell her what I wanted. The notion that her French was worse than mine hadnāt entered my mind. But of course, everyone else in the queue that was now forming was speaking Portuguese, the two teenagers whispering conspiratorily behind my back, and the man in the striped Fluminense jersey with his phone up to his ear who had just joined the growing crowd in the bakery doorway.
So I resorted to pointing, gesturing in the direction of the pastries I wanted to order, in a panic. Two of those pleased, and one of these. And three of the little small sugar-coated rings too. The woman licked her index finger and pried off an opaque plastic bag from a pile and began to place my order into it. After she had collected everything she asked if there was more. The queue had grown longer now, snaking out into the street and coiling underneath the wide awning over the entrance.
Frantically looking down into the display cabinet I saw what looked like some kind of cheese covered bread swirl, but I was already committed to what Iād ordered and I could feel the sweat beginning to pool in my eyebrows and the gathering restlessness. Yes, thatās everything, thank you. She passed over the bag and the card reader. I tapped and we both waited for it to beep, her looking bored and me avoiding eye contact. I wiped the sweat away from my brow and skirted out past the queue of people who were looking at me with some curiosity. Crossing the street I pulled out one of my pastries - the long log with the cinnamon sugar - and bit into it to settle my nerves. It was good, but a little dry, and when the flopsweat had subsided a little I crossed back over the road and in under the Brazilian flag painted above the entrance to the Magasin Carvalho, next door to the bakery.
I pulled a cold can of GuaranĆ” Antarctica (zero sugar) out of the fridge, paid, and had it half-empty by the time I walked up the street, around the corner, and passed out of Little Rio and back into Brussels.
Tomorrow, weāre sticking around South America for a little longerā¦
Thanks for reading - Iām writer Eoghan Walsh and this is my weekly free-to-subscribe newsletter about life in Brussels. If you like it and youāre not already subscribed, you can sign up here!