About ten years ago I was wandering the fairytale-like streets of Bruges, a picturesque town in Belgium, searching for a particular chocolate shop when suddenly the most magnificent scent stopped me in my tracks. Sweet, yeasty with slight caramel notes; I was entranced. I blindly followed the scent around a corner as if some cartoon-like finger under my nose was pulling me along. On the side of a little shop down a cobblestone street was a small window with a tiny hand-painted sign: “Liege Wafels”. Waffles? Couldn’t be. There must be a misunderstanding. After weeks of fine Belgian beer, buckets of mussels, impossibly crispy frites and really really good chocolate, I didn’t want a waffle. I wanted whatever smelled so good. Oh how little I knew. These were not the Eggos of my youth nor the IHOP Belgian Waffles loaded with bad strawberry puree and canned Reddi-Whip. Oh no, not in the least. Puffy, slightly sweet, caramelized and crunchy on the outside, these beauties were more like a crunchy dimpled cookie than anything else. Hot off the griddle, I was hooked. I hit that shop window twice a day for three days in a row.
STRESSCAKE 