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Ordinarily, it would be a fool's mission to attempt to capture the gastronomic essence of a city in a single dish, particularly in a city with a rich culinary culture. Try to encapsulate Paris or Rome or Tokyo on a solitary plate and you might as well attempt to lasso the wind. But in Brussels, the button-down capital of Europe known more for bureaucrats than bon vivants, the house specialty at Bleu de Toi speaks volumes of the overall Belgian approach to food.

The dish, l a Bintje farcie au Homard, a baked potato topped with a perfectly grilled half-lobster, artfully demonstrates the delightful irreverence of the Bruxellois: Who tops a humble baked potato with luxurious lobster, or indeed devotes an entire restaurant to baked potato variations, as does Bleu de Toi? Equally apparent in the dish is the characteristic Belgian veneration of their native ingredients, in this case the prized Bintje potato, a waxy, yellow tuber first bred a century ago by the Dutch, but since fully adopted by Belgians as their own.

Most importantly, however unlikely it may seem, the combination provides sumptuous dining.

This should not come as a surprise. Although rarely heralded as such, Belgians are as gastronomic a breed as their neighbours in France and Italy, possibly more so. It is said the people of Belgium spend their mornings deciding what to have for lunch, their afternoons pondering dinner, and their evenings reflecting on the day's dishes and anticipating the morrow's.

A key part of this obsession with things gastronomic is the Belgian reverence for fine ingredients. So it seems natural that Bleu de Toi's signature Bintje is not just any potato, but a farmhouse tuber developed for its fruitiness and utility, which later proved an ideal basis for the Belgian invention we have come to call "French" fries.

And it follows that such exaltation of even the most unassuming elements of their gastronomy should extend across the full spectrum of Brussels' dining possibilities, from a modest frituur, or French fry stand, to three-Michelin-starred gastro-paradises such as Comme Chez Soi. (It is even jokingly said the Maison Antoine, a legendary frituur near the European Union headquarters, is the reason the Eurocrats chose Brussels as their base.)

At the sun-splashed art nouveau restaurant designed by master architect Victor Horta, chef Pierre Wynants of Comme Chez Soi is so enamoured of Belgian foodstuffs that in 2001 he co-wrote with Lionel Rigolet a lavishly illustrated book, la Coeur Gourmand de la Belgique (Belgium's Gastronomic Heart), which highlights ingredients from Callebaut chocolate to Hervé cheese and Gent mustard.

In conversation, Wynants boasts of Belgium's 350 varieties of cheese, of its hand-plucked, delicately fleshed Malines poultry, in some quarters preferred even over the vaunted birds of Bresse, France, and notes with a hint of sibling rivalry that Belgium's briny North Sea grey shrimp are superior to those of neighbouring Holland because his country forbids the use of preservatives. As befits an establishment launched by his grandfather, Wynants -- whose Comme Chez Soi translates to "as at your home" -- artfully respects the old ways while refashioning his dishes for a generation of sedentary computer tappers. "Belgian food is essentially a peasant cuisine suited to farmers who need a lot of calories," he explains. "The challenge is to maintain traditions but make the meal lighter."

Indeed, Wynants creates an ethereal mousse from Ardennes ham, a cured ham from the south of the country, not unlike Serrano or Parma ham, and even manages to refine an intensely flavoured fisherman's dish such as eel for luxury dining by banishing the oil and bathing the rich meat in wild mushroom sauce.

From the grandeur of Comme Chez Soi to the tumbledown, farmhouse ambiance of Brussels' newest beer cuisine restaurant, Restobières, may seem like quite a journey, but in the Belgian capital it is little more than a short stroll, both physically and spiritually. Indeed, the contrast between the two establishments emulates the city itself, which ranges from the gorgeous Grand-Place, surely one of the world's most stunning squares, to very ordinary city streets crowded with dour grey façades.

Peer between the cracks, however, and you will see what so many tourists rushing between Paris and Amsterdam miss: The artistic Bruxellois palate, which with a cartoon mural or a lovingly preserved, decades-old sign, can turn the ordinary into the extraordinary.

Similarly bridging the everyday and the outstanding, the past and the present, is chef Alain Fayt, whose ample girth gives him the countenance of one of the Renaissance peasants immortalized in oil by Flemish master Bruegel. Note the singe marks on his arms and the way his round face illuminates when patrons tuck into his trademark pâté flavoured with strong ale from the monastery brewery at Westvleteren, or a classic carbonade Flamande (Flemish beef stew) cooked with the sour red ale from Rodenbach, and you will quickly recognize him as every bit a born chef.

Like Wynants, Fayt is passionate about Belgian ingredients, except that he places his culinary faith in the country's magnificent and varied beer selection.

At his high-ceilinged boîte in the heart of Brussels' antiques district, filled with relics of his childhood years -- dozens of hand-operated coffee grinders and meat mincers, a collection of chocolate tins with images of the royal family, an anthology of asparagus plates -- Fayt has created a menu that uses Belgium's eclectic brews in almost every dish. He coddles rabbit in more Rodenbach, and brines pork for two weeks until it takes on the character of a bacon pork chop, then tops it with a luscious Westvleteren sauce. He cooks the traditional, seven-meat Bruxellois dish choesels in tart gueuze, an almost champagne-like beer unique to the Payottenland region surrounding Brussels.

For dessert, Fayt whips a puddle of eggs tableside with cherry-flavoured kriek beer, working his whisk as if it were possessed and churning out a hot, cloudlike sabayon, which he mounds into a high-sided glass that recalls Cinderella's slipper.

Linger long enough for the lunch crowd to ebb and Fayt's restless creative drive might inspire him to emerge from his subterranean farmhouse kitchen with a new dish: The day we were there, it was a platter piled with bananas deep-fried in a batter made with the golden ale Bink Blond and heavily showered with confectioner's sugar.

While at first glance Restobières may seem dowdy and out of date, one of the most intriguing aspects of the Brussels restaurant scene is that there's nothing unhip about grandpa. At La Villette, a checkered-tablecloth café where the music runs to Jacques Brel and the Beach Boys, and pork medallions are topped with cheese from the Trappist monastery at Orval and bathed in a sauce made with beer from the same abbey, the decidedly mid-century air is appreciated equally by young executive types, their parents and their grandparents.

Similarly, the charming though crumbling La Fleur en Papier Dorée, a riotously decorated café once a haunt of René Magritte and Max Ernst, casts as wide a net for its customers as does the far more elegant, almost mystically atmospheric Bleu de Toi, just a few doors up the street.

So regardless of whether you are a blue-suited businessman in search of a plateful of spaghetti Bolognese (oddly a Brussels café mainstay and almost always excellent) or a student with a few extra eurocents to blow on glass of wine and a stylishly baked Bintje, you can rest assured that your welcome will be warm and your meal impressive.

Even spots that lure the hipper than thou have a reverence for the past. Stop by the cheeky and chic Chez Marie and you will see walls covered with artful nudes from bygone days, while paradoxically, Québécois sommelier Daniel Marcil has put together a 300-bottle-strong list that champions labels from such recently emerging wine nations as New Zealand and Lebanon.

At the unapologetically trendy brasserie Belga Queen, restaurateur Antoine Pinto has preserved the Corinthian columns and soaring stained glass ceiling of a belle époque bank in a space designed to the teeth, with lighting that befits a dance floor, staff costumed in ahead-of-the-trend Belgian attire, food styling that echoes esoteric sculpture and sculpture that doubles as seating.

Sleek and international as Belga Queen's décor may appear, Pinto makes a point of using Belgian-grown ingredients whenever possible, even featuring wines from Belgian producers around the world. Although the menu is heavy on Beautiful People staples such as oysters and champagne, there is still room for Belgian cuisine with a sexy international twist, such as waterzooi (stew) cooked in a wok or puff pastry stuffed with North Sea shrimp and monkfish cheeks. Never mind the temporal disconnect that can arise from feasting on what is essentially updated peasant food in an environment that speaks of over-the-top luxury, in Brussels, it's all part of the fun.

Which demonstrates what might be the most endearing attribute of both Brussels restaurants and the Bruxellois themselves -- a sassy sense of humour.

We first noticed it years ago at the popular, century-old café La Mort Subite, the name of which translates rather inhospitably to "sudden death," and encountered it again at a place that is at once a fine beer café, a respected francophile restaurant and a temple of art nouveau design, De Ultieme Hallucinatie. Asking about the peculiar name, which we were quite certain translated to "ultimate hallucination," we were told it was a winking reference to the reputed favourite pastime of architect Victor Horta, who loved to cultivate mushrooms in his basement, although apparently for purposes other than eating.

Dining in Brussels

Maison Antoine: 1 Place Jourdan/Jourdanplein; phone: 32 (2) 230 5456. Open daily. Belgium's famous frituur attracts long lines from the nearby EU headquarters every day.

Comme Chez Soi: Place Rouppe 23; 32 (2) 512 2921; http://www.commechezsoi.be. Reasonable prices for this deluxe level of dining: three-course menus from $100. Closed Sunday, Monday, July 4 to Aug 2 and Dec. 25 to Jan. 10. Book several weeks ahead.

Bleu de Toi: rue des Alexiens/Cellebroersstraat 73; 32 (2) 502 4371; http://www.bleudetoi.be. The name is Belgian slang for "blue over you" or "crazy about you." The most coveted table is in front of the roaring fire, although you might have to share space with the owner's dog. Dinner around $65 a person. Closed Saturday lunch and Sunday.

Restobières: rue des Renards/Vossenstraat 32 (near the Vieux Marche); 32 (2) 502 7251; http://www.restobieres.com. The always changing beer list usually contains about 150 choices; in summer, the chef grows hops on the second-floor terrace. Lunch is served Friday to Sunday; dinner available Thursday by reservation. Lunch menu from $24.

La Villette: rue du Vieux Marche-aux-Grains/Oude Graanmarkt 3; 32 (2) 512 7550 (near the famous fish restaurants of place Sainte-Catherine); http://www.la-villette.be. Closed Saturday lunch and Sunday. Dinner plus beer about $65 a person.

La Fleur en Papier Dorée: rue des Alexiens/Cellebroersstraat 55; 32 (2) 511 1659. This endearing, three-room café is crammed full of paintings and old photos. Light meals and good beer. Open daily.

Chez Marie: rue Alphonse de Witte Straat 40; 32 (2) 644 3031. A medium priced bistro with a francophile chef and extensive wine list. Closed Saturday lunch, Sunday and Monday.

Belga Queen: rue Fossé aux Loups/Wolvengracht 32; 32 (2) 217 2187; http://www.resto.be/belgaqueen. Oysters from $2.40 a piece, three-course à la carte dinner about $105 per person with modest drinks. Open seven days a week.

De Ultieme Hallucinatie: rue Royale/Koningsstraat 316; 32 (2) 217 0614. A visually captivating art nouveau café and restaurant featuring some beer cuisine dishes and a menu of game (in season). Closed Sunday.

Belgian fries?

The people of Belgium's north coast were fond of frying a small fish known as whitebait, chef Pierre Wynants explained, and ate them year-round, except when ice made fishing impossible. It was during the cold and food-scarce period that followed the First World War, that a chef came up with the idea of cutting potatoes into strips the size of the fish and cooking them in the same fashion. The idea spread, and when American soldiers stationed there tasted the fried potatoes, they called them 'French' fries after the language then spoken in the region, thus kicking off a common culinary misconception.