Thank a Belgian

Monday was okay, so I relaxed my grip, only to find myself steam-rolled by Tuesday, roiling in useless perseverations.

It is at times like these that I recommend having Belgians around. (And of course, if you are actually Belgian, please go round up some more Belgians for this exercise.) "My" Belgians are business associates whom I have met at various networking events during the past year.

Here is what you need to know: Belgians are very charming, unassuming and multi-lingual. As I understand the facts, the population is generally debt free, which I think contributes to their low key and relaxed vibe.

The country has over 400 types of beer and produces more than 172,000 tons of chocolate per year. Not convinced that hanging out with Belgians will improve your mood? This is a country that produced the illimitable Audrey Hepburn, the saxophone, and the Smurfs! Now, I ask you.

I once attended a dinner at the Consul General of Belgium's residence in New York City. I read up on my Belgian business etiquette and so arrived on time, with a fresh manicure and shiny shoes. The room was well appointed with an impressive art collection that Madame had acquired over 30 years as the wife of a diplomat. A word on Madame: she was one of those glamorous 50-something European beauties with the impeccable eye makeup, the tidy coiffure, and the pack of Marlboro reds. She was gracious, gliding around the room making conversation with each of her guests.

The 5th Avenue residence overlooked the Armory in Central Park. It was December, and through the Palladian windows one could see the holiday party in full swing at the Armory. They had green lights on the Christmas tree, and the weather obliged the season with a light snow. But inside the Belgian residence, the room was hot. The dry, crackling, static-causing heat that is truly proficient in New York City homes with those old-timey radiators. I was wilting and hungry (I had not eaten in many hours). So as I stood chatting with Madame, I felt faint. Sitting down did not help. The room started closing in, darkness blotting my peripheral vision.

You know in the show "Bewitched," when Samantha used to make herself teeny tiny and sit in the corner of Darren's office to help him as he bumbled his way through a business meeting? That night, my conscious brain was eensy Samantha, way off in the corner of my brain, watching my body grow faint, and screaming in a weensy voice: "I beg of you! PLEASE don't faint at the Consul General's residence in front of 20-odd people!"

Madame moved into swift and blessedly discreet action. She opened a window away from the group and summoned a chair and an ice pack. As I revived, she found my place card in the adjacent dining room so I would know my table without having to endure an awkward entrance after the other guests had taken their seats. It worked. My private drama went largely unnoticed. I enjoyed a delightful dinner and came away with many new Belgian friends, "my" Belgians.

So you can understand my relief today, when I remembered I had lunch scheduled with these gentlemen. Their humor is self-deprecating. For example, when I told them about my screenplay, they suggested I write about the "Belgian Mafia." One: "We don't shoot people." The other: "We bore them to death."

It is a gently teasing good humor, not the caustic stuff of some cultures (you know who you are), but I'm afraid I can't repeat the one about the watery beer being like making love in a canoe. All I can advise you is don't order some silly light beer; let your Belgians order for you.

Today we we drank Westmalle tripel, a strong Trappist beer poured like wine into thick stemmed glasses with wide bowls. We ate steak frites avec Béarnaise and talked about world economies, the future of biotechnology, and the state of healthcare. They did anything but bore me to death. They had stopped my helpless worrying about things beyond my control.

So the next time you are facing a challenging day, filled with apprehension, and you reach for your morning caffeine for a boost, thinking, "Jean Claude Van Damme that's good coffee!"...thank a Belgian.