Object #43 - Rue du Miroir 1

2017

City Life

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I lost my journalistic virginity at Rue de Miroir 1. On a balmy Wednesday evening in early July 2017, I met Denys Van Elewyck of Brasserie En Stoemelings for my very first interview for Brussels Beer City. 

Denys (an archeology graduate) founded the brewery with his friend Samuel Languy (a computer game developer) in 2013, brewing first in cellars and family kitchens before graduating to a professional kitchen at a co-working office in east Brussels. The brewery’s name, Denys said, came from these early, furtive brews: “When we first began to brew it was…in a basement without windows…[En Stoemelings] means the way we did things, in a secret way, behind the curtain, under the table.” 

Their first commercial beer was Curieuse Neus (translating roughly as “Nosy Parker”), a Tripel, and traditional Belgian styles would become their trademark. But before they could increase the number and variety of beers they brewed, they needed a proper home. That is what led them, in 2015, to the empty space on the edge of Brussels’ Marollen neighbourhood where I would eventually meet Denys. It was impractically small, barely big enough to house En Stoemelings’ plastic fermentation tanks, oversized gas hobs and large pots-cum-brewing vessels. But as a symbol, it was huge. 

Brussels’ pentagone hadn’t been home to a commercial brewery since the 1950s, and hadn’t seen a new brewery since the city’s interbellum brewing heyday. What’s more, En Stoemelings’ new home was only a couple of streets over from Albert Vossen’s Mort Subite Lambic blendery, and where construction workers purportedly “discovered” the original manuscript of Les Mémoires de Jef Lambic hidden in a beer barrel. 

But by the time of my sheepish interview in 2017, Denys’ attention was already elsewhere and I wasn’t the only one embarking on a new adventure. That En Stoemelings had outgrown their first home and its 205 litre brew kit was clear to me as I sat with Denys at the brewery’s makeshift bar, surrounded by boxes, brewing paraphernalia and bottles both empty and full. 

That was why I was there too, to record En Stoemelings’ final days in the Marollen before they jumped the canal to a new, larger home in a semi-industrial complex adjacent to Tour and Taxis. They were abandoning their hand-cranked bottling machine in favour of stainless steel from Slovenia and, Denys said that evening, it was not before time. Their cramped brewery wasn’t just inconvenient, it was actively hindering their growth as brewers and En Stoemelings’ as a business: “You can stay, stay, stay, but as we say in French, it’s mourir dans l’oeuf – dead before it’s born.”

By November they’d escaped their egg and were relearning how to brew on their new equipment. After our early, anxiety-inducing encounter, my own little clandestine project had avoided an early death too. 12 months later I would meet Denys again - this time at their new digs, he an increasingly confident brewer at a flourishing En Stoemelings, and me inching ever-closer towards competence as an interviewer.