Quick, I'm gonna be sick!

Here's a little task for you. Ask any Belgian about the food of their country. Okay, have you done it ? And what did they say? Was it along the lines of, Mmmm, des Frites? Usually. Did they mention Mussels? Undoubtedly. Did they say anything about their fast food outlets? Unlikely. No self respecting Belge would dare Americanize his country's eating in this way. Yet it is within the doors of your local Quick hamburger restaurant that you will learn more about the nature of these people than in any Friterie or Moules Bar.

Belgium, unlike France and most countries, has no Burger King. McDonalds is here of course, but as well as the Golden M, the Grandes Rues of the Kingdom are also home to the White Q of Quick. It is a Belgian restaurant also found all over France, and within minutes of your first visit to one of it's many outlets you will realise that the name is completely ironic to the point that you would nearly laugh were it not for the fact that you are more likey to starve to death before you get served.

I used to love Quick. Just like those people who convince themselves that Burger King is better for the fact that there are not as many of them, I would go to Quick in France and marvel at the colourful playground decor, and the meal to beat all meals - Chicken Toast. This was simply chicken within two peaces of thick toast, but boy did it sell Quick to me. By the time I had reached Belgium, however, this was a dish of the past, and the future concerned itself with their special 'Long' burgers. Long Chicken, for example, so named because you have to wait an extremely long time for it. All over the menu, English words abound - King Fish (an evil super villain surely), Giant, Star Forest, Cool Salad, Star Pepper...the Marketing department must be full of unopened English Dictionaries bought for Best Intentions. Whatever, Quick follows the general rule of Belgian queues - wait forever behind the slowest people in the world being served by people who would make Cavemen appear quick-witted (as opposed to Quick witted) and smart, only to be gazumped at the final hurdle by some woman who looks at you after you point out her error as if you have accused her of killing her own parents. I suppose the Queue law to an Englishman is about as serious, though. The Post Offices are the masters of the Belgian Queue law. It is not uncommon to wait over half an hour in a queue of three people, only to be told that the one stamp you want (as opposed to the millions of documents the others are all producing and mulling over in what is precious stamp-buying time) is unavailable at this guichet, despite being so yesterday. Queue again, please, Pete. Cashpoints are another one. Why do people take so long? Are they making the money? Are they remortgaging their house through them? And why can they not adhere to the concept that you stand behind the person who is before you, not in front of them?

But back to Quick. Not only are the queues unbelievably good places to go and die or think about the world for an eternity, but when you finally get there, and I can guarantee this to be the case EVERY time in the Charleroi outlets, what you want is NEVER ready, and will take a good 'dix minutes, monsieur'. This will be the case if the shop is empty or packed, at peak hours or midnight. In England you ask for it, and nine times out of ten, bam, you get it. That, voilą, is why it is known as 'fast food'. Here they cannot imagine why anyone else could possibly want their most popular item and it throws them off guard that you have surprised them thus with such a request? 'Long Chicken? But monsieur, ze chicken, he has not yet been born!'

I play a good little game every time I am gridlocked in a Quick queue. It is called Find As Many Names For Quick As Possible. Here are a few.

  1. Quick, the World's gonna end!
  2. Quick, I need a bucket !
  3. Quick, before I die !
  4. Quick, before I come over the counter and kill you !
  5. Quick, fucking hurry up !
  6. Quick, let's get out of here !
  7. Quick, before my Belgian Francs become outdated and Euro becomes obligatory currency !
  8. Quick, I think I'm going to wet myself !
  9. Quick, my train is coming...
This last one is especially true, however, in Brussels Gare du Midi. There, the customer service is not so much legendary as mythical. You would think they would consider that prospective customers might be in a hurry so dawdling about and taking it slowly are not options? Of course not - but this is Belgium all over. And I am sure they do not mean it personally. But when they purposefully call it Quick, you have to ask yourself one question - was somebody taking the piss or what?

15 May 2000

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