Marcel Verbeeck

Most mornings, I lift the shutters of my small snack bar before Brussels really wakes up. It’s a modest place, squeezed between a laundromat and an old bookstore, just a few tables and a counter. I live nearby, in a small flat above a grocery shop. Life isn’t glamorous, but it’s mine. I’m 55 now, and even though my knees complain more than they used to, I still enjoy opening up early, breathing in the quiet before the city starts buzzing.

You wouldn’t expect much from a place like mine — burgers, sandwiches, coffee — but it’s the people who make it interesting. You never know who will walk in.

Yesterday was one of those days I’ll remember.

Around noon, a man in a dark blue suit came in, looking a bit too polished for my wooden chairs. I recognized him — a Member of the European Parliament. He ordered a croque monsieur and sat by the window. Five minutes later, a farm worker walked in, muddy boots and all, and after a quick glance around, asked if he could sit down at the only free spot — right across from the politician.

At first, they ate in silence. But the farmer, after a few sips of his beer, started muttering about Brussels being a "useless city of parasites." I winced, polishing glasses behind the counter, half expecting trouble.

Instead, the MP smiled calmly and asked him a question about his work. What followed was unexpected. The politician talked about European subsidies, how they kept many small farms alive, about how cross-border trade helped Belgian products find markets. The farmer, stubborn at first, listened. He challenged him too, but it wasn’t angry. It was real talk. Two different worlds colliding over fries and sandwiches.

I pretended to be busy, but I caught enough to understand they weren’t enemies by the time they stood up. They even shook hands, the farm worker mumbling something like, "Didn’t know that." The MP just smiled, paid for both their meals, and left without any grand gestures.

I locked up late last night, thinking about it. About how this tiny bar in Brussels, Belgium, brought two people together who probably would’ve stayed strangers anywhere else.

And I felt proud. Very proud.