Exploring Brussels.

Brussels runs on chocolate, beer, waffles and a startling volume of paperwork. If you have ever pondered EU regulations over a Trappist ale, this city was built for you.

Start with the food, because the food is straightforward. Waffles arrive loaded with whipped cream, strawberries or chocolate, and the stands near the Grand Place are glad to hand you one. The chocolate is the genuine article. Nobody here is selling the sad bar you find by a petrol pump. Let a square of it melt slowly and see what happens to your mood. Beer comes next, and Belgium treats it with the seriousness of a national project. Bottles at 12% ABV sit on the table looking like paperweights. I lost an afternoon in a pub called À la Mort Subite, a long room with mirrored walls and bentwood chairs, and I'd do it again tomorrow. Somewhere in the middle of all this you'll notice the city doesn't rush you. The pace is set by whoever is refilling your glass.

You can't skip the Grand Place. The square is wildly decorated, heavy with history, and on a July morning busy enough to explain why the EU holds its conferences elsewhere. Bring a camera. Bring patience for the man taking his fortieth selfie beside the same statue. As for statues, Manneken Pis is small, bronze and urinating, and somehow a national symbol. It reminded me that Belgium has its own sense of humour and that my idea of a famous monument might be a bit grand. A few streets away, a comic book mural covers an entire building end to end, and I never did find out who painted it. I asked at a newsstand and got a shrug.

Brussels is a city of contradictions. Chocolate shops tempt you at every turn while coffee shops slow the clock down. You're squinting at a recycling bin with three compartments while officials in the EU quarter switch languages mid-sentence. It's like befriending someone with a doctorate and three judgmental cats: messy, a little intimidating, worth the effort.

Art lovers have museums to spare, though honestly the comic book murals scattered across the city are more fun. Belgium gave the world Tintin, and a walk through the centre turns up one painted panel after another, usually around a corner you didn't plan to take. There's craft in them. A character from one mural, a red rocket on a brick wall, has stayed with me longer than most gallery visits. The streets do the rest of the talking.

Paris has the romance and the Alps have the postcards. Brussels has something quieter that creeps up on you. You laugh at its oddities, enjoy its comforts, and start to think that a small peeing boy might capture a whole nation's spirit.

Eat the chocolate, drink the beer, take the photos, and let the city work on you. You might leave a few pounds heavier, with a mild headache and a few stories nobody back home will believe. The airport sells the same chocolate at the gate for eleven euros a box.