Where to find the best Belgian waffles in Brussels

It’s early morning in February and Brussels is anything but festive. Gusts of rain have blown the streets empty, and the day’s dull light brings a dissonant edge to the city’s blend of architectural styles — gothic and baroque rubbing shoulders with brutalist and functional. Yet, the aroma from a single waffle van is enough to transport Laurence Bernard. “It’s a smell of warmth,” she says, “like Christmas every day.”

A guide from tour operator City Unscripted, Laurence is taking me on a custom-made excursion around her hometown. I’ve come to the Belgian capital to seek out its best waffles (gaufres in French), the crisp, grid-patterned snack that originated in the country and migrated to breakfast buffets, all-day diners and anywhere indulgence is called for. But in a city that takes its food icons seriously — where chocolate tastings are a standard offering and frites have their own museum — dedicated waffle experiences are surprisingly few.

“We’re so used to waffles, we didn’t consider them a speciality,” says Laurence, who speaks in bursts, quick-stepping through the city as if on a sugar high herself. We pass shops proffering the snack with rainbow toppings: kiwi, caramel, mounds of whipped cream so generous you can’t be sure what’s underneath. “These places didn’t exist two decades ago, they developed with tourism.”

With limited guidance and endless choice, the quest for a memorable waffle requires setting your own terms and understanding a few others. The Belgian speciality has two key variations. If you picture the dish, it’s probably the rectangular Brussels kind, light and with a subtle taste. The Liège variety, smaller and rounder, has more flavour and body — and is a good one to start with.

Belgian waffles can be traced to the Middle Ages, when a mix of flour and water was pressed between hot metal sheets and sold by street vendors. By the 1500s, these wafers had fluffed up, showing up in paintings by Flemish Masters looking something like the waffles we’d recognise today. Aside from that, Belgians still enjoy the Liège variety much the same: in hand, on the go and without garnish.

“At first, I added toppings, then I tried it plain and thought ‘Oh my god!’” says Mustapha Zariouhi, dusting a waffle iron with powder sugar, then filling it with balls of dough. “Other spots butter the plates, but done right, a Liège has enough character as it is.” Wearing a black apron printed with a red crown, the Moroccan student has spent the past two years working the grill at Le Roi de la Gaufre (The Waffle King), an unassuming cafe in the city’s historic heart.

The space was previously home to La Fourche, a bakery some locals would defend as the best in town for Liège waffles. When the owner retired, assistant Abdelhamid Derraz took over his reins and recipe. Now stationed in the kitchen, the Moroccan native and 40-plus-year Brussels resident is a man of few words, but his ingredients are displayed in glass jars for all to see: milk, butter, eggs, flour, yeast and pearl sugar, a Belgian speciality sold in nuggets. Legend has it the Liège waffle was created when an 18th-century Prince-Bishop of Liège — now a city in east Belgium — asked for a dessert laced with these candy crystals. Because of their high melting point, they half-succumb to, half-resist sizzling heat, lending a Liège waffle its signature richness and crunch.

Mustapha offers me one iron-hot. This, he notes, is key; reheating Liège waffles is more common, but knowing Abdelhamid so well, he wants to do each pastry justice. “Warmed up, a Liège is good,” he says. “Fresh, it’s perfect.” I step outside to eat it as tradition commands. The caramelised coat catches the light and cracks gently as I bite into it, honey-yellow and flecked with specks of sugar. It’s caramelised but not saccharine, dense but not chewy — a balanced sweetness that reminds me of treats eaten at childhood fairs, making me delight in each mouthful.

Tearoom tradition

“Maison Dandoy was founded by my grand-grand-grand…” Antoine Helson trails off, counting generations in his head, “seventh great-grandfather.” That was 1829, making his family business one year older than Belgium itself. It made pastry history as one of the first to sell Speculoos, that most Flemish of caramelised biscuits. But ask anyone, and it’s the Brussels waffle for which the bakery, which has become a multi-venue franchise, is locally famed.

I’ve come to try it at Maison Dandoy by the magnificent Grand-Place, the city’s Unesco-listed baroque main square. It was here — a short walk from the original biscuit shop, still in business on aptly named Rue au Beurre (Butter Street) — that they started selling waffles in the 1980s. “It was a dream of my grandmother’s,” says Antoine, who looks younger than his 38 years but nonetheless heads up the company with his brother Alexandre. He shows me a yellowed photo of the woman, crowned with backcombed hair, selling glaces (ice cream) and gaufres to go from a hole in the wall.

Today, the cafe’s takeaway counter draws queues, while the two floors above are for lingering. Waffles became a mainstay of Belgian tearooms in the mid-19th century, and the Brussels variety lends itself particularly well to table dining. Made from a lighter batter and granulated sugar, it not only has to be eaten freshly made, but it’s also a perfect base for toppings. I opt for a Speculoos spread that coats my entire palate, and biscuit crumbs that cut through with peppery spiciness. The waffle itself is light as air, adding a third texture and perfectly balancing the whole bite.

“That’s a secret,” says Antoine when I ask what makes his grandmother’s recipe so delicate. “But we use the best-quality ingredients.” Since being at the helm, Antoine and Alexandre have sourced suppliers who work locally and sustainably; in 2024, Maison Dandoy was awarded a B Corp Certification, which guarantees high environmental and social standards. “My brother has two children. What can we do for them, today and tomorrow?” asks Antoine. “We’re thinking about the eighth generation.”

The new classic

For my last stop, I head to Saint-Gilles, a district south of the historic centre known for its village atmosphere, independent restaurants and trendy nightlife. It’s a place where Pardon fits right in. The speciality coffee and waffles spot is decorated with wall art of its mascot, a grinning gargoyle, and there’s a vintage clothing shop at the back. “We don’t like to follow rules,” says chef and co-owner Adrien ‘Robert’ Bertrand, sporting a T-shirt depicting a banana peel dropping missiles. Even the apology in the name is tongue-in-cheek. “We’re French, but we reinvented the Belgian waffle.”

Over the past seven years, Robert and his barista partner ‘Marla’ — also a monicker, and the only name she goes by — have prepared Brussels waffles with extra butter, yielding a creamy inside; vegan waffles replacing eggs with linseed, blended and soaked into a jelly; even bite-size brioche waffles. I’m here to try their waffle bread, made from a savoury sourdough base and served on changing brunch platters that Robert designs with seasonal ingredients.

Mine arrives heaped with baba ghanoush, red cabbage sweetened with white peppers, and fennel seasoned with garam masala and apple curry. There’s also a pumpkin soup with a hint of ginger, to be mopped up by a waffle bread of smoked paprika and dried tomato. It’s a menu that elsewhere might seem overtly experimental — waffle doughs enriched with truffle or topped with yuzu sorbet have graced the city’s Michelin-starred kitchens. But here it’s determinedly playful, an extension of Robert and Marla themselves.

“We wanted to try new things but remain welcoming,” says Robert. “In France, we’d host parties, feed our guests. We made making people comfortable our profession.” The best Belgian waffles follow this simple rule — it’s soul food prepared with someone in mind. Christmas every day indeed.

(Related: A food guide to Brussels, from street food to lambic beer)