Although Philippe was anxious to know his father's surprise, he could not allow it to stand in the way of his appetite. How could any boy do that?
Belgian food is tempting to everyone. It is as dainty as the French food. It is as wholesome as the Dutch. And it has something about it that is neither French nor Dutch, but purely Belgian.
Perhaps the reason lies in the fact that Belgium is so small. It is a matter of only a few hours for vegetables and fruits to travel from a distant farm to a Brussels table. Therefore, all food is fresh.
Papa Pomme ordered "potage," the famous thick soup, dear to all the French and Belgians. Then they had a roast, and for dessert, strawberries and a huge plate of gingerbread. Belgian strawberries and gingerbread are very famous and are said to be the best in the world.
While they ate, they did not talk. Eating was a serious matter with Papa Pomme and Philippe.
So absorbed did Philippe become that he forgot his manners. He reached across the table and pulled toward him the long loaf of French bread.
"Ho, ho!" cried Papa Pomme. "Not so fast! Come! Do you not use your tongue when you want something which is beyond your reach?"
Philippe blushed. Then he replied stoutly, "Yes, Papa Pomme; but my arm is much longer than my tongue!"
Papa Pomme laughed and gained another pound. Philippe went on eating happily.