There was a mob on each floor, a conglomeration of mobs in the food court. That’s how Brussels welcomed the re-opening of Marks and Spencer. I hurried past the crowds who were in united euphoria over baking powder, gammon, clotted cream and shortbreads (the very same things I look for when shopping at Tesco whenever I cross the Channel). But here we are in one new, big building. Marks and Spencer has come to feed Belgium’s hunger for British food. The line was long and the shelves were empty. I headed to the coffee shop for afternoon tea but the line was long and the shelves were empty.

Finally, after twenty minutes and facing three overwhelmed staff at the counter, I ordered a cup of Earl Grey tea, a capuccino and a slice of Victoria sponge cake and chocolate cake. No great expectations. It’s industrially-made but let’s see what a 3.50 euro slice of cake is worth (the same price I would pay in a no fancy tea shop.) The three-layer chocolate cake was dry, meaning far from being moist, and a bit too sweet but luckily the ganache was good. Victoria sponge was “correct” but the strawberry jam and the thin spread of buttercream fillings were far too sweet. And for someone who never adored fondant sugarpaste icing, this was a nightmare. Half a centimeter of icing that you can literally unroll to make a pizza and re-roll to resemble a soiled sanitary napkin. But this was just me and my personal struggle against sugarpaste icing.

But let’s face it… Marks and Spencer is an honest-to-goodness supermarket that makes no claim to pâtisserie fine. It has no pretensions, has always strive for quality, and promises good value for money, which amounts to the majority of items you find in the store and tells much of what Marks and Spencer is known to be.

To prove this, I bought one of the cheapest ready-made classic pastry, “cream slices made with puff and freshly whipped cream, strawberry conserve and topped with smooth fondant icing.” For 1.10 euro a piece, this was worth what my sweet tooth needed to calm my claustrophobia in Britain‘s flagship store. This, however, did not stop my daughter from crying out loud “Mom, why are doing this to me,” after being coerced to join the tasting. Well, getting scones outside of my kitchen was a display of insolence, so some kind of petty “punishment” was due.