Just beyond the edges of Brussels proper lies a municipality called Anderlecht. Much of it is residential, serving as home to much of the city’s working class. It’s rather benign—uninspiring, even. But it’s in Anderlecht, at Rue Gheude 56, on an unassuming side street, housed behind white exterior walls and mustard yellow slatted wood doors, that you’ll find Brasserie Cantillon.

Matt Tarpey is describing his first time there, a chance internship granted to him by Jean Van Roy, Cantillon’s owner and brewer. I’ve asked him tell me this story a second time because it sounds too good to be true. His story takes place in January 2013, pretty early—eight or nine in the morning. He and Van Roy are walking around inside Cantillon. It’s damp and cool, each exhale is visible. They pace around the empty, extremely quiet building, chatting about spontaneous fermentation.