What did I know about where we would end up when — in a slightly panicked, last-minute move — I decided to book a Valentine’s weekend getaway? Destination: Luxembourg. Honestly? The choice was driven more by excise-duty logic than by romantic inspiration. But love, as we know, takes mysterious routes. Because of my rather late burst of decisiveness, the options were… “limited.” So I did what any rational romantic would do: I checked the satisfaction score. 9.4/10. Reassuring. Comforting. The kind of number that whispers: “Be brave.” And so I booked — brace yourself — a three-star hotel. Normally, I do not venture below four stars. But this time, the heart outranked the rating system. The booking process itself was less smooth than anticipated. A small email marathon later, everything was finally arranged. Love requires effort — even administratively. Upon arrival, we discovered the hotel had been recently (re)designed. We had reserved a standard room but were — to our delight — upgraded to a loft. And what a loft it was. Spacious, with a separate sitting area, a wonderfully comfortable bed, and a bathroom that tempts one to linger far longer than strictly necessary. As we had opted for the Valentine’s package (a six-course dinner and brunch the following day), we were welcomed with an additional surprise: a chilled bottle of sparkling wine in an ice bucket and pralines. The exceptionally friendly young gentleman at reception climbed the stairs to the third floor not once, but twice, which immediately explained the missing fourth star: no lift. Yet let there be no doubt — in terms of experience, this hotel deserves that extra star without hesitation. And I have not even mentioned the kitchen. Upon arrival, I had noticed that the restaurant proudly displays a 13.5/20 rating from Gault&Millau. My curiosity intensified. How could all of this — a beautiful room, six-course dinner, and brunch for two — cost only €450? Where was the catch? When would reality intervene? Spoiler: it did not. The dining room was completely full — clearly with more guests than the hotel itself could accommodate. Once again, the welcome was warm. The maître d’, originally from Portugal, addressed us fluently in Dutch and subtly demonstrated that several other languages were also well within his reach. Every interaction was perfectly measured: warm, attentive, never intrusive. Professionalism wrapped in charm. And then came dinner. I have had the pleasure of dining in many highly regarded — even Michelin-starred — establishments. But from now on, Beim Schlass firmly earns its place on that list. I will spare you the full culinary analysis, but the confit celeriac with black truffle… That dish alone deserves an award. A standing ovation. Everything that followed was top-tier cuisine: precise, refined, and refreshingly free of unnecessary theatrics. No gimmicks. No culinary circus. Just genuine excellence. Only afterward did I learn that the owner is none other than
