I adress those who...

have today found the way here: you are confronted by a closed door. The entrance to the Smaakmakerij, the former laboratory of the Universal Flavours company, which is hereby renamed as FLAVORIA.
Not the Promised Land, but a good place to be, a space bursting with creativity and imagination. But it’s also an unsheltered workplace, where no one runs away from artistic risks, and we all go from one surprise to the next. A bit of a ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’, a little Patafonie, where the Patagonian wind blows, an amusement park, a playground for open minds. No Disneyland (sorry, Walt) or Schoepenland (sorry Bobbejaan) land, but FLAVORIA. There’s something festive about it, with that -ia on the end, even a little sexy, a little mysterious like an exotic perfume when you whisper the word... ‘Flavoria’...
It’s not clear what it means, it’s more of a label, a sticker on your suitcase, a little badge on your walking stick: it’s somewhere you have to go at least once in your life.
FLAVORIA, a haven for beachcombers, troubadours and minstrels, twiddlers and tinkerers, wizards and do-it-yourselfers. The naive and the primitive, in the positive sense of the words. Innocent children. We speak Fremish, but Flench too, und selbst ein bisschen Flerman, not to mention our Flenglish.
Loners, twins, Arians and Sagittarians and all the future stars of the heavens. Enter within, have no fear, not simply threshold-lowering but no threshold at all – we welcome you. Flavoria, open your doors. Bandsmen, strike up our hymn: ‘To our greater Flavoria (x 15)’.

Pat