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| Swiss Food: More than just Cheese and Chocolate |
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“The Swiss,” I was declaiming to anyone at the table who would listen (which was no-one, as the conversation had long since moved on from the question I was now attempting to answer), “are not only neutral when it comes to foreign policy; they also practice a careful diplomacy with internal matters. Because of the clash of German, French and Italian languages and cultures in Switzerland, along with the famously independent-minded cantons within the federal government system, it’s difficult to please everyone when it comes to making decisions. And this penchant for political correctness explains why the Swiss continue to use the Latin name for their country, Confederatio Helvetica, as a basis for abbreviation. So Swiss cars have bumper stickers displaying a large CH, Swiss website domains end in .ch, and – ” “Actually, sir, that’s not really true,” our waiter interrupted. “We just like things that start with ‘ch’; you know, cheese, chocolate ...” I had to admit that his reason was more convincing than mine. The Swiss do love their cheese and their chocolate. But on reflection, it seemed to me a pity that he had confirmed the stereotype – albeit with a sardonic glint in his eye – because, gastronomically, there’s a lot more to Switzerland. Although there are strong influences from neighbouring countries, being able to pick and choose from the best of French, Italian and German cuisine has helped the Swiss to develop a culinary style that is all their own. For instance, in the Italian regions along the eastern border (the Poschiavo, Ticino or Maggia valleys), as you would expect, pastas are a particular speciality. The Swiss have always argued with the Germans and the Austrians over bragging rights for the invention of Spätzli, but this is – apart from the fun name, pronounced “spetslee” – the least interesting variety; Spätzli dough, made from eggs, flour and salt, is bland and stodgy even when cooked well, and is usually accompanied by a rich sauce. Add a bit of Italian flair to the Germanic foundation, however, and you have knöpfli (in German), gnochetti (in Italian) or just plain old gnocchi (for tourists). Flavoured with spinach and sprinkled with a crumbling cheese like Schabziger – Parmesan with muscles – this is a firm favourite in Zentralschweiz, the geographical heart of the country. Other variations along the Swiss-Italian border include taiadin (the pasta is boiled along with potatoes and cheese) and pizzocheri (a buttery, garlicky kind of tagliatelli, cooked with meat and vegetables). Foremost among the pasta/dumpling dough-based dishes is a speciality of the Graubunden region: capuns. Wrapped in a broad leaf – mangold, silverbeet or chard will do – each ‘capunet’ is a parcel of lightly textured dough, bacon, onions, breadcrumbs and currants (see recipe). The Engadine valley in Graubunden is famous as the home of, amongst other things, isolated communities speaking Romansh (the obscure fourth official language of Switzerland), the swanky skiing resort of St Moritz, and the delicious ‘Engadiner Nusstorte’. This nut cake represents the flow of gastronomic capital that has defined a not insignificant part of Swiss history. Its origins stretch back to the trans-European diaspora of the renowned bakers of the Engadine, who were chased from their native valley by ongoing Catholic-Protestant rivalries and settled in the great metropolises across the continent to ply their trade – with great success. They and their families didn’t forget their Swiss roots. Many of them returned with their new-found wealth, bringing with them items not previously part of the Swiss culinary repertoire, including nuts. Mixed with butter flakes and other simple ingredients such as milk, sugar, honey and flour, the nusstorte is a sweet, sticky affair usually eaten for dessert. It can also make a useful high-energy snack; I packed one into a rucksack and it saw me through a day’s alpine hiking. On a more savoury note, the German-Italian faultline running through the cuisine of Switzerland is also evident in the nation’s range of cured meats. Sure, there’s bratwurst, but then there are the Italian-style sausages. The Italians also brought bresaola, a tartar beef delicacy served carpaccio-style. This shouldn’t be confused with the German contribution, bündnerfleisch, which South Africans will recognise as a not-so-distant cousin to biltong. Italian Swiss cooks might have the Mediterranean panache and the elaborate hand gestures, but German Swiss cooks win the prize for foodstuffs that are fun to pronounce – all those umlauts making ‘a’s that sound like ‘e’s and ‘o’s that sound like ‘u’s. There’s rösti, of course: the fried grated potato dish that tastes great in a cosy restaurant when you’ve just come off the slopes, but usually needs a lot of salt, or beer, or sauerkraut, or cheese (or all four) to make it tasty. Equally entertaining to roll off the tongue are Prättigauer Khödli (meatballs, or just plain frikadelle, from the Prättigau valley – home to Davos and Klosters) and flädli (a sliced-up omelette). The latter is typically served in a thin bouillon or soup. Enter the French. Unlike Italian or German Swiss nationals, who are happy to mix things up when it comes to matters cultural, the French Swiss like to keep their input ‘pure’; so French Swiss food is, pretty much, French food. That does not, of course, make it any less memorable. I doubt, for instance, I will ever forget the creamy white wine soup I tasted at a hotel in Flims, also in the decidedly non-French Engadine region. We were told that the chef at the Schweizerhof would never be persuaded to reveal the recipe but our waiter, who had been to a chef school in Paris – the joys of dining in Switzerland! – did give us a rough idea (see recipe). Last and, for the Swiss themselves, very much least, there is fondue. Locals pooh-pooh the frequency with which this is served to tourists in summer, as it’s really only a winter meal. They also scoff at most fondue varieties apart from the classic bread-in-cheese combination, the sauce made with a strong cheese like Gruyère and a healthy dose of brandy (it should be Kirsch, which comes from cherries, but schnapps or grappa will do at a push) to add some spirit. So if you’re in Switzerland and you want to avoid the unspoken ire of your fellow restaurant patrons, be warned: at most, in the deep midwinter, they might accept frying meat or chicken strips in oil, but they’ll draw the line at marshmallows in chocolate sauce.
mangold, silverbeet or chard leaves Boil the leaves in plenty of water, strain and rinse with cold water. To make the dough, beat flour, eggs, milk and salt until the mixture bubbles. Leave to stand for 30 minutes. Lightly braise onions, bacon and bread in 40g butter, stir into dough mixture with herbs and currants. Put one tablespoon of this filling on the narrow side of each leaf and roll inwards. Poach the parcels in a large pan of salted, boiling water for 20 minutes. Remove with a skimming ladle, place in a pre-heated dish, sprinkle with Sbrinz and trickle with remaining butter and herbs.
500g white vegetables (onions, celery, leeks, etc.) Sauté white vegetables in a pan with half the butter. Do not allow to brown. Heat wine, add vegetables and bring to simmer; reduce by 50%. Stir in cream and garlic. Melt rest of butter and mix in with flour to thicken. |
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