À Swiss love affair with the Lavaux
By Calla Jones Corner
This past March, I escaped France again for 10 days in Switzerland. The paperwork that the French demand, to not only become a French resident but to get a French driver's permit, (even though I have a valid California permit) has been overwhelming. And I needed some TLC for a broken wrist that the French medical system tried to put back together. I tripped on a pebble walking in a vineyard and had to wait on my sofa for two days before the small local hospital could take me.
But this is not about France’s failing health system. It is about love: for the Swiss Lavaux, where I fell madly in love with a gorgeous Scot, and the divine fare of an Italian chef in Cully on the banks of Lac Léman.
My first escape was last July. The Tour de France was going to invade the little Burgundian village where I now call home (along with 80 vigneron families and hundreds of committed cyclists who also call I home).
My family are all mad keen cyclists (my vigneron son-in-law’s brother was biking from Geneva with his two sons, who had flown from Boston, bikes, et al) and I offered them my little house. I could care less about biking, although as a child I biked all over the country roads of Weston, Connecticut, where I grew up, enjoying the sense of freedom that cycling brings, hair blowing in the wind. No helmets back then.
Two old friends, both widowers, having also recently lost their beloved spouses, said they would love to have lunch.
I made plans.
Since moving to France three years ago from Montecito (the one and only) I had been wanting to see friends in Le Lavaux where Richard and I met, fell in love in the vineyards, married in 1972, and lived for sixteen years, raising three children.
We were married civilly in la mairie (the town hall) de Cully in the morning. Richard lived among the vines in Grand vaux above Cully. In Switzerland, the civil ceremony must take place in one’s commune before any religious ceremony. Our religious ceremony was held in the afternoon in the next village of Pully, in its beautiful, medieval church.
I reserved a room with a view of the lake at L’Auberge du Raisin next to la mairie. The previous summer my family and I scattered Richard’s ashes in the lake, following a lakeside feast next door to L’Auberge at Le Major Davel, to honor our beloved husband, father, and grandfather.
Now I would be alone by the gorgeous Swiss lake and needed the cozy comfort of the 400 year-old former postal stop for les calèches (carriages). L’Auberge de Raisin is renowned for its charm and refined cuisine, extensive list of wines from Le Lavaux, and its wine cellar, where, in the colder months, Chef Cebula roasts game and cuts of beef and lamb before a roaring fire. Fresh fish from the lake are always on the menu.
I’ve found that one of the big challenges of widowhood is dining alone; Maître d’s tend to ignore single women of a “certain age.” Would I have to be at my most charming to not get a small table next to a kitchen door if I wanted to enjoy my stay, and survive?
A charm offensive wasn’t necessary. The receptionist was welcoming and let me choose my table in a cozy corner or on the terrace. Perhaps it was because I mentioned that I was a recent widow and had lived with Richard in Le Lavaux for many years. Or that I was staying four nights and wanted to have dinner each evening at the Auberge.
Perhaps it was the policy of the multi-generational winemaker and owner of l’Auberge since 1958, Jean-Jacques Gauer, a hotelier known From Bern to Corfu, from New York to Jerusalem, who served twenty years as president of The Leading Hotels of the World, and has been on a first-name basis with world leaders and members of select intellectuals and artists from around the world. M. Gauer knows how to treat guests. Even widows of a certain age who don't want to order a whole bottle of wine; maybe just a glass or two to accompany their meal. The wine list is extensive and mostly from Le Lavaux.
Jean-Jacques Gauer (or J.J. as he is known familiarly), also knows how to pick a chef. When he asked chef Cebula last Spring to bring a light, breeze of Mediterranean cuisine to l’Auberge, he knew what he was doing. The former chef at Lausanne Palace and l’Hotel de Rougement, and son/grandson of restaurateurs, learned his craft in kitchens in Crete, London, and Paris. Chef Cebula also brought with him his five stars from Gault Millau and a bib gourmand from le Guide Michelin, an award from France’s famous food bible that distinguishes good restaurants that offer refined cuisine.
Chef Cebula’s summer menu always offers four cold entrees, four fish, and four meat dishes, one vegetarian pasta dish and four desserts. The menu changes with the seasons.
The first evening I had le Féra du lac, gently roasted and barely bathed in a sauce of chanterelles, tomates, and basilic with a bowl of finely shaved crudities dusted with tiny, edible flowers. My dessert was 3 boules of divine, different sorbets served with lemon tartelettes and white and dark chocolate amuses bouches.
The other nights I tried as many different dishes as I could, including an especially flavorful beef tagliatelle, along with various lake fish, game dishes, and more than my share of desserts; every plate created imaginatively with an extraordinary delicatesse and served beautifully by an attentive staff.
I felt pampered and embraced and not alone. I have a feeling the other diners also felt that Chef Cebula was cooking just for them, even if they were dining with family or friends.
Calla, it was lovely to read your happy memoir this morning - for two reasons. The first: in the last few weeks, I caught up with recently published memoirs. They were all about unhappy pasts. Molly Jong-Fast's “How to Lose Your Mother” was about how narcissistic and drunk her mom Erica Jong was and how she, Molly, struggled to be sober. I myself stopped drinking alcohol several years ago. It was very easy. I'm not good at moderation, so just not drinking at all was simple. No AA, and I'm around plenty of people who drink and it never occurs to me to want what they're having. But by the time I finished MSNBC political pundit Molly's Nepo-Baby hate letter to her mom … I wanted a stiff drink! I made a batch of cookies instead. So thank you, for reminding me that wonderful things can happen among the vines, especially if they're accompanied by a great meal in a beautiful town in Switzerland.
Second, I lived for a bit outside Geneva in 1961, when I was eight. My mom and a friend decided it would be good for their kids to experience Europe. I suspect they also liked the idea of getting away from their husbands. We lived in a farmhouse in Lullier par Jussy and I went to the International School in Geneva, where I saw Rita Hayworth's fifth grade daughter Yasmin get out of a limo every morning - in high heels. I was terrified by these sophisticated children! Geneva was a contrast of the rich and famous and the countryside villages which were still in economic recovery after WWII, but with a fairytale beauty nonetheless. I still visit it in my dreams, and your piece reminded me of the pleasures Switzerland offers us. Thank you.
A refreshing read to start the day. Thank you, Calla, for sharing some lovely memories with us.