Switzerland: Part 4 | Baking Bread

My husband Michael’s culinary skills are worthy of contemplating—and consuming.  During our last night in Switzerland, he baked an outrageous Roasted Onion and Gruyere Cheese Focaccia for our friends.

A few days earlier, while in Locarno, the Italian part of Switzerland, with this recipe in mind, he had bought red Italian onions.  Small.  Sweet.  Perfect.  He also bought Swiss-made unpasteurized Gruyere cheese. 

He had made the biga, or starter, the night before, allowing it to rise, bubble and develop a pungent, yeasty smell.  He next wove his magic. 

He kneaded, massaged, smelled, and caressed the dough, gently coaxing it into creation until it was just right, silky as a lover’s face; worthy of serving to his wife and friends.  He then added the perfect, sweet, red onion, Gruyere cheese and thyme sprigs before baking to a golden consummation.  Delicious.  What art! 

But, to see Michael truly revealed, let me tell you the rest of the story.

Three days earlier we had gone to Herr Hans’ bakery.  Herr Hans is Dave and Lieve’s neighbor.  He is a semi-retired baker, working only on Fridays.  

In Switzerland going to a bakery is literally a daily occurrence.  Even on Sundays when all the other shops are closed, they are open.  You can buy freshly baked breads, rolls, tomato strudels, apricot tarts, apple kuchens, petite fours, butter pretzels, yummy fresh baked pretzels cut in half horizontally with slabs of farm-fresh butter sandwiched in between, my personal favorite, and about a thousand other delectable choices. 

I could easily have spent an hour just looking.  Humans must be born with a fresh-baked bread aroma gene.  One whiff and we are in Nirvana.  Beyond passion.  Beyond control.  Consequently, powerless, Mike and I chose a warm Panetone, two types of rolls, butter pretzels, spinach strudels, and chocolate pastries even though what we really needed were two breakfast rolls.

As we held our bulging bags, readying to pay, Mike introduced us to Frau Hans as Dave and Lieve’s American friends.  The American being obvious, our German being what it is—and isn’t.  Mike’s is sketchy, mine non-existent.  Frau Hans and her daughter understood, however, and were delighted to meet us, consequently, refusing to accept our money.

Now, the Swiss are hardworking people.  And money does not go very far in their country of rapidly escalating prices.  And a baker who had to retire because of a heart attack, not to mention a friend of Dave and Lieve’s is someone we want to support. 

Neither of us knew quite what to do.  At first we said we could not accept.  But, having come to know the Swiss as we have through Dave and Lieve, we know them to be loving, generous, welcoming people who share eagerly, unselfishly.  And looking into their happy faces, we acquiesced, not wanting to disappoint them or appear ungrateful.  We were both inflated and deflated at the same time.  What could we do for them?

That evening at Dave and Lieve’s, my generous husband baked another outrageous Roasted Red Onion and Gruyere Cheese Focaccia and took it to the Hanses the next morning as we left for the airport.

Michael baked for the baker.