Sue Style
Food, Wine and Travel Writer
Eating out in April
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RESTAURANT DE L’HOTEL DE VILLE, CRISSIER, LAUSANNE
(FT Weekend)
Imagine
spending seventeen years toiling away behind the scenes in a restaurant
in a small village above Lausanne, doing what you love best: cooking. Granted
this is not just any old Vaudois village café; it has three Michelin
stars and a world-wide reputation. But life as an employee, while it has
its ups-and-downs, is relatively stress-free and un-limelit. Then consider
what it must be like to step out of the anonymity of the kitchen and exchange
the deep peace of the employee for the hurly-burly of life as the boss.
At first glance, it’s not obvious why Philippe Rochat should ever have wanted to take over from the world-famous Frédy Girardet at his restaurant in Crissier.
It wasn’t an easy decision, and it took Rochat four years to reach it. On his own admission, he lay awake at night wondering if he was up to it, if his bankers would stick by him, if the customers would continue to come, if the staff would stay, and what the gastro-press would say. (He knew what the Michelin man would say because he called him up and asked him. The answer was that the three stars would automatically be docked to two, ‘until further reference’.)
‘At the beginning we lost customers’ – thirty percent in the first year, he admits with a pained expression. ‘It’s fair enough. I’d been working here for 17 years, and head chef for much of that time, but the great Girardet was gone: I can understand if they had their doubts.’ There was no shortage of people (including plenty who’d never been to the restaurant) to claim that things weren’t what they used to be.
Meanwhile he kept on all the staff on stiff Swiss salaries – 44 of them, including 15 cooks, 5 pastry chefs, 14 dining room staff, plus their own laundry and bakery - and the bills kept on coming. (‘I don’t like firing people - if they don’t get on with our way of doing things, they fire themselves’). This was the moment for maximum nuits blanches (sleepless nights). ‘It was a real challenge’ he admits’, adding ‘we had to prove ourselves.’ It took them just 11 months to regain the third star. Five years on, business is back to Girardet levels, Rochat is comfortably in the saddle. The FG name and initials have been quietly dropped and the restaurant is once again called l’Hôtel de Ville, after the town hall it once housed.
The day starts at about 9 a.m. when racks of Sisteron lamb are trimmed, pigeons deftly boned and black-legged Bresse chickens dressed. Stocks bubble gently and fragrantly on the hob, vegetables are painstakingly turned and blanched. In the cool of the pastry kitchen the five chefs-pâtissiers bend low over their creations. Across in the sweaty boulangerie two floury bakers are hard at work shaping and knotting the house breads (white, brown, rye, with walnuts, with olives, or speckled with poppy seeds) which are baked twice daily, fresh for each meal.
The fish arrives at the kitchen door by overnight lorry from Brittany some time between 10.30 and 11 – ‘sometimes it gets held up at the customs’, explains head chef Benoit with a rueful smile. It’s nail-biting stuff, and it’s a race against the clock from now on. The crates are distributed amongst the kitchen staff, the knives are out and everyone gets busy filleting spanking fresh wild salmon, turbot weighing in at an impressive three kilos, brill at half the size and portion-sized red mullet. There are mini-scallops, sleek clams, razor-sharp cuttlefish and rugged oysters to be shucked and shelled, spiky sea urchins to be sliced open and scooped out, live crabs and lobsters to be dealt with. By midday, toques are adjusted in the kitchen, ties are straightened in the dining room, the doors are opened and the curtain goes up.
High spots at a recent meal included a dish of those little red mullet, lightly crusted on top, moist underneath, arranged in tongues around the plate. In the centre was a lone plum tomato which positively exploded with flavour, topped with a fragile, flash-fried leaf of basil. The live crabs and lobsters, last seen clattering about the kitchen counters, had been reincarnated as a bed of sweetly dressed crabmeat over which lapped slices of steamed lobster and a garnish of tiny shafts of wild asparagus. Little vongole (cockles) barely bigger than thumbnails were arranged (probably with tweezers) like the petals of a flower on top of an artichoke heart. A discreetly Maghrébien sliver of steamed pigeon breast came clad in a criss-cross courgette coat with an aubergine bstilla on the side. The pastry chefs came up trumps with an early summer combination of fragrant Gariguette strawberries and rhubarb, encased in meringue with fraises des bois and a silken oval of ice cream à l’italienne. The only combination that left me cold was a lukewarm cauliflower soup floating over a foie gras-flavoured custard.
The two prix-fixe menus (SFr 220/US$127/£89 and SFr 245/US$141/£98) change four times a year. The wine list runs the whole gamut from a local La Côte at SFr45 to a Romanée Conti at SFr1100 and a Pétrus (1990) at SFr5200. In between there’s some great stuff from the nearby vineyards, not the ubiquitous Chasselas but Sauvignons, Chardonnays and interesting blends of the two cabernets plus Gamaret.
Lunch brings out lots of sleek bankers in black socks, people from the wine trade, a sprinkling of Japanese businessmen, a few retired couples evidently observing the maxim ‘thrifty till fifty, spend till the end’ - even the occasional, lone food writer. Dinner is more for family and friends – over seventy percent of the clientèle is local.
After observing the operation at close quarters, it’s not hard to see why Rochat and his team are at the peak of their profession. All the raw materials are of the finest, prepared from scratch, cooked and served with consummate skill. It’s the sort of place where the dining staff still perform public dissections on the poulet de Bresse and where there’s still a proper pudding trolley. It’s a class act, real food, real cooking, real service. That’s what you come for; that’s what you pay for.
At first glance, it’s not obvious why Philippe Rochat should ever have wanted to take over from the world-famous Frédy Girardet at his restaurant in Crissier.
It wasn’t an easy decision, and it took Rochat four years to reach it. On his own admission, he lay awake at night wondering if he was up to it, if his bankers would stick by him, if the customers would continue to come, if the staff would stay, and what the gastro-press would say. (He knew what the Michelin man would say because he called him up and asked him. The answer was that the three stars would automatically be docked to two, ‘until further reference’.)
‘At the beginning we lost customers’ – thirty percent in the first year, he admits with a pained expression. ‘It’s fair enough. I’d been working here for 17 years, and head chef for much of that time, but the great Girardet was gone: I can understand if they had their doubts.’ There was no shortage of people (including plenty who’d never been to the restaurant) to claim that things weren’t what they used to be.
Meanwhile he kept on all the staff on stiff Swiss salaries – 44 of them, including 15 cooks, 5 pastry chefs, 14 dining room staff, plus their own laundry and bakery - and the bills kept on coming. (‘I don’t like firing people - if they don’t get on with our way of doing things, they fire themselves’). This was the moment for maximum nuits blanches (sleepless nights). ‘It was a real challenge’ he admits’, adding ‘we had to prove ourselves.’ It took them just 11 months to regain the third star. Five years on, business is back to Girardet levels, Rochat is comfortably in the saddle. The FG name and initials have been quietly dropped and the restaurant is once again called l’Hôtel de Ville, after the town hall it once housed.
The day starts at about 9 a.m. when racks of Sisteron lamb are trimmed, pigeons deftly boned and black-legged Bresse chickens dressed. Stocks bubble gently and fragrantly on the hob, vegetables are painstakingly turned and blanched. In the cool of the pastry kitchen the five chefs-pâtissiers bend low over their creations. Across in the sweaty boulangerie two floury bakers are hard at work shaping and knotting the house breads (white, brown, rye, with walnuts, with olives, or speckled with poppy seeds) which are baked twice daily, fresh for each meal.
The fish arrives at the kitchen door by overnight lorry from Brittany some time between 10.30 and 11 – ‘sometimes it gets held up at the customs’, explains head chef Benoit with a rueful smile. It’s nail-biting stuff, and it’s a race against the clock from now on. The crates are distributed amongst the kitchen staff, the knives are out and everyone gets busy filleting spanking fresh wild salmon, turbot weighing in at an impressive three kilos, brill at half the size and portion-sized red mullet. There are mini-scallops, sleek clams, razor-sharp cuttlefish and rugged oysters to be shucked and shelled, spiky sea urchins to be sliced open and scooped out, live crabs and lobsters to be dealt with. By midday, toques are adjusted in the kitchen, ties are straightened in the dining room, the doors are opened and the curtain goes up.
High spots at a recent meal included a dish of those little red mullet, lightly crusted on top, moist underneath, arranged in tongues around the plate. In the centre was a lone plum tomato which positively exploded with flavour, topped with a fragile, flash-fried leaf of basil. The live crabs and lobsters, last seen clattering about the kitchen counters, had been reincarnated as a bed of sweetly dressed crabmeat over which lapped slices of steamed lobster and a garnish of tiny shafts of wild asparagus. Little vongole (cockles) barely bigger than thumbnails were arranged (probably with tweezers) like the petals of a flower on top of an artichoke heart. A discreetly Maghrébien sliver of steamed pigeon breast came clad in a criss-cross courgette coat with an aubergine bstilla on the side. The pastry chefs came up trumps with an early summer combination of fragrant Gariguette strawberries and rhubarb, encased in meringue with fraises des bois and a silken oval of ice cream à l’italienne. The only combination that left me cold was a lukewarm cauliflower soup floating over a foie gras-flavoured custard.
The two prix-fixe menus (SFr 220/US$127/£89 and SFr 245/US$141/£98) change four times a year. The wine list runs the whole gamut from a local La Côte at SFr45 to a Romanée Conti at SFr1100 and a Pétrus (1990) at SFr5200. In between there’s some great stuff from the nearby vineyards, not the ubiquitous Chasselas but Sauvignons, Chardonnays and interesting blends of the two cabernets plus Gamaret.
Lunch brings out lots of sleek bankers in black socks, people from the wine trade, a sprinkling of Japanese businessmen, a few retired couples evidently observing the maxim ‘thrifty till fifty, spend till the end’ - even the occasional, lone food writer. Dinner is more for family and friends – over seventy percent of the clientèle is local.
After observing the operation at close quarters, it’s not hard to see why Rochat and his team are at the peak of their profession. All the raw materials are of the finest, prepared from scratch, cooked and served with consummate skill. It’s the sort of place where the dining staff still perform public dissections on the poulet de Bresse and where there’s still a proper pudding trolley. It’s a class act, real food, real cooking, real service. That’s what you come for; that’s what you pay for.
Restaurant de l’Hôtel de Ville,
1023 Crissier,
Switzerland
Tel +41 21 634 05 05
Fax +41 21 634 2464
e-mail: hoteldeville@relaischateaux.com
© Sue Style 2003
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past reviews from the Eating Out page, go to:
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Sue Style
Winchelsea, East Sussex and Alsace, France
contact: sue@suestyle.com
Copyright Sue Style 2001-2003 All rights reserved
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