The train ride to Lake Geneva was pretty sweet. Lots of good views, particularly when you arrive in the Lake Geneva area. It’s got it all—a huge, perfect blue lake, vineyards all over the countryside (and often even in people’s front yards), castles surrounding the lake, all with a great alpine backdrop. The city I was staying in, Lausanne, was great too. It has a large old center with tons of old buildings, quaint little cobbles lanes, and outdoor cafes. Also, it must be said, that there was a dramatic uptick in the concentration of good-looking women. I think I saw more nice honey-babies in the first ½ hour there than I had in the four full days I’d spent in the other big cities, combined.
Aside from the profusion of honey-babies, there was a dramatic difference in the vibe as soon as you crossed the boundary into Francophone Switzerland from the German speaking side. You could immediately tell that people were much chattier and boisterous. The first train station I was you could see a young couple kissing and flirting on the train platform, something that I don’t think you be too likely to see in Zurich. It was also much more ethnically diverse. Even the architecture was different. On the train, the minute we crossed the linguistic boundary in the countryside, not only did the train conductor start making announcements in French first instead of German, you could also see all the Germanic, half-timbered homes in the countryside replaced by the French, gray-stone style.
The first night in town I took the train into Geneva to meet up with my friend Laure. Being an author, she’s got lots of arty friends, so we started the night hopping through a couple different parties at art galleries. Afterwards, we went out for dinner and headed to a Philipino karaoke bar, of all places. After we closed that out, we hit another club, by which time, of course, I had missed the last train back to Lausanne, so I ended up crashing at her friends place.
Needless to say, I didn’t get a very early start on the next day. By the time I got back to Lausanne, took care of some todos (laundry, workout), and got cleaned up, it was nearly 4:00. No matter, as Lausanne is a pretty small place and it didn’t take too long to see. I polished off the tour of the city with what was definitely the best meal I’ve had on the trip so far. At this very traditional French-Swiss place, I got the ‘calves head’. I really didn’t know what to expect here, but it was apparently a specialty of both the region and the restaurant, and they were also out of horse meat (a common Swiss staple I had yet to try on this tour), so getting it was a no-brainer. I was glad I did. It was essentially just boiled scraps of meat and sinew scraped off of the calves head, served with basic simmered potatoes and a mustardy vinaigrette you pour over the tops. I know it doesn’t sound too appealing, but it was really great. A couple pieces were just pure tendon, fat, and connective tissues, and I didn’t quite finish all of those as they were too rich and gelatinous for my taste, but the parts that had at least 10% meat to them were really great.\
The other big culinary highlight was the market the next day. I had a long train ride with two connections to Verona the next day, and was planning on eating the last of my provisions I brought from the US. As luck would have it, though, when I showed up at the metro stop to catch a ride to the train station, the plaza it was on was filled with the regular Saturday morning market. I was able to pick up a beautiful small loaf of some kind of unidentifiable whole grain bread (it turned out to be walnut), some fraises de bois (the very small, sweet-tart, intensely flavored wild strawberries), and a nice wedge of local Gruyere cheese. I could actually smell the cheese cart well before I saw it. I caught a wiff of that unmistakable funk of ass and rancid feet, so I immediately knew there was good cheese in the near vicinity. What I had was easily one of the best cheeses I’ve tasted in a while. It was a 3-year old Gruyere, so it had been aged more and was much denser and richly flavored than any of the Gruyere I’d had before. It almost reminded me of parmesan, and had a similar crystallization in the cheese and potent flavor. (By the way, if your parmesan doesn’t have crystals in it, you’re eating bullshit. And if you’re, god forbid, eating that abomination that comes in the green can, then you need help.) Along with the small bottle of wine I bought at the train station in order to use up the rest of my change in francs, this made for a pretty satisfying little snack on the train from Lausanne to Italy.
Aside from the profusion of honey-babies, there was a dramatic difference in the vibe as soon as you crossed the boundary into Francophone Switzerland from the German speaking side. You could immediately tell that people were much chattier and boisterous. The first train station I was you could see a young couple kissing and flirting on the train platform, something that I don’t think you be too likely to see in Zurich. It was also much more ethnically diverse. Even the architecture was different. On the train, the minute we crossed the linguistic boundary in the countryside, not only did the train conductor start making announcements in French first instead of German, you could also see all the Germanic, half-timbered homes in the countryside replaced by the French, gray-stone style.
The first night in town I took the train into Geneva to meet up with my friend Laure. Being an author, she’s got lots of arty friends, so we started the night hopping through a couple different parties at art galleries. Afterwards, we went out for dinner and headed to a Philipino karaoke bar, of all places. After we closed that out, we hit another club, by which time, of course, I had missed the last train back to Lausanne, so I ended up crashing at her friends place.
Needless to say, I didn’t get a very early start on the next day. By the time I got back to Lausanne, took care of some todos (laundry, workout), and got cleaned up, it was nearly 4:00. No matter, as Lausanne is a pretty small place and it didn’t take too long to see. I polished off the tour of the city with what was definitely the best meal I’ve had on the trip so far. At this very traditional French-Swiss place, I got the ‘calves head’. I really didn’t know what to expect here, but it was apparently a specialty of both the region and the restaurant, and they were also out of horse meat (a common Swiss staple I had yet to try on this tour), so getting it was a no-brainer. I was glad I did. It was essentially just boiled scraps of meat and sinew scraped off of the calves head, served with basic simmered potatoes and a mustardy vinaigrette you pour over the tops. I know it doesn’t sound too appealing, but it was really great. A couple pieces were just pure tendon, fat, and connective tissues, and I didn’t quite finish all of those as they were too rich and gelatinous for my taste, but the parts that had at least 10% meat to them were really great.\
The other big culinary highlight was the market the next day. I had a long train ride with two connections to Verona the next day, and was planning on eating the last of my provisions I brought from the US. As luck would have it, though, when I showed up at the metro stop to catch a ride to the train station, the plaza it was on was filled with the regular Saturday morning market. I was able to pick up a beautiful small loaf of some kind of unidentifiable whole grain bread (it turned out to be walnut), some fraises de bois (the very small, sweet-tart, intensely flavored wild strawberries), and a nice wedge of local Gruyere cheese. I could actually smell the cheese cart well before I saw it. I caught a wiff of that unmistakable funk of ass and rancid feet, so I immediately knew there was good cheese in the near vicinity. What I had was easily one of the best cheeses I’ve tasted in a while. It was a 3-year old Gruyere, so it had been aged more and was much denser and richly flavored than any of the Gruyere I’d had before. It almost reminded me of parmesan, and had a similar crystallization in the cheese and potent flavor. (By the way, if your parmesan doesn’t have crystals in it, you’re eating bullshit. And if you’re, god forbid, eating that abomination that comes in the green can, then you need help.) Along with the small bottle of wine I bought at the train station in order to use up the rest of my change in francs, this made for a pretty satisfying little snack on the train from Lausanne to Italy.
