A very cheesy potato gratin (Swiss style)
New openings, Swiss cheese and smoky, citrus-dressed veggies
Isn’t it wonderful, and also incredible, how differently we all eat? Think about it. Regional cuisines, like languages, are all so unique and distinctive from each other.
I’m sitting in a restaurant in Geneva called Les Armures. It’s as Swiss as a cuckoo clock (correction: Cuckoo clocks are actually German; replace with your favourite Swiss reference): cheese fondue (with vacherin and Gruyère); perch casserole with lemon butter sauce; sliced veal with potato rösti; smoked pork and cabbage sausage with leeks, cream and potatoes; another smoked sausage, grilled this time, with rösti and mustard; Swiss chocolate mousse spiked with Ovaltine; Gruyère cream, whipped up, served with Swiss meringue.
I’m led out in a semi-coma. A nap won’t do it. I need a whole winter to hibernate.
It couldn’t be further from the kind of food I normally cook and eat: vegetables and olive oil, chilli and garlic, spices and acidity—the Mediterranean on a plate. But here, everything is so... Swiss. And it’s absolutely brilliant.
I am trying to reconcile two seemingly irreconcilable styles of food, based on different terroirs and different food histories.
The occasion is the opening of my first restaurant outside the UK, which is, you guessed it, in Geneva.
It feels right that Switzerland is where we’ve landed—our connection run deep, thanks in no small part to my friend and Swiss colleague Cornelia. She’s been part of Ottolenghi from the very beginning, though never as a chef…she’s the one who gives the final word on almost every decision.
So it’s no surprise that her influence has found its way into our food, in big ways and small. Like our Brunsli, for example—the chewy, brownie-like, gluten-free biscuits we've been selling for years. They break a couple of Brunsli rules (much to Cornelia’s dismay), but we adore them anyway.
And what I’ve come to understand about Swiss food—bear with me, I know it’s a simplification—is that a lot of it is about comfort and community. A big pot of melted cheese sitting in the middle of the table, surrounded by golden potatoes, crunchy pickles, and friends gathered around. It’s simple, but never plain. Indulgent, but always balanced—sometimes by necessity (cheese needs a pickle).
The other side of the coin
While I’ve been eating smoked sausages and creamy fish casseroles, the food I’ve been tasting for the restaurant opening has been a world away. Inspired by ROVI, our new spot in Geneva is all about live-fire cooking, celebrating vegetables and fresh takes on ferments.
One of my favourites from the new menu is the grilled hispi cabbage with sunflower seed tahini, green chilli shatta, and smoked honey. It’s the complete opposite of the cheese-laden gratin you’ll find later in this newsletter—but no less delicious. It leans into fire and acidity rather than warmth and cream.
We start by grilling the cabbage whole—charred on the outside, its steam-softened core turning sweet and tender. Once it’s done, we peel away the blackened leaves to reveal that smoky, yielding heart. The leaves are then tossed in a sharp, zippy mix of tamari, bergamot zest and juice (the seasonal citrus), and a kick of green chilli shatta, served on a bed of sunflower seed tahini, which, while not technically tahini, delivers that same nutty richness.
We finish it with smoked honey, toasted sunflower seeds for crunch, and a little nori oil for depth. A few fennel fronds bring it all together.
It’s a dish that’s all about contrast—crispy and tender, smoky and bright—and definitely has a few cheffy touches, but it’s simple enough to make at home with a couple of easy swaps. Swap in grapefruit for bergamot (although, if you’re lucky enough to find fresh bergamot, zest and juice the whole fruit for about 2 tbsp of juice), or use some shop-bought tahini if you’re short on time.
I’ve written out a simpler version of the recipe for you here. It’s the perfect side to a big, grilled white fish or some lamb skewers, flatbreads, and some lemony, garlicky potatoes.
A very cheesy potato gratin (Swiss style)
In Geneva, cheese is everywhere, and I’ve been making the most of it. It’s been on my mind and in my belly, from Raclettes to Gruyères. Back home, we have Jumi, our Swiss cheese shop near the Test Kitchen, where you can find these varieties too. But here, it’s even easier—I'm like a kid in a sweet shop.
On this trip, I came across Chällerhocker—a 12-month-old semi-hard cheese…it’s creamy and nutty, with hints of butterscotch, hazelnuts, and a little funk. Naturally, my first instinct was to melt it. So today’s recipe is a very cheesy gratin—or, more accurately, my take on a Swiss raclette.
We’ve layered thinly sliced potatoes with cream, mustard, ham, and an almost indecent amount of cheese, then baked it until golden and bubbling. To cut through the richness, we’ve added mustard, a side of sauerkraut (which you might remember from my pickling column), plenty of cornichons, and some pickled onions. Chällerhocker isn’t easy to find, so We’ve gone with a mix of Raclette and Gruyère—though doubling up on the Gruyère will do just fine. It’s a Very Indulgent Dinner, yes, but it’s utterly delicious.
Cheesy potato gratin (Swiss style)
I serve this very cheesy dish with pickles and a big bowl of leafy greens. The bottom of the gratin gets all golden and crispy, almost sticking to the dish—those bits are the best, so make sure you scrape them up.
Serves 6-8 | Prep 20 minutes | Cook 1 hr 15 mins
For the gratin
300ml double cream