Experiences – Life – Inspiration 🇨🇭🇯🇵

The first bite of raclette did not just taste familiar.

It quietly erased decades.

We revisited the Royal Christmas Market in The Hague on a dry, cold winter day. It was crowded, lively, full of movement. We walked past beautifully decorated stalls, but I already knew what I was looking for.

Raclette.

Then came the surprise.

The people running the raclette stall were Swiss.

A few words in Swiss German were enough. The sound alone shifted something inside me. And just like that, I was no longer fully in The Hague.

I was back in Basel.

The Herbstmesse in the 80s. I am standing in front of the raclette stall, watching the cheese melt slowly on the grill. A big hunk of raclette, heating, bubbling, transforming. Then it is lifted. The melted surface sizzles as it is scraped onto a slice of bread.

Paprika.

Black pepper.

Nutmeg.

The smell arrives before the taste. Warm, rich, unmistakable. When I take a bite, the world becomes very small and very complete.

That memory never disappeared.

It simply waited.

Back in the present, my mother is standing in front of me at the Christmas market, taking a photo while I eat. I do not remember thinking about the camera. I only remember chewing and smiling.

Later, when I see the pictures, I recognize that expression immediately.

It is the same face. The same joy. The same quiet happiness.

Food can do that. One taste can fold time in on itself. Forty years collapse into a single moment, and you are both the child you once were and the person you are now.

Melted raclette cheese on bread or gschwellti.

Nothing complicated.

Nothing improved.

Just a memory.

Still warm.

If you are not familiar with the Basler Herbstmesse here is a link for more information. It’s part of Basel’s cultural heritage.

And if you curious about Gschwellti here is a link on how to make it. En Guete!