After we finished our shopping, we drove to visit the fishmonger whose boat (not boats, plural) was arriving from the lake.


The fisherman sets out every morning at 4am and returns a few hours later, hopefully his nets filled with plenty of fish culled from the cool water of the lake.


I don’t know if today’s haul was good or not, but tangled up in the delicate nets were small Féra (whitefish), Ombles Chevaliers (“dark knights”, or Arctic Char), Lotte (monkfish), and a few enormous Brochet, which when the fishmonger lifted up, released it’s contents on the dock. “You will have to Photoshop that out”, he joked, then laughed heartily. All I could say was I’ll bet he was happy he was wearing rubber boots. And tall ones at that.


Since it was almost lunchtime, the chef needed to head back to the restaurant. But he said, “Would you like to go get the butter with me?” He may as well have said, “Do you want to stay in Switzerland for the rest of your life and shop at that market every week?” So we headed up to the mountains to the laiterie for the daily butter which get set on the tables at his restaurant.