By Peabod
His name was Hans Odermatt, and he was one of those people you never forget, regardless of how long or how brief the encounter.
It wasn’t so much the hand-knitted woolen knee socks that made him distinctive. Nor was it his home-made wooden sandals with the thick leather straps that arched across his feet. It wasn’t even the snow-white Santa Claus beard that nearly grew down to his chest. No, it was more than that. It was his spirit; undefinable and intangible, but nevertheless an aura that touched everyone who ever walked into his little restaurant in the hills overlooking Montreux, Switzerland.
Hans Odermatt was a simple man. A carpenter by trade. But when the armies of the world mustered their forces and surrounded Switzerland in the 1940s, Hans left his beloved mountains and traveled to Australia. It was there that he learned to speak English.
When the war was over, Odermatt returned to Zurich where he enrolled in a culinary school. When he had mastered all that he could about the art of food and its preparation, he went back to the rural highlands that rise over Lake Geneva.
With his life’s savings of 20,000 Swiss francs, Odermatt purchased a stable, and being a carpenter, he decided to transform the old barn into a restaurant. Working with his own hands by day, Hans built his dream timber by timber, nail by nail. Then at night he would prepare fondue and raclette for the villagers who lived in the countryside.
Before long, the restaurant became a culinary showcase known throughout the region, and soon, the rich and the famous found their way to Hans Odermatt’s kitchen. William Holden. President Richard Nixon. Richard Burton. David Niven. Even Charlie Chaplin and Charles Lindbergh, who owned estates and lived along the shores of the lake, were visitors to the “Le Montangard” restaurant. And every night when his cooking chores were complete, the little man with the wooden shoes and snow-white beard would sit in a corner booth with a glass of red wine in his hand, and proudly survey his domain.
Yes, Hans Odermatt was a simple man. A man who claimed he didn’t need a calendar because in springtime he knew what day of the month it was by the wildflowers that climbed ever higher up the hillside just outside his window.
When asked about his world famous clientele, Odermatt stated humbly, with tears in his eyes, “The villargers are the most important for me. They come every night, and the rich and the famous don’t spend any more than the peasants do.”
Hans Odermatt is gone now. He died many years ago doing what he loved most, cooking in the restaurant he built with his bare hands. But the restaurant still thrives. Le Montangard means “The Mountain Man" in English. It’s easy to find. Just take a short, serpentine taxi ride from the city of Montreux up into the hills. The driver will know where it is.
And somewhere Hans will proudly be watching from a corner of heaven with a glass of red wine in his hand.
His name was Hans Odermatt, and he was one of those people you never forget, regardless of how long or how brief the encounter.
It wasn’t so much the hand-knitted woolen knee socks that made him distinctive. Nor was it his home-made wooden sandals with the thick leather straps that arched across his feet. It wasn’t even the snow-white Santa Claus beard that nearly grew down to his chest. No, it was more than that. It was his spirit; undefinable and intangible, but nevertheless an aura that touched everyone who ever walked into his little restaurant in the hills overlooking Montreux, Switzerland.
Hans Odermatt was a simple man. A carpenter by trade. But when the armies of the world mustered their forces and surrounded Switzerland in the 1940s, Hans left his beloved mountains and traveled to Australia. It was there that he learned to speak English.
When the war was over, Odermatt returned to Zurich where he enrolled in a culinary school. When he had mastered all that he could about the art of food and its preparation, he went back to the rural highlands that rise over Lake Geneva.
With his life’s savings of 20,000 Swiss francs, Odermatt purchased a stable, and being a carpenter, he decided to transform the old barn into a restaurant. Working with his own hands by day, Hans built his dream timber by timber, nail by nail. Then at night he would prepare fondue and raclette for the villagers who lived in the countryside.
Before long, the restaurant became a culinary showcase known throughout the region, and soon, the rich and the famous found their way to Hans Odermatt’s kitchen. William Holden. President Richard Nixon. Richard Burton. David Niven. Even Charlie Chaplin and Charles Lindbergh, who owned estates and lived along the shores of the lake, were visitors to the “Le Montangard” restaurant. And every night when his cooking chores were complete, the little man with the wooden shoes and snow-white beard would sit in a corner booth with a glass of red wine in his hand, and proudly survey his domain.
Yes, Hans Odermatt was a simple man. A man who claimed he didn’t need a calendar because in springtime he knew what day of the month it was by the wildflowers that climbed ever higher up the hillside just outside his window.
When asked about his world famous clientele, Odermatt stated humbly, with tears in his eyes, “The villargers are the most important for me. They come every night, and the rich and the famous don’t spend any more than the peasants do.”
Hans Odermatt is gone now. He died many years ago doing what he loved most, cooking in the restaurant he built with his bare hands. But the restaurant still thrives. Le Montangard means “The Mountain Man" in English. It’s easy to find. Just take a short, serpentine taxi ride from the city of Montreux up into the hills. The driver will know where it is.
And somewhere Hans will proudly be watching from a corner of heaven with a glass of red wine in his hand.
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