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Du Bourg, in the city of Biel, is run by four friends who first met while working together at a previous restaurant. It had already been a successful Michelin-starred restaurant under its former owners, but the current team took over in late spring last year and managed to retain the star only a few months later. (Picture 1)

Their cooking is clearly influenced by Japanese techniques, but I would describe it primarily as seasonal market cuisine—one of my favourite styles of cooking. They change at least two courses every month and rely heavily on local, seasonal ingredients, complemented by preserved and fermented produce from earlier seasons.

After hearing nothing but praise throughout last year (both from colleagues and reviews), I booked a table shortly before the Michelin ceremony and ended up dining there shortly after they officially became the newest Michelin-starred restaurant in the Canton of Bern.

I was hooked immediately.

Not just because of the food, but because of the hospitality. They let me taste both the alcoholic and the non-alcoholic pairing before ordering, encouraged me to choose whichever I preferred—and then topped up the other glass anyway. I've never experienced that level of generosity at any other Swiss restaurant.

So I knew I had to come back. This Friday was my last day at work before a few weeks off, so I decided to celebrate at Du Bourg. Since my first visit had been during late autumn and early winter, I wanted to experience the complete opposite, making early July feel like the perfect time to return.

One detail I particularly enjoy: they don't reveal the menu when you book. Once you're seated, you'll find an envelope on the table. You can either open it or keep it closed and enjoy the meal as a complete surprise. Normally I'm not a huge fan of mystery menus, but this concept works perfectly for me—I can know what's coming if I want to, but I don't have to. (Picture 2)

The amuse-bouches were served outside, in the middle of Biel's beautiful old town, together with a glass of sparkling wine. They consisted of a sweet potato taco filled with smoked trout, a cucumber and silken tofu tartelette and a smooth little corn ball. A wonderful balance of saltiness, acidity and texture and the perfect way to begin the evening (Picture 3).

Back inside came what they call their bread and butter course, although it isn't a traditional one. Since the restaurant intentionally avoids serving lots of starches or carbohydrate-heavy side dishes, you're encouraged to use the wonderfully buttery, cloud-like brioche throughout the meal instead. Last year the butter was browned butter topped with calamansi juice. This time it appeared in the shape of a rose, on top as a browned butter, on the bottom mixed with salad and finished with cucumber gazpacho, rose powder and rose petals (Pictures 4-5).

The first proper course followed: a rose assembled from pickled vegetables, fruit and pikeperch. The fish was wrapped in a leaf of algae, before becoming the centrepiece of the rose, accompanied by kohlrabi and melon and finished with a buttermilk-miso sauce.

Over the past two years I've become accustomed to Switzerland's almost obligatory opening course of raw fish, vegetables and plenty of acidity. This, however, may have been my favourite version so far. Yes, there was plenty of acidity, but the miso contributed an almost equal amount of savouriness, creating exactly the kind of balance I love (Picture 6).

Next came my favourite course of the evening: cauliflower in several variations, enhanced with koji, sauerkraut and sansho, accompanied by a sauerkraut infused beurre blanc.

The best cauliflower dish I've had in months—and considering how much cauliflower I cook and eat, that's saying something. I chose the non-alcoholic pairing, which incorporated caramel and - once again - sauerkraut. Surprisingly, it worked beautifully with the dish (Picture 7).

The third course was a chawanmushi served with vegetarian caviar made from seeds and radish, cherry tomatoes (which are only truly seasonal outdoors for a very short time in Switzerland) and an intense tomato consommé.

The consommé was the real star here: intensely savoury, deeply umami and something I immediately wanted another bowl of. The egg custard was just enough present without disappearing behind the tomatoes, although I wouldn't have minded just a little more of it. The vegetarian caviar added a welcome textural contrast (Picture 8).

Before moving on to the main course, one thing stood out to me: I honestly enjoyed every dish that evening, but the two vegetable-focused courses were easily my favourites. Somehow, that tends to happen whenever I'm eating at restaurants that truly embrace market cuisine.

The main course featured Limousin entrecôte topped with artichoke purée and a small herb salad, accompanied by grilled artichokes, a rich jus, beurre noisette and wild garlic oil.

Everything came together beautifully. The beef was cooked to a perfect medium-rare, and the three sauces never competed with one another but instead highlighted both the meat and the artichokes. I was especially impressed by the wild garlic oil, which remained remarkably intense despite wild garlic season having ended well over a month ago (Picture 9).

I skipped the cheese course—even though I know they usually put a great deal of thought into it—because I really wanted to experience both dessert courses.

The first dessert featured Japanese milk bread (shokupan), citrus fruits, kombu, green apple and an apple sorbet. With its combination of bright acidity, mellowed sweetness and lingering savoury notes, it created a perfect bridge between the savoury part of the menu and the desserts. I didn't miss the cheese course at all (Pictures 10-11).

The second dessert revolved around strawberries: strawberry sorbet, yoghurt, macerated strawberries, sunflower seeds and a delicate meringue topped with roasted fennel seeds. I couldn't decide between the Riesling and the rhubarb-based non-alcoholic pairing, so I ordered both. They each worked beautifully, although the rhubarb pairing and the roasted fennel seeds were particularly outstanding. The fennel added an unexpected but brilliant layer to the dessert (Pictures 12-13).

A fruit jelly, a praline and homemade marshmallows brought the evening to a close (Picture 14).

As I mentioned earlier, I was able to taste both the alcoholic and the non-alcoholic pairing with almost every course. Even after I had made my choice, they often poured me a little of the other beverage as well.

Despite operating with only two people in the kitchen and two in front of house, they always found time to chat, answer questions and genuinely connect with their guests. They go for a first-name basis immediately, creating an atmosphere that feels warm and personal.

Combine that hospitality with outstanding food and beverages, the enthusiasm of four young owners and one more important detail: this is probably one of the best-value Michelin-starred restaurants in Switzerland.

Six courses cost 156 Swiss francs (around 195 US dollars), while the non-alcoholic pairing is only 11 francs per course and the alcoholic pairing 16.

So if you ever find yourself in Switzerland and are looking for a memorable fine dining experience, I can wholeheartedly recommend Du Bourg and its wonderful young team.

Yes, I recently wrote a review of Myle, and yes, I also mentioned that I probably wouldn't be able to afford another visit anytime soon.

Well, I ended up getting paid more than expected for a job and naturally I spent all of it on the current menu at Myle: "Cuisine Voyage Hokkaido".

For those unfamiliar with the restaurant: Myle is the successor to Steinhalle, the restaurant of Markus Arnold, who is, by virtually every metric (Michelin and Gault Millau alike), the leading chef in Switzerland's capital city. His signature concept is simple: he travels extensively and then transforms those experiences into tasting menus. I would describe his style as European fundamentals infused with the culinary influences of whichever destination inspired the current menu. In my experience, it always works.

The current menu is based on the chef's travels through Hokkaido earlier this year.

The amuse-bouches consisted of a matcha brioche with butter from the Emmental region, a vacuum-compressed strawberry with yuzu kosho and black rice vinegar, an intense ramen with sweetcorn and a hint of heat, a salty salmon tartare and a silky tofu cream with pickled cauliflower.

A lot of flavours, a lot of contrasts and a very clear statement of the kind of fusion cuisine that you can expect at this restaurant (Pictures 1–2).

The first course was akami tuna sashimi with a ponzu-like dressing, fresh raspberries and frozen raspberry pearls. I thoroughly enjoyed the acidity of the dish. There was just enough saltiness to ensure that neither the savoury nor the acidic elements overwhelmed the fish.

As part of the beverage pairing, I was served a creamy coconut and yuzu liqueur-based drink, which complemented the course beautifully (Picture 3).

Next came what I would consider Markus Arnold's signature: there is simply no menu without a variation of his beurre blanc.

The Arctic char was perfectly glassy and lightly smoked over cherry wood. It was served with a curry-infused beurre blanc, resting on a small bed of rice and topped with a briefly pickled perilla leaf.

The beurre blanc was divine. If given the opportunity, I would happily eat an entire bowl of it, just don't tell my doctor about it (Picture 4).

If I had to pick a favourite course of the evening, however, it would be the next one: scampi served on a bed of edamame and pak choi, generously covered in a wakame emulsion.

I had eaten wakame before, but never in sauce form. The chef told me that he first encountered the idea during his travels and immediately knew it had to become part of the menu. Thankfully, he was right.

The dish was a flavor explosion: slightly tangy, gently marine and intensely creamy at the same time. I also stepped away from the alcohol pairing and opted instead for a cucumber-matcha beverage topped with a touch of gochugaru. It was absolutely worth it (Picture 5).

The main course featured prime beef fillet, a purée-stuffed onion and a shiitake mushroom on top of pulled beef. Everything was accompanied by a deeply flavourful yet surprisingly delicate sauce based on several years aged mirin.

On the side came a cabbage and pickled salad dressed with sesame and smoked yoghurt.

The acidity of the side dish was exactly what the course needed. The beef itself was prepared sous-vide, brushed with soy sauce and finished over charcoal (Pictures 6–7).

For the main-course pairing, the sommelier gave me the choice between the planned wine and a rare alternative for a small surcharge.

The wine, Yoichi Nobori Passetoutgrain, was unlike anything I had tasted before. Dried fruit, plenty of acidity without sharpness and a flavour profile that can best be described with one word: funky—in the best possible way. The surcharge was absolutely worth it. Apparently, in Japan there is even a lottery system that determines who gets the opportunity to buy a bottle.

This also seems like a good place to mention the service. The sommeliers manage to combine genuine expertise with a down-to-earth attitude and a willingness to engage in some friendly banter. That's always a plus in my book.

After a palate cleanser of white chocolate and calamansi, I arrived at the first of two dessert courses.

To be honest, it already felt like two desserts. The first part consisted of strawberries in a more classical form: vanilla royale, dehydrated strawberry meringue and a strawberry broth. Alongside it came a black sesame chocolate cake topped with a Japanese whisky cream and a touch of mint oil.

The entire composition was heavenly. I was particularly happy to see strawberries featured so prominently, given that we are currently at the peak of strawberry season in Switzerland and it will soon be over (Pictures 8–10).

For the final dessert, I was served an ice cream made from Japanese brown sugar (I believe it was kokuto, although I'm not sure), accompanied by pear, yuzu and an exceptionally soft egg-white meringue (Picture 11).

Of the two menus I have experienced since Markus Arnold moved his fine dining concept to Myle, this was my favourite.

Don't get me wrong: the first menu was already excellent. This one, however, had an extra spark. The entire menu felt decadent without ever becoming vulgar.

Every year since I started visiting Markus Arnold's restaurants, there has always been one dish—or sometimes an entire menu—that seems indulgent while remaining refined and surprisingly grounded. Last year it was a pork fillet served with an emulsion reminiscent of mayonnaise and accompanied by a fried pork-cheek bite. On paper, it should have felt excessive. In reality, it was just right. This year, it was the strawberry duo. It should have been overkill. Somehow, it wasn't.

Even if I end up returning for the next menu, "Cuisine Voyage Mexico City", I may not write another review of Myle. At this point, it is probably obvious that Markus Arnold's cooking tickles exactly the right spot in my food-rotted brain. Since I'm trying to explore and write about more fine dining restaurants throughout Switzerland, I will probably focus on somewhere new next time my budget allows it.

But if you ever find yourself in Switzerland, believe me:

Myle is worth the visit.

Recently, I started sharing some of my fine dining adventures in Switzerland. Today I dined at my favourite restaurant and, despite it not having a Michelin star (yet), I decided it deserved a review.

Romy is the restaurant of Sina and Pascal Ralo, a married couple who opened one of the most distinctive restaurants in Bern around three years ago. The restaurant is named after the chef's grandmother from Austria and the kitchen draws inspiration from both of his grandmothers. You could call it a hybrid of Austrian and Portuguese cuisine, although "inspired by family, roots and heritage" probably captures it better.

I've been visiting Romy for quite some time now and try to experience every seasonal menu. Sometimes dishes return from previous years, sometimes they are reimagined and sometimes the menu features entirely new creations.

If I had to summarise the chef's style, I would say that he loves exploring a single ingredient in multiple forms within the same dish. His food is bold yet balanced, always delivers on texture and, above all, has a huge amount of personality.

Now, on to today's menu.

The five-course menu costs 128 Swiss francs (around 160 US dollars) for the meat and fish version, or 120 francs (around 150 dollars) for the vegetarian menu. I visited with friends: two of us chose the meat and fish menu, while one friend opted for the vegetarian version.

The amuse-bouches always begin with a playful sense of rusticity: a reinterpretation of the famous Maggi bouillon cube as a soup with bay leaf oil, a "cherry" filled with cream cheese, pickled beetroot with beet purée, a bolinho de bacalhau and a cheese-and-onion tartelette. Any of these could easily stand on its own, but together they already establish a balance of salt, fat, acidity and texture (Picture 1).

The first course was either a boiled beef salad made from brisket, served with pickled radish, beef broth and assorted pickles, or, in the vegetarian version, a fennel dish featuring confit fennel, sautéed fennel and fennel purée, flavoured with anise and accompanied by strawberries that had been pickled for over a year (Pictures 2–3).

Next came an asparagus course featuring both green and white asparagus. The green asparagus rested on a bed of pea purée and was accompanied by croutons and a creamy, slightly rich and sweet white asparagus soup. I have always interpreted this dish as a clever way of turning asparagus into its own version of hollandaise without actually serving hollandaise. After asking how he manages to avoid any bitterness in the white asparagus, the chef even shared the recipe with me—which I obviously won't be sharing here. The predecessor of this dish was also the moment I knew I had found the right restaurant when I wandered in spontaneously some years ago (Picture 4).

Now for what might genuinely be one of my favourite dishes of all time: cod on a bed of chorizo sauce and artichoke purée, topped with crispy artichoke chips. If I were ever invited onto "Last Meals", this is the dish I would ask them to recreate. The chorizo sauce alone takes three days to prepare in order to remove excess fat, and everything about this dish works. The gentle heat, the creaminess of the purée and, above all, the artichoke chips create something close to perfection. It is also the reason why I always order the five-course menu, since this is the additional course—even though it is arguably the restaurant's signature dish (Picture 5).

The vegetarian alternative was a highly flavourful potato dish, which the chef jokingly attributed to his German ancestry—another part of his family background (Picture 6).

The main course was flat iron steak served with cauliflower purée, pickled cauliflower and grilled scallion. The sauce and the purée complemented each other beautifully (Picture 7).

My vegetarian friend had told me before arriving that she hoped the celery course would once again be the restaurant's take on a Waldorf salad—and she got exactly what she wished for. Multiple preparations of celery served on house-baked, toasted brioche resulted in a very happy guest indeed (Picture 8).

I forgot to take a picture of the pre-dessert, which was a lemon-thyme sorbet with chocolate sauce, served on a bed of olive oil produced by the chef's father. Usually they simply describe it as lemon sorbet, but my boyfriend asked about the thyme component two years ago and now I can't stop noticing it (and it fits the flavor combination perfectly). 

And finally, the reason why I convinced my friends to visit before rhubarb season ends: rhubarb in multiple forms, paired with vanilla, meringue and a Florentine biscuit. My personal highlight was the rhubarb "broth" flavoured with verbena, which tied the whole dessert together beautifully (Picture 9).

At Romy's, petit fours means pastel de nata. I love the fact that the meal begins with a savoury cheese-and-onion tartelette and ends with a sweet one, the most iconic Portuguese pastry (Picture 10).

Sina, the chef's wife and co-owner, guides guests through the evening with warmth, competence and genuine hospitality—exactly how I like service to be.

I usually visit Romy at least three times a year and as long as my budget allows it, I don't see that changing anytime soon.

Honestly, I would love to see the restaurant receive more recognition. In my opinion, it comfortably holds its own against several one-star restaurants I have visited and surpasses most of them when it comes to character and personality.

Then again, if it doesn't receive a Michelin star, I might still be able to afford visiting multiple times a year.

But it deserves one.