Turning night into day. For once, the day beg­ins in the night, its black veil lying opaque over the city of Zurich. The traf­fic lights are not even ope­ra­ting yet, and only spo­ra­di­cal­ly can human move­ment be seen on the dark streets. At Zurich’s who­le­sa­le mar­ket, by con­trast, the big­gest bust­le is alre­a­dy over at 4:45 AM. Most of the deli­very vans from vege­ta­ble sup­pliers working across the regi­on have alre­a­dy set off by this time, and the mood among cra­tes of exo­tic fruit, sea­so­nal vege­ta­bles and the first ine­vi­ta­ble strawberries—glowing more green-white than red—is cheerful and collegial.

“Dream team.” We meet the Smolinskys at this place that is both mat­ter-of-fact and exo­tic; son Gregor and father Jürg are, excep­tio­nal­ly, out tog­e­ther at Switzerland’s lar­gest mar­ket. Normally, Jürg Smolinsky dri­ves here once or twice a week with a col­le­ague and picks up ever­ything Gregor has orde­red in terms of plant-based ingre­di­ents. The elder Smolinsky has been a cus­to­mer here for 50 years; for 36 years, the now 80-year-old ran the Sihlhalde restau­rant in Gattikon near Thalwil befo­re gra­du­al­ly han­ding the busi­ness over to his son from 2003 onwards. Smoly Jr. on Smoly Sr.: “There were gene­ra­tio­nal and con­flicts of inte­rest, but over time we deve­lo­ped into a dream team.”

Meatloaf sand­wich as a tra­di­ti­on. In the mar­ket café, with its garish neon-lit charm, Jürg Smolinsky—as on every visit—still eats a meat­lo­af sand­wich, then dri­ves back to the restau­rant with a car full of sprou­ting broc­co­li, cata­lo­gna (leaf chi­co­ry), man­goes and much more. Meanwhile, Gregor Smolinksy takes us to ano­ther source of fine pro­ducts and to what is pro­ba­b­ly his most important sup­plier: sin­ce 1972, the com­pa­ny Bianchi from Zufikon, Aargau, has been brin­ging fresh fish and other sea­food of the very best qua­li­ty to the Sihlhalde. “Smoly”, as Gregor Smolinksy is cal­led by tho­se who know him well, has remain­ed faithful to this tra­di­ti­on, too.

Mackerel on ice. Luca and Dario Bianchi, the two young heads who are car­ry­ing the fami­ly busi­ness for­ward in the fifth (!) gene­ra­ti­on, are on the pho­ne at 7 o’clock, high­ly focu­sed, with their best cus­to­mers. Down in the arri­vals hall, cra­tes of fresh Japanese macke­rel lie, each one on ice, nest­led in snow-white poly­sty­re­ne boxes. Breton scal­lops, pike-perch from Lake Maggiore, or even a magni­fi­cent eight-kilo­gram spe­ci­men of sea bass wait here in the icy haze befo­re being deli­ver­ed in the typi­cal white vans with the red Bianchi crab. The deli­ca­tes­sen trade is an ear­ly-riser busi­ness too: “We start at 4:30 AM.”

Rural cosi­ness. “To make sure the goods are here the next day, you have to order in good time,” says Luca Bianchi. From the bust­ling fish trade, we move into rural cosi­ness: the Sihlhalde was first a farm­hou­se inn in a 17th-cen­tu­ry hou­se and was ope­ned as a restau­rant by the Smolinskys in 1972. Agriculture in the lite­ral sen­se: from the kit­chen win­dow you can see a gent­ly rising path and a bit of wood­land; the view is open, the loca­ti­on unobs­truc­ted. Next to the tim­ber-framed hou­se that accom­mo­da­tes the Sihlhalde, a few chickens live, who­se eggs Gregor Smolinsky can use for his pur­po­ses when the owner is away.

First an elec­tro­nics tech­ni­ci­an, then a chef. As he now stands at the sto­ve in the kit­chen with its low cei­lings, prep­ping vege­ta­bles with a few sure move­ments and ope­ning scal­lops in quick suc­ces­si­on, the tall chef radia­tes an air of ease. Yet at the begin­ning of his working life, the 49-year-old father of two teen­agers “resi­sted beco­ming a chef,” as he puts it. The young Smoly began an app­ren­ti­ce­ship as an elec­tro­nics tech­ni­ci­an, which he aban­do­ned after five months in order to train as a chef after all. “I always knew that gastro­no­my is only pos­si­ble with a gre­at per­so­nal sacrifice—I had seen that with my par­ents. And befo­re I could start, I first had to gain cla­ri­ty for mys­elf,” he says in retrospect.

“A tough school.” Gregor Smolinsky then approa­ched coo­king as tho­rough­ly as he had thought it through. For five years he work­ed in French-spea­king Switzerland with Adolf Blockbergen and 19-point chef Philippe Rochat. “It was like a uni­ver­si­ty edu­ca­ti­on. That’s whe­re I lear­ned what clas­si­cal cui­sine means, becau­se the culina­ry spec­trum was much broa­der than in German-spea­king Switzerland,” says Smolinsky. It had been “a tough school in a rough time.” He remem­bers 60, 70 hours a week and col­le­agues col­lapsing from exhaus­ti­on during work.

Nine weeks of holi­day. Gregor Smolinsky did not adopt this way of working; for exam­p­le, he grants his employees nine weeks of paid holi­day. Other things, howe­ver, have stay­ed with the chef from his time in French-spea­king Switzerland, such as the scal­lop ser­ved in its own shell, or the hake that Smolinsky picked up from the Bianchis in the mor­ning and now quick­ly pan-fries. Add a litt­le cima di rapa, chi­co­ri­no rosso and clas­sic beur­re blanc. “I cook the way I like to eat mys­elf,” he says.

“Less is more.” His style can be sum­med up with the for­mu­la “less is more”. To make guests come back—this is what Gregor Smolinsky has lear­ned over all the­se years as a self-employed restau­ra­teur wit­hout cross-subsidisation—you have to “cook with your feet on the ground”. The popu­lar brai­sed-roast ravio­li with wafer-thin dough was alre­a­dy on the menu under his father. And the meat­lo­af, born out of the Covid emer­gen­cy, has mean­while beco­me a Sihlhalde cult pro­duct. “I still enjoy being in the kit­chen every day,” Gregor Smolinsky says in clo­sing. It is deman­ding, “but one of the best jobs the­re is.”