In search of a time rekindled

“I want guests to feel right at home,” says Michael Burri, stepping out of the kitchen at Hôtel de Commune just after the lunchtime rush. Rougemont’s historic inn has been quietly humming back to life since its reopening on 1 May – and so has village life with it.

Inside the cosy dining room, conversation competes with the joyful commotion of the afternoon: a young boy asks for a beige crayon to finish his drawing; a vintage cowbell clangs cheerfully from the buffet. “Drinks are on me!” calls out a grinning guest. The room feels less like a restaurant and more like an extension of someone’s home, which is precisely Burri’s intent.

His approach is rooted in simplicity. “This place is already beautiful,” says the Lausanne native. “We freshened up the paint, updated the lighting, redid the bathrooms. That’s all it needed.” The 19th-century inn, whose façade still bears the inscription “Good lodging for man and horse,” now hosts cozy hotel rooms and a dining room with seventy seats and plans for a terrace in front.
Born and raised in Lausanne, Burri’s path to Rougemont began in the pastry kitchen, before switching to the stove and completing his culinary apprenticeship in La Conversion sur Lutry in Jacky Vuillet’s kitchen. He later honed his craft in renowned restaurants around Lake Geneva, notably for the renowned chef Philipe Chevrier, and eventually crossed the Atlantic to Quebec where he cooked for singer Garou for five years. In 2019, he landed in Rougemont to join Le Cerf, working under celebrated chef Edgard Bovier. Even then, he had an eye on the inn just across the road – but the timing wasn’t right.

When COVID hit and disrupted the hospitality industry, Burri pivoted. He found work as a private chef in Gstaad, and it was there that he rediscovered what set him apart in a market saturated with luxury: simple, slow-cooked dishes rooted in memory and care.
The inspiration? Sundays at his grandmother’s. Family lore recalls a young Michael eagerly lifting the lids of her simmering cocottes, unable to wait for the meal to be served.

Today, he recreates that same sense of warmth at Hôtel de Commune. The menu features heartfelt dishes made from local ingredients paired exclusively with Swiss wines. “We keep a small permanent menu and change the rest regularly with the seasons,” he explains. “Everything is homemade – from bread and pastries to desserts and even some charcuterie like our house sausages.”

One dish has already become a quiet sensation: the tarte au Chasselas, a nostalgic nod that has diners reminiscing. “People tell me it reminds them of their mothers or grandmothers,” says Burri. “It’s the kind of food people rarely take the time to cook anymore – veal head, blood sausage, beef tongue. Dishes that warm the heart and bring people together, whether they’re locals, visitors from Gstaad, or just passing through.”

The locals, however, remain closest to his heart. One of them knitted the brown wool beanie he wears, even in May. “She made it for me when I returned to the valley,” he smiles. “To thank me for doing something for Rougemont.”

That simple gesture mirrors Burri’s greater ambition: to give the inn back to the village. To revive the spirit of the old bistro. “I want this house to belong to the people again. To be the soul of the village – a place where people gather.”

In his hands, Hôtel de Commune has transformed – it’s a return to something slower, warmer, and quietly profound. A taste, perhaps, of time regained.

MARY MEYER

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