Paul and Jean-Pierre Haeberlin

On either side of the bridge at Illhaeusern, a hundred years ago, there stood a little auberge. There wasn’t much to choose between the two of them, unless you were a local who understood the nuances of Alsatian village life. On the west bank of the Ill was La Truite, run by the Mullers; on the east was L’Arbre Vert, kept by the Haeberlins. Both were peasant families with their horses, their patches of cabbages, their beds of the special reeds which were sold to tie up vines.

In both establishments the fare was much the same, choucroute and écrevisses and the famous matelotes of the region, for most of the villagers were fisher-folk and their matelotes were spoken of as far away as Colmar or even Strasbourg. To the villagers of Illhaeusern, however, the fish stew at La Truite was the matelote catholique, at L’Arbre Vert the matelote protestante. They were said to be very different, but in those days no-one revealed the secrets of her cuisine and, if Madame Haeberlin were asked for her recipe, she would describe her method in the vaguest terms and add, ‘Then I give it my benediction.’