When thinking of Switzerland, many things may come to mind, but caviar-making sturgeon frolicking in hot Alpine springs is perhaps not one of them.
However, a tunnel project that unexpectedly uncovered hot springs in the Bernese Alps a decade ago is gradually turning the land of exquisite watches and sumptuous cheese and chocolate into a producer of luxury caviar to be reckoned with.
“We could produce the first Swiss caviar a year ago,” said Andreas Schmid, head of marketing at Tropenhaus Frutigen, a company using geothermal energy from the Loetschberg rail tunnel to produce exotic fruit and now sturgeon meat and caviar.
Near the tiny village of Frutigen, in a valley flanked by towering, snow-dusted peaks, about 35,000 greyish-black Siberian sturgeon bask in pools filled with naturally heated Alpine spring water.
This year, the company will produce up to 800kg of caviar, selling on average at 3,000 Swiss francs (US$3,232) per kilo, but it ultimately aims to have 60,000 sturgeon and an annual production of three tonnes of the “black gold.”
Standing in a production room chilled to exactly 4?C, Tropenhaus Frutigen production manager Tobias Felix gently slits open the slimy, silver-white belly of a large sturgeon to reveal an abundance of tiny black eggs.
Another worker — who like Felix is wearing a hair net, face mask, white rubber boots and work clothes covered with protective blue plastic — steps forward and carefully sinks his gloved hands into the fish to pull out several large handfuls of the pearly eggs, glimmering under the florescent lights.
“From the time the sturgeon is killed, it takes about 10 minutes for the caviar to be salted,” Felix said, referring to the last step in a process carried out entirely by hand.
Placing the precious eggs in a large metal bowl, he washes them with icy water before pouring them into a strainer and allowing them to drip dry for a few minutes. Felix sprinkles on an exactly measured amount of Bex salt, mined in the Swiss canton of Vaud, and gently mixes it into the delicate eggs before briefly lifting aside his blue face mask to taste the caviar.
Satisfied, he carefully distributes the caviar into dainty metal containers in different sizes ranging from 30g to 500g and labeled: “Pure Swiss Alpine Caviar.”
The smallest tin, which holds enough for a large mouthful of the slightly salty, bursting eggs, sells on site for 68 Swiss francs.
How caviar production came to this windswept, mountainous land in the heart of Europe far from the sea, is an unlikely story that begins with a project to build an Alpine rail tunnel about 10 years ago.
Engineers working on the Loetschberg Tunnel were thrown when 18?C water began pouring into the cavity at a rate of 70 liters per second.
They were desperate to get rid of the water, but since it was so hot, it was impossible to divert it to the nearby river because it would harm the fish and plant life.
Chief tunnel engineer Peter Hufschmied, who was married to a Russian woman and well-versed in the joys of Russian caviar, came up with a surprising solution: to use the water to create a sturgeon farm.
Siberian Sturgeon, which when grown measure about 1m and can weigh up to 200kg, “very easily adapt to water temperatures and also like warm water,” Schmid said.
It was a lucrative business idea: The precious eggs make up 10 percent of the body weight of the large fish, which are relatively easy to farm even though they take years to reach maturity. Raised in captivity, female sturgeon do not begin producing eggs until the age of six.