The William Tell Inn: A Swiss Miss

By J. Stethers White | Friday, August 26, 2005

The William Tell, I was told, is the best Swiss restaurant in New Hampshire, and considering the geographical qualifier, that may very well be true. Indeed, I hold considerable suspicion that the establishment's superlative ranking is wholly dependent on its status as the only dedicated Swiss restaurant in the state.

At the time, however, that thought had not occurred to me, and with some friends, I merrily journeyed to Thornton, roughly 55 miles east-northeast of Hanover. Upon arrival, though, we encountered ill auspices: groups of blue-haired women, their stoop-backed husbands in tow, emerging from the restaurant. As we entered, we passed more of the semi-senile, in numbers indicative of a crochet convention. One of the old men cryptically advised us, 'If you don't eat enough, it's your own fault.' Each of them had a cheap paper nametag, with 'White Start Tours' printed on it, and their respective names scrawled below. In the lobby, there were even more of them, becoming increasingly anxious because of a late tour bus. It was one of those dreary road-tours for the aged, designed as an escape from more commonplace dreariness, which characterized every-day life in the glorified nursing homes known as "Senior Lifecare Communities."

While waiting to be seated (the staff needed to clean up after the 60-odd oldsters) I examined the décor. It was the predictable Old World kitsch—wooden snow-shoes, alpenhorns, and the like—which is de rigueur for far too many twin-state restaurants. Most lovely of all the adornments were strings of decidedly creepy dolls, baked out of bread, and hung like garland about the dining room. They looked like featureless voodoo dolls, prepared by a psychotic baker. German polka played quietly in the background.

When the tables were cleared, our hostess fetched us, and led us to our table. She was replete with a thick Germanic accent and wooden shoes, no doubt to signify her authenticity as a genuine specimen from the Alps. I had always thought clogs were symptomatic of the Netherlands, not Switzerland. No matter, I'm sure the hostess assumed (probably correctly) that as far as her American diners cared, all of that questionable foreign stuff, across the Atlantic, was more or less the same.

The first unpleasant surprise of the evening came when it was time to order drinks. The waitress regretfully informed us that , no, the William Tell did not carry any Swiss beers, and, by the way, no German beers either. We persevered, recovering from the disappointment to order appetizers. Service was "Continental," by which I mean remarkably slow for a sparsely populated dining room. It did, however, make for a nicely-paced meal.

When the appetizers eventually arrived, the escargot was, at best, mediocre—certainly nothing to write home about. I suppose that should not have been terribly surprising—after all this wasn't a French restaurant, but I've rarely encountered a dish so carelessly prepared. There wasn't any uniformity of seasoning across the platter, so some tasted respectable, others bland, and others over-spiced. We decided to share a cheese fondue entrée between us as an appetizer. It was surely an ample enough serving for a dinner, but what it made up for in quantity, it lacked in quality, so to speak. Our party universally regarded the cheese as much too sharp, and it desperately needed more red wine to improve the flavor. Thankfully, we found one worthy appetizer: Pastetli William Tell, fluffy puff pastry shells containing medallion-sized veal dumplings, covered in a white wine mushroom cream sauce. The dumplings were tender, delicious, and well seasoned, and the accompanying sauce was phenomenal.

Before dinner, we ate our salads, which were identical to every other house salad in every other restaurant anyone has ever visited. The homemade dressing, though, deserves mention, as it was superior to most others I've tried.

For entrées, a few in our group ordered the wiener schnitzel. Without disparaging it, I can say it was competently prepared: slightly better than most wiener schnitzels, about par for any run-o'-the-mill German place, but it didn't approach some of the best. Nevertheless, the accompanying sauce would have been truly delectable, if only they had provided more of it. One friend—a youth who appreciates a good meal more than most—ordered Zurcher Ratsherren Topf, a dish notable primarily for its needlessly cumbersome moniker. In a vain attempt at urbanity he referred to it as the "ZRT" when ordering, leaving the poor waitress utterly befuddled. The plate had servings of filet mignon, veal, and pork tenderloin, accompanied by a tomato and mushroom sauce. Enthusiastic as my friend is about food, he could muster only minimal enthusiasm over the dish. He found the meat prepared only adequately, and the sauce to be quite good, but its profusion diminished his enjoyment of the meal.

Another fellow ordered jaeger schnitzel, but what he received caused displeasure enough to awaken the Hun lurking in his Teutonic blood. "This isn't a schnitzel! It is merely a breaded pork chop. A schnitzel is pounded thin!" he thundered indignantly. Unfortunately, my friend had a point; the pork chop was undeniably thick.

At least the vegetables tasted good.

Overall, the entrées were underwhelming, so we turned to dessert in hope of restitution. The chocolate mousse was decent, but the liquor flavor was a scad too strong. Our fortunes improved though, as both the toblerone cake and the apple strudel were magnificent.

By now, it was late and the William Tell had closed its doors some time earlier. We were sitting alone in the dining room, finishing dessert, when the music shifted from pedestrian chamber music to Carl Orff's "Carmina Burana." Over the next few minutes, the volume steadily increased, until we could make out the lyrics. 'Hac in hora / sine mora / corde pulsum tangite.' Perhaps they were subtly hinting that we should depart.

The William Tell will not provide a bad meal, per se, but neither will it impress. Although it may in fact serve the best Swiss in New Hampshire, that speaks more to the Granite State's dearth of Swiss cuisine, than to William Tell's quality. Sure, it was a blatant tourist trap, but even by that standard it was less satisfying than most. And while we all enjoyed our meals, none at my table were willing to take the hour-long trip to visit again.

The William Tell Inn: A Swiss Miss

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