Across nations and classes, there is one thing we can all agree on – that putting delicious things inside dough is a good idea

On a recent Saturday morning in Paris, I made a life-changing discovery. It came in the frozen aisle of an Asian supermarket: you can buy premade dumpling wrappers. Take a moment to think about the implications of this. Chinese shrimp wontons? Ukrainian potato varenyky? Italian veal ravioli? You’re halfway there before you’ve even chopped an onion (as long as you’re not precious about using exactly the right dough for each recipe).

Since then, I’ve fallen into a full-blown dumpling rabbit hole, my nights spent on YouTube, watching grandmothers sitting in circles, pinching dough. So many shapes. So many techniques. Team inward pleats or outward?

Joseph de Weck is an associate fellow with the German Council on Foreign Relations and writes for Guardian Europe from Zürich and Paris

Brexit gave direct democracy a bad name. But the Swiss approach could be what Europe needs now

Fascism rests on a two-part confidence trick. First, a leader claims to embody the will of the people. Then they argue that only by being granted sweeping powers can that be realised. Having grown up in Switzerland, I find it easy to see through this trick. That is because the policies championed by the far right rarely pass the referendum test.

Dismantling publicly funded media? In March, 62% of Swiss voters rejected a far-right initiative to halve funding for the country’s public broadcaster. Corporate tax cuts? In 2017, 59% struck down such plans of the Swiss government. Immigration police hunting down migrants? Again, 59% rejected a far-right proposal to automatically deport foreign nationals convicted of crimes without judicial review. Or this week’s resounding 70% “No” vote on a far-right proposal to tighten Switzerland’s neutrality to the point that Bern would have been forced to drop sanctions on Russia over Ukraine.

Joseph de Weck is an associate fellow with the German Council on Foreign Relations and writes for Guardian Europe from Zürich and Paris

For most of modern history, technology sought to imitate humans. Humans increasingly seek to imitate technology

Two faces that appeared on my Instagram feed in recent months gave me pause. One belonged to John Travolta at Cannes. The other to Carla Bruni on a date night with her husband, former French President Nicolas Sarkozy. Both looked recognisably themselves, yet, they both also looked oddly unfamiliar. Their looks have provoked speculation about cosmetic enhancement, though never acknowledged by them. Bruni has previously denied having had work done.

In any case the feeling lasted only a second: a flicker of unease, as though I were looking at people who had become approximations of themselves.

Joseph de Weck is an associate fellow with the German Council on Foreign Relations and writes for Guardian Europe from Zürich and Paris

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Capping the population at 10 million is a far-right fantasy. It would dismantle the openness that has made the country rich

Zürich on a Sunday morning can feel like the day after Armageddon: so empty, so calm, despite being Switzerland’s biggest city. But then the church bells erupt across the lake basin, and a jogger trots by like a polite deer in aerodynamic sunglasses, and one knows that all is fine in this proudly impeccable place, where little is left to chance and the authorities even track the city’s pigeons with GPS.

Swiss people know they are lucky. A highly diversified economy keeps salaries high and income inequality comparatively low. A British friend once remarked that our supermarkets feel like the gourmet hall at Harrods. The state makes business easy. Hiking paths are maintained by armies of volunteers. The flip side is our reputation for being a nation of humourless control freaks, but there are benefits to trains running on time. In a restless world, Switzerland remains a place where one can exhale.

Joseph de Weck is an associate fellow with the German Council on Foreign Relations and writes for Guardian Europe from Zürich and Paris

Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here.

Apocalyptic forecasts are a national sport. But while polls point to a National Rally president in 2027, it’s still all to play for

One reassuring thing about France is its consistency down the years: trains still run mostly on time, coffee in the land of cafes remains undrinkable, and, whatever the season, the intellectual class continues to supply elegant variations on the same theme: France is always about to collapse.

The present mood feels familiar – and fatalism, of course, is a habit in France. At a recent dinner among friends in Paris I was treated to a typically balanced menu: great food and mood, paired with apocalyptic forecasts. After nine years of Emmanuel Macron’s right-leaning rule France stands at the abyss, one guy said, as he cut the head off an asparagus. The country hovers somewhere between civil war and financial bankruptcy, another added, cooling her forehead with a glass of cold white wine.

Joseph de Weck is a fellow with the Foreign Policy Research Institute

Our world feels chaotic, confusing and unfair, but puzzles offer clear rules, solvable problems and reward for effort expended

Maybe you’ve noticed it too. Everyone seems to have become fixated on puzzle games. In the morning, over coffee, I play Word Wheel on the Guardian app. Over lunch, colleagues compare notes on Tradle, the game where you guess a country from its exports. Which place exports about 45% fish and 50% crustaceans? Greenland. Another friend can’t fall asleep without her nightly Sudoku ritual.

The online puzzle craze took off during the Covid pandemic, and it shows no sign of slowing down. New York Times subscribers now spend more time playing puzzles on the app than reading the news. Sales of quiz books hit a record last year, up 24% from 2024.

Unlike his predecessors, Friedrich Merz projects certainty, even when he’s wrong. Now he must turn words into a deliverable plan

The 18th-century philosopher Johann Gottfried Herder is credited in Germany with coining the maxim: “Talk is silver, but silence is golden.” The saying has come to define Germany’s political culture. Olaf Scholz was economical with words and drew mockery for his wooden, monosyllabic replies as the “Scholzomat” or even the “coma chancellor”. Scholz was not entirely different from his predecessor. Angela Merkel grew up in East Germany’s communist dictatorship and learned early that words could be dangerous. She spoke cautiously, almost clinically, in the monotone of a central banker. Every word served a purpose. That was precisely why everyone listened closely.

Friedrich Merz, by contrast, is anything but a soporific speaker. The trained lawyer has a sharp tongue and visibly enjoys the sound of his own voice. In this, the conservative chancellor resembles the French president, Emmanuel Macron – another beau parleur. And like Macron, Merz is a know-all. He rarely misses a chance to show his audience how clever he is.

Joseph de Weck is a fellow with the Foreign Policy Research Institute

Like the fearful Sicilian aristocracy in the 1958 epic novel, Europe clings to the status quo. But managed decline is not the only option

Just past the quarter-mark of the century, Europe appears to be at a turning point. For decades its share of global GDP has been shrinking and its geopolitical influence eroding. At a certain point, relative decline can turn into absolute decline. That moment may be approaching.

The US, Russia and China are openly engaged in a “scramble for Europe”. Moscow seeks to reassert hegemony in the east. Beijing wants Europe’s industry; Washington demands obedience – and Greenland. Germans have grown anxious about the future. A disoriented France can’t fix its budget. Desperate for growth, Brussels dismantles climate legislation it passed only a few years ago while bending over backwards to appease Donald Trump. Little remains of European dignity – a sense of déclassement is beginning to take hold.

Joseph de Weck is a fellow with the Foreign Policy Research Institute

Since the Enlightenment, we’ve been making our own decisions. But now AI may be about to change that

This summer, I found myself battling through traffic in the sweltering streets of Marseille. At a crossing, my friend in the passenger seat told me to turn right toward a spot known for its fish soup. But the navigation app Waze instructed us to go straight. Tired, and with the Renault feeling like a sauna on wheels, I followed Waze’s advice. Moments later, we were stuck at a construction site.

A trivial moment, maybe. But one that captures perhaps the defining question of our era, in which technology touches nearly every aspect of our lives: who do we trust more – other human beings and our own instincts, or the machine?

Joseph de Weck is a fellow with the Foreign Policy Research Institute