thepassionatecook

Lady Maria's Schokogugelhupf

I solemnly vow not to watch the Eurovision again. I do. Unless Jonathan Ross presents the show. Or Austria qualifies - both very unlikely events indeed.

Moving on, let's speak about nicer things. Things that lighten up everybody's face, that fill the house with warmth and make the birds appear to be singing overtime.

Like when Lady Maria is visiting. She's not really of royal descent, my Mum, she just happened to marry a normal sort of guy (Lord Rudi) who went on to come into the possession of some land up in Scotland and is therefore, by default, a "Laird" - which, translated to English, means "Lord". So it follows that she is a "Lady". Not they they have been invited to have tea with HRH, nor do they own a lavish mansion in Belgravia or Mayfair (or anywhere else, for that matter) that I could benefit from...

Whenever she graces us with her presence, my sons demand that she bake with them - and really, there's only one cake they will make, which has become my sons' absolute favourite and is about the only thing we ever bake when we bake together. By popular demand. It takes the traditional shape of a Gugelhupf, a plain Bundt, basically. I bring this to playdates and coffee mornings often and everybody is always amazed at how tasty, moist and finger-lickingly good it is. The last time I made it, there were five of us around the table, including two boys who polished off the *entire* cake in a matter of maybe half an hour - and probably only took so long out of politeness.

You know how Austria is known for its patisserie, but most of it, especially the more elaborate creations, is seldom, if ever, made at home. Every (good) Austrian housewife's repertoire (at least in my Mum's generation) would also include the famous Sachertorte, the  Apfelstrudel (apple strudel) with home-made fillo-pastry, a variety of tray bakes typically with fruits of the season, Black Forest cake, Malakoff Torte (a tarte with almonds, buttercream and sponge fingers), a nut or poppyseed ring, a plaited yeast bread for Easter and a variety of biscuits (incl. Lebkuchen, our version of ginger bread). Nowadays, not many people bother to make their own, so I know very few women (or men) of my age who can master their own strudel. But the Gugelhupf is something everybody can make, it's easy, quick and therefore the most recognised form of cake in the country. Delicious as all its different variations may be, it is therefore also the one form of cake that you're unlikely to find in one of the many cafés in Vienna - as everybody knows how to make their own, people tend to go for more elaborate patisserie when they go out.

What sets this one apart from your usual chocolate Gugelhupf, which can often turn out to be quite firm in texture and, without artificial additives, incredibly dry, is that it uses real chocolate (rather than cocoa powder) and almost as much ground almonds as flour - giving it that extra moisture. Incredibly easy to make (with a little adult help, this is quite literally child's play), this is one of the best recipes to have up your sleeve and sure to become a favourite in your household, too!

Buchteln mit Vanillesauce (Sweet dumplings with crème anglaise)

If it wasn't for this round of "Waiter! There's something in my...", I would be one thing short on my list of ways to spoil my husband rotten. You should think that after almost twenty years of knowing him, I'd have a rather good grasp of what he does and does not like, but that couldn't be further from the truth, it appears. In the past few weeks, there have been two occasions where he expressed his undying love, unfortunately not to me, at least not directly. The present dish, which constitutes my entry to this month's edition with the theme of "hot puds", is apparently one of his absolute favourite Austrian desserts - and that is something special, seeing that Austria is dessert heaven and the sheer variety of sweet options is, I think, unsurpassable.

Buchteln are made all year round and unlike many other traditional dishes which are available in countless variations, these are served pretty much the same all over the country. As many of our desserts, they have their roots in Bohemian cuisine. They are oven-baked dumplings, made from a yeast dough, sometimes served plain, but more often than not filled with Powidl, an incredibly thick plum jam. They can be eaten cold, but I prefer them straight from the oven, when they are still fluffy as a goose down pillow, and the best way to enjoy them is with a piping-hot vanilla custard, home-made of course.

If you wanted to sample this delicacy on a trip to Austria, you'd probably have a hard time finding them on a menu - they're something that is made at home, and at home only. The only famous exception is the Café Hawelka in Vienna, a quirky home-style coffee house near St. Stephan's Cathedral, which over the decades has attracted many writers, artists and great thinkers, among them Nobel-prize winner Elias Canetti, HC Artmann, Oskar Werner and Andre Heller, known for his performance art lately showcased in the show Africa Africa which is still touring the globe. Is probably fair to say that this is the closest Vienna comes to a bohemian hang-out. No surprise then that they should serve the ultimate Bohemian dessert... but wait. They don't just serve them. Punters hang out here a whole evening long, knowing that smack bang at 10 pm the kitchen doors will swing open and out will come a massive pan of steaming hot yeast dumplings - and they'll literally be gone within minutes.

The Café itself attracts an illustrious crowd and the owner himself, charming and quite a character, has been the life and soul of this place ever since it re-opened in post-war Vienna - so the Café Hawelka has become a crowd-puller and its Buchteln the most famous of them all... although some argue that since the passing away of Mme Hawelka in 2005 they don't taste like they used to. Tourists rarely find their way here and it may lack the grandeur of many other Viennese coffee houses, but the Café Hawelka is very much a well-kept secret and (or maybe because of this very fact) it is one of my favourite places to be in Vienna. Especially at 10 o'clock at night...

And if you've just gotten in the mood and want to share your own, favourite hot dessert, why not send me your post - I am attempting to publish the round-up in the next week, so you've got a few days....

"Waiter, there's something in my... roast pork!" - an Austrian Schweinsbraten 101

This month's instalment of "Waiter, there's something in my...!" is all about roasts, everybody's favourite Sunday meal - not least because no matter what incarnation it takes (whole chicken, leg of lamb, vegetarian nut roasts, etc) it will always be a very convivial thing for the mere reason that involves a chunk too big to be devoured in all your lonesomeness. So invariably, unless you enjoy a Sunday Roast at a local pub, you will be sharing your meal with people that matter to you - and what is better than that?

Where I grew up, pork is the most wide-spread type of roast and it comes in many incarnations. As something people grow up with, potentially eat at least twice a month and grow to like best just like their Mum made it, the issue of what constitutes a traditional roast pork (Schweinsbraten or Schweinebraten, if you're German) with all its trimmings is, of course, hotly debated. Austria is a bit funny like that: as with our various dialects (250 of them for just eight million people), every valley, village or stretch of land seems to have their way of doing ... errmm.. cooking it. Some will eat it with dumplings (and there are more varieties of those than I can count on my chubby fingers), others with potatoes, some with cabbage wedges (Stöckelkraut), others with cabbage salad (Krautsalat with crispy bacon)... and although almost every region I know makes their Schweinbraten with tons of garlic (step aside, 100-clove-chicken!), the Viennese insist that the protagonist of their version should be caraway (Kuemmelbraten), with a mere hint of garlic instead.

Even I am confessing to heresy by opting out of serving our roast pork with Mehlknoedel (lit. flour dumplings and that's exactly what they taste like in my opinion) in favour of the Viennese accompaniment of Serviettenknoedel (lit. napkin dumplings) which are actually a log made from stale bread, onions and herbs and traditionally wrapped in a napkin (hence the name), then either steamed or cooked. I find using foil for this a much more convenient way of making them - recipe below.

In any case, I have posted about the roast pork I have grown up with and made to this date before - today is the day to go the extra mile and give you a little tutorial on how to make it - sort of a Schweinsbraten 101.

Step 1:
A visit to your butcher's (mine's a bit camera-shy, so no picture). Ask for a cut from the shoulder (1.5 kg will serve about 6 people, with some meat left over to enjoy cold the next day, with some freshly grated horseradish root and a slice of rye bread), a nice chunk interlaced with streaks of fat which will disintegrate as it roasts and keep the meat wonderfully moist. I personally prefer a cut called "Schluss" which is from the hind leg (but I am not sure what this cut is called in English. It is part of No. 12 in this illustration, the shoulder would be No. 11). The important thing to remember is to get it with the skin on. I always ask my butcher to cut the skin for me, if they won't do it, make sure you get an old-fashioned razor-blade from somewhere (preferrably not second-hand) and cut through the tough layer of skin in a criss-cross fashion, taking care NOT to cut through the fat.

Step 2:
Studding the pork with garlic. Get some good music going as this step is a bit time-consuming. Believe me, you will reap the rewards later. Get 2 heads of garlic. Don't be stingy. Break up the bulb, peel the cloves and cut them into 2-3 mm sticks. Using a skewer, make incisions in the pork and stud with garlic all over, starting with the fat (I am normally the first one to put the fat to the side, but not when it is this tasty!), then moving on to the meat. The garlic studs should be about 1 cm apart.

Step 3:
Seasoning. Crush the remaining garlic sticks/cloves and rub it into the meat, on the top and into the sides. Don't leave out the fat. Generously (and I mean REALLY generously) season with ground coriander seeds, ground caraway seeds, pepper and fleur de sel. If you think you're using obscene amounts, add a little more and you'll have it just about right.

Step 4:
Preparing the crackling. Turn the pork over and take any garlic that has fallen off (or crush some more) and rub it into the crackling. Try and work it into the cuts as much as you can. Season as above.

Step 5:
Into the oven it goes. Place the pork, skin-side up, in an oven-proof dish with lid. Traditionally, we use a Dutch oven or Roemertopf (pre-soaked in water for at least 2 hours), but I have been using the same LeCreuset cast-iron casserole for the past decade and it's doing a great job! Add enough water to reach about half-way up the sides of the meat. Put the lid on an place in the cold oven.

Step 6:
The roasting.
Depending on how long I have got (and I usually aim for a 3-hour roast), I start at about 150C. Every hour, I will raise the temperature slightly, ending up at 220C when I take the lid off for the last hour. By all means, if you have more time, go for even slower roasting, starting at 100C maybe. Make sure you return to the oven every half hour or so to baste the meat (try to avoid the crackling, to make sure it will crisp up).

Step 7:
Preparing the sides. I usually opt for boiled potatoes and dumplings, more often than not bread dumplings wrapped in alufoil and cooked in simmering salt water for 30-40 minutes. The non-negotiable part is the Krautsalat, a warm salad of white cabbage with bacon bits, seasoned with the fat from frying the bacon and some apple cider vinegar. Recipes for both below.

And... if you're tempted to give this a try and tell us about it, there's still time to submit your entry!

Plum & cinnamon streusel cake

It's been a long time since I last made a traditional Austrian cake. If you want to know what's been keeping me all those years, I'll be very honest with you. I used to hate baking, primarily because I never was much of a sweet tooth, so I had never felt the urge to bake until quite recently. It's only since we moved to London that I discovered that end of the culinary spectrum - possibly because good pastries are hard to come by in this country. Sure, supermarkets and cafés offer muffins, cookies and deep-fried stuff galore, but proper home-made cakes are not all that easy to find. And although I love a good opera cake (bought, not home-made) as much as the next person, you can't beat a cake that really makes you feel at home. Like coming in after a long autumn walk in the woods, fingers and toes slowly thawing by the fireside, a pot of tea at arm's length... surely this calls for something like your Mum used to make much more than poncey patisserie. Right?
The other obstacle to baking Austrian things more frequently is that in a country that (deservedly) enjoys world fame for its patisserie and (inexplicably) coffee culture, most cakes are just impossible to recreate at home. Our way of baking is very far removed from the American (and I guess British) approach where you throw all ingredients into one bowl, mix them up with a fork, pour into a tin and hope for the best. No, that would be far too simple! To make a proper Austrian torte (think Dobos  Torte), you'll be killing your back standing in the kitchen for hours non-stop just to prepare fourteen pivotal ingredients to a cake, not to mention the fact that you'll run out of mixing bowls and whisks half-way through it!

On the other hand, we obviously have simpler fare as well, but I never even attempted to make any of that, because back home, they're so well known all around that a) they don't impress anybody and b) everybody has their own favourite version of a particular cake and instead of reaping compliments, the best you'll possibly get is a half-hearted "this is nice, but you know, my auntie soandso makes the best EVER (insert name of the cake that you just pain-stakingly made) and we've been trying to coax the recipe out of her for ages, but she took it to her gave". How can you possibly compete with that!

So it was only this week that I undertook my first attempt to make one of the most popular cakes known to the Austrian: the Zwetschkenfleck. It's a tray bake with plums, topped with cinnamon & almond streusel and the name sort of suggests already that this isn't considered haute cuisine... "Fleck" literally translates as "blotch" or "stain", although in Austrian dialect, it is commonly used to designate a scrap of cloth. A Zwetschkenfleck is an afterthought, something you make on the side when you've got too much fruit at home at harvest time and you can use all sorts of fruit, of course, the plums just being the most common.

I did not have a recipe for it, nor did I remember exactly how my Mum makes it. I think the traditional would be a sponge or shortcrust base, a generous spread of jam, topped with the fruit and then the streusel. I wanted to make the deluxe version of it, which is probably what you would find in most patisseries and coffee houses (including Paul's in Paris and London), with a base of pâte briochée, a layer of crème pâtissière, a layer of plums and a topping of cinnamon-laden streusel with almond slivers, half of which I naughtily gobbled up while I was assembling the cake. What can I say, since I brought the cake to a coffee morning where I could be sure not to encounter any Austrians or Germans, I felt quite confident with my first attempt at baking Zwetschkenfleck. And although it wasn't all that difficult to make, it was a sure hit with the ladies... whether they're easy to please or just glad someone could be bothered to actually bake something, I don't know. What I DO know is that I feel like I've done a big step towards my own reconciliation with Austrian baking ;-)

Salzburger Nockerl: a contribution to SHF#34

Time for a SUGAR HIGH! I've spent the last two months mulling over the many local and regional specialities that surround me - there was never a question that it would be something Austian I would contribute, but what to choose, what to choose?
Austria has a great tradition of desserts and pastry, of course, a culinary fortune ammassed through decades of pilfering other peoples' smorgasbords of sugar-laden treats. But it was not the strudels and dumplings of this world that intrigued me, nor the various cakes and tortes you can find up and down the country: Esterhazy, Dobos, Linzer... (for a brilliant insight into Viennese coffee house culture, treat yourself to Rick Rodgers' "Kaffeehaus", the best English recipe book on the matter that will have you drooling as you read. Hide your credit card as you browse, or you'll be booking a flight to Austria's capital after just a few pages!). I was more interested in the little gems that have become famous over decades and centuries, but not necessarily commercially exploited to the extent that you can buy them at every airport, supermarket and service station in the country (like Mozartkugeln, for example).
The array of local desserts, pastry and confectionary that I have come across is amazing. The stories behind some of them even more so - but I found that a lot of them had so much history that further investigation wouldn't go amiss. Several desserts can be found in various incarnations in different regions of Austria and they all have their local folklore or patina that needs to be unearthed... I have spoken to so many people on this summer's trip to Austria and it would seem that I could fill a whole book with tales and recipes for local specialities that are slowly getting lost because the corresponding tradition is no longer alive. One example is a bagel-type pastry which repenting sinners would get after confession before Easter in the North-Western parts of Upper Austria - but unearthing a recipe for it and finding all the stories surrounding it would take serious investigation which I didn't have time for.
Another problem was that some local specialities that I originally had in mind pertained to a particular patisserie or bakery and a recipe for it was not readily available: the biscuits we used to buy occasionally on our way to our weekend house in Gramastettn, the boozy prunes in chocolate sold at a patisserie established in 1559 (these I will make soon, I promise) or the OÖ Dessert, a more recent speciality, developed by a confectioner in Molln for a competition to find a dessert that embodies all that is Upper Austria... a wonderful creation, but despite all my pleas, neither the creator nor the guild would let me have the coveted recipe!
So I let Salzburg, our home for the past 5 weeks, be the inspiration for my SHF contribution: although this dessert has found its way on to menus up and down the country, Salzburger Nockerl are local to the Mozart capital. Rumour or rather local folklore has it that these fluffy mounts of egg whites are supposed to mimick the mountain-range (or rather hillside) surrounding the city: the Gaisberg, Mönchsberg and Nonnberg.

I had never made nor eaten this dessert before, so was relying on my trusted bible for Austrian cooking, Plachutta's "Die Gute Küche". It is incredibly quick to make and a very light and airy dessert perfect for any occasion. It shows all the cornerstones of a good soufflé, without the fear that it might not rise - the egg white mixture seasoned with lemon zest and vanilla is simply sat in an oven-proof dish (some recipes layer the bottom of the dish with cranberry or red-currant compote, some with a custard-type sauce) and, with the help of a spatula, mounted into something ressembling rock-formations: three of them, to be precise... could you name them again, without cheating? Good on you... now have another Nockerl!
(Pictures of Salzburger Nockerl courtesy of Jeanne who enjoyed them with me)

The round-up for this month's Sugar High Friday, brainchild of Jennifer, the Domestic Goddess, will be posted here on Friday, 31st August.

Chocolate & pecan dumplings with cinnamon nut crumbs

I am amazed at all the wonderful creations I am receiving from fellow foodbloggers out there for our fabulous "Waiter, there's something in my..." event, now in its 6th instalment, where the theme is DUMPLINGS, of course. Here is my own contribution and, so nobody could say I had an unfair advantage, being Austrian and all, I decided to leave my comfort zone a bit with dumplings I had not tried before. But to be frank, it's not like I make our traditional Austrian dishes every day and I certainly don't have years of daily practice of dumpling rolling anyway!
Years ago I saw a mouthwatering picture of "Nougatknödel" in some magazine and stuck it in my recipe folder - no suitable occasion ever presented itself for making it, so I just knew that they were the right thing for this event. I didn't follow the recipe, mainly because I haven't yet managed to get my hands on some Nougat here, which, confusingly, is not the chewy French nougat (de Montmélimar) or Spanish turrón, stuffed with nuts and/or dried fruit that we call "Turkish honey" back home... our "Nougat", sometimes called "Viennese nougat", is basically a more solid version of a noisette (hazenut and chocolate cream) filling and is just mouth-wateringly delicious if bought at the right source. Confiseries up and down the country will sell their own, home-made version of it in all its glorious creaminess.
I had to resort to making my own - of course, there are people who will just take a chocolate truffle or a Mozartkugel for a centre (heretics!), but I was intent to make my own - grind some nuts, melt some chocolate, how hard can it be? Well, it wasn't hard, but then it didn't taste like the real thing either. Never mind, the dumplings turned out great for what they were, not a noisette centre (in hind-sight I could have scooped and frozen Nutella, maybe, but then I am not a cheat, am I?), but a fluffy dough of curd/quark/ricotta and brioche crumbs with a molten centre of good quality dark chocolate and grated pecan nuts, and some brown sugar for extra sweetness. Cooked for a mere 15 minutes in gently simmering water, then rolled in a mixture of pecans, breadcrumbs and a tad cinnamon, they were a welcome comforting dessert on a cold and dreary evening in June. And while certain people were discussing whether dumplings were summery enough a theme, I can report that we even had the heating going yesterday... so never mind a summery theme, at least nobody could say it didn't fit the weather!

Other dumpling recipes on thepassionatecook:
Spinach dumplings with blue cheese sauce (Spinatknödel mit Kaesesauce) - August 2004
Bacon-stuffed dumplings with white cabbage salad (Speckknödel mit Krautsalat) - August 2004
Yeast dumplings with plum preserve and poppyseeds (Germknödel mit Powidl und Mohn) - June 2004
Threesome of curd dumplings with rhubarb-strawberry compote (Topfenknödel mit Erdbeer-Rhabarber-Kompott) - May 2005
Truffled bread dumplings with red cabbage (Semmelknödel mit Trüffel und Rotkraut) - October 2006
Meatball dumplings with sauerkraut (Hascheeknödel mit Sauerkraut) - January 2005

Purple/Pink asparagus with butter & parmesan

One of the best things about spring for me is white asparagus - probably because it's so elusive... here one minute, gone the next! It's the things that have a very limited season that I await with the most anticipation and if you've ever been to a market when the first bunches of white asparagus appear on the stalls and saw an otherwise inconspicuous woman jump up and down for joy, that would be me!
I have never understood people who don't like white asparagus, I have even heard certain (very well-regarded) food bloggers call them bland... which couldn't be further from the truth, if you are in the possession of any tastebuds whatsoever! Although I have to say, I have tasted white asparagus in France once and didn't think it was as good as what I know from back home, and you must never, ever, eat asparagus preserves, as their sliminess is hard to swallow and its subtle taste is completely drowned in the brine/vinegar or whatever is used to preserve them.
Fresh white asparagus grown in Central Europe is a different breed, though, call it the Ferrari of asparagus, if you must: it has the most fantastic subtle taste and so many different flavour nuances that are hard to describe. Its high water content makes for a very light texture, the taste is sweet and lightly nutty and can, especially towards the end of the season, show some signs of bitterness, but very delicately so, even less than chicoree -  and you can minimise even that by adding a piece of (white) bread to the boiling water.
The variety I bought at the Borough Market the other day was not actually pure white asparagus, but pink/purple asparagus (asparagi rosa di Mezzago) from Northern Italy - it is essentially white, but sports the cutest purplish-pink tips... and tastes just the same, if a bit more bitter, than my beloved pure-bred white. Contrary to green asparagus, which pretty much grows rampant in Europe, its white cousin is scarce here and is difficult to grow. The stalks stay white because they are not kissed by any sunlight, being sheltered by meticulously topping the soil up with compost or, in some regions, protective casing, to completely wrap the spears in darkness. It is one of the most sought-after vegetables, because of its delicate flavour and limited season, but maybe also due its dietetic merits: it is very low in calories (only 20 in 100 grams) and extremely rich in minerals and folic acid as well as vitamins (500 g contain your RDA of Vitamin C, for example). It also has great diuretic qualities, making it popular with anyone on a weight-loss mission.
I sometimes think of it as a truffle. Being so seasonal and labour-intensive to grow and harvest makes it difficult to get and thus quite expensive: Class I Super, as per EU regulations, must be between 12 and 26 mm thick, grown straight with a neat, closed tip, and average 22 cm in length. In Austria, we add another category, the "Solospargel+", which needs to be 25 - 30 mm thick and back in my student days went for an unhealthy 250 Schillings per kilo (the equivalent of £12 or $25, and let me just tell you that this was one eigth of my monthly allowance!) - but the extortionate prices didn't keep me from queuing for it at the break of dawn to get my hands on a bunch! You see, there's even a dedicated shop in Vienna (1060 Wien Linke Wienzeile 72, now open Wed. to Fri 9am - 6pm, Sat. from 8 am - 1pm), close to the best market in town, the Naschmarkt - it's only open during asparagus season, roughly from mid April to mid June, and sells just white asparagus. They supply exclusively the best restaurants in Austria and any surplus is sold off to gourmands willing and able to form an orderly queue for it in the wee hours of the morning... It's a cooperative of farmers coming in from the Marchfeld, the prime asparagus region, and they cut the stalks at the break of dawn to sell it within a few hours every Saturday. The top category goes very fast, so by mid-morning, you're only left with the thinner or broken stalks, classified as "soup asparagus". If you want the top of the crop, you have to be there bright and early, but believe me, it is sooo worth it!
Which brings me to the most important thing: how to enjoy it. The most popular ways to eat it, of course, are not necessarily the most health-conscious, off-setting any dietary benefits described above: sauce hollandaise is probably the most popular accompaniment, although I like mine best when it's smothered in melted butter and sprinkled with parmesan... try it wrapped in parma ham or in a basic white sauce with truffle shavings, or (a favourite with my parents) with buttered breadcrumbs, sometimes with just a hint of anchovy. Also a perennial favourite up and down the menus is asparagus velouté, closely followed by asparagus soufflé, and a variety of terrines.
Served with a simple hollandaise, asparagus is also one of the few things that table etiquette (at least where I come from) allows you to eat with your fingers - and therefore falls in the same category as other sensual food like lobster and mussels (and French fries ;-))... plus, it is often said to be an aphrodisiac as well. But before you run out to the shops in the hope to get some, bear in mind that it tends to cause flatulence and some very smelly winds at that!

For buying tips and serving suggestions, please click below to read the continuation of this post...

Green asparagus recipes on thepassionatecook:
Venison fillet on apple & asparagus "lasagne" (February 2007)
Asparagus risotto (May 2005)
Smoked haddock & asparagus open lasagne (August 2004)
Spicy spaghetti with asparagus & pancetta (May 2006)
Asparagus with poached egg and pecorino shavings (September 2005)

This is a submission to Meeta's Monthly Mingle (a day late, sorry! I really tried).

 

Waiter, there's something in my... goulash soup!

And so we kick-start the new year with a shiny, new foodblogging event: "Waiter, there's something in my..." is meant to be a virtual gathering, hosted alternately by Jeanne, the Cook Sister!, Andrew of spittoonextra and myself, where you're invited to contribute to a new theme once a month. We want to keep this as accessible and inclusive as humanly possible and will be exploring those foods that are bound to exist in any country around the globe, but will have their charming local twist.
This month's theme, organised by Andrew, is "Stews" and true to the character of this event, we're looking at anything that vaguely can pass as a stew, and it's this diversity that we enjoy where anything goes from an Irish Stew to a Boeuf Bourguignon to a seafood gumbo. The more you can bring in your own culinary heritage and the food of your childhood days, the better!
I have recently written about the Austrian Fiakergulasch, and alluded to the fact that in century-long culinary raids, we have stolen many a dish from countries that belonged to the the former Austro-Hungarian Empire, most notably the goulash (called "gulyas" in its country of origin).
Little does it matter whether it does form part of an incredible loot we now call our culinary heritage, it does feature prominently in our lives, even if only on certain occasions. Apart from being a favourite quick and tasty snack when you spend a day on the piste, Gulaschsuppe is most commonly consumed at wild and alcohol-laden New Year's parties where, in the wee hours, everybody is in dire need of something to fill their stomachs with, in an attempt to soak up the excessive amount of alcohol they've just downed and hoping to sober up a little. I can't remember going to any serious party where the host hadn't prepared a goulash soup, or, most likely, warmed a massive can of it on the stove - and any left-overs are perfect for the morning after. If you thought a Bloody Mary was the best hang-over cure, think again!
So, what's in my stew, then? All the traditional stuff: meat and vegetables (onions, potatoes) in good measure, a generous helping of dry spices (smoked Hungarian paprika, hand-harvested and -ground, no less, as well as ground caraway) and a cheeky addition of some smoked bacon... I really can't think of any dish that wouldn't benefit of a smoky rasher, can you? The meat I used was probably an over-kill, I only had fillet steak at hand - many would say it doesn't contain enough mean fat, but I can quite happily report that it was cooked to desired tenderness and very pleasant indeed.
As with many stews, this keeps really well in the fridge (about a week, I would think) and tastes even better every time you re-heat it... kind of handy at the moment, where keeping a pot of anything edible in the house is a good idea. Hopefully soon, there will be a few days ahead where we'll be glad not to have to run out of the house or order soggy pizza from some dodgy place round the corner.
And on that note, let me withdraw and have some contractions, if I may...
 

Fiakergulasch (Beef goulash)

Thanks for all of you who have expressed concerns over my sudden radio silence, there's nothing wrong, but I have been a very busy bee indeed! A catering I did with the help of the Cook Sister! on Friday kept me on my toes all week (700 pieces of canapés and other finger food take some preparation, not to speak of the shopping) and on Saturday, we had a lovely gathering of the UK-based foodbloggers at my house... details and hopefully links to many more delectable cookie recipes soon!
After all those truffles and cookies over the last few weeks, I felt I was in need for something more hearty, something low in sugar and fat, rich in sodium and alltogether very tasty.

Every nation in the world has its stew - and Austria's answer to Bœuf Bourguingnon must be the Gulasch. I have repeatedly said on this blog (and still feel no shame) that we Austrians are no more than common thieves when it comes to all things culinary. We steal like Winona, really! Truth be told, we have spent centuries pilfering the kitchens of those countries that then belonged to the Hungaro-Austrian Empire - and now like to take all the credit for all the delicious strudels, dumplings, cakes, even something as simple as the Wiener Schnitzel. And I always thought that we had stolen one of the most famous Viennese dishes: the goulash, known in the capital as the "Wiener Saftgulasch".
Not so, I hear (with a loud gasp coming from the Hungarian camp of my readers). They do have a dish called "gulyas" on the other side of the border as well, but it's a soup rather than a stew. That, we have stolen. We call it Gulaschsuppe (gulyas soup) and apart from selling it at every single chalet/inn in every single ski resort for a quick meal, it is also traditionally consumed as a midnight snack on New Year's Eve.
But the dish I am talking about here is different. It does have its origins in a Hungarian dish as well, it appears, a so-called "shepherds stew" ("gulyás hús"), but when it was brought to Vienna, it was altered enough to create a dish in its own right - which we call Gulasch and the Hungarians later imported back, but chose to call it "pörkölt" to avoid confusion.
As many other traditional Austrian dishes, I don't make this very often as it is quite time-consuming - less in its preparation than the cooking time. The reason may be that traditionally, you would use rather cheap cuts which needed a long time to tenderise and contained many thin layers of fat which needed to fully disintegrate in the cooking process. What I use here (UK supermarket shelves and even butchers are quite limited in offering cheap cuts, it seems like they cut out all they can possibly pass as fillet and feed the rest to the dogs - which would explain why good fillet goes for close to £50/kilo) is any cut with rather big muscle fibres, for example from the rump. By the time you serve it, the meat can be easily eaten without the need for a knife, as it'll have a lovely soft and tender texture. The sauce for the Gulasch is mainly onions (at a ratio of one part onion, one part meat) flavoured mainly with smoked paprika and it will have adopted a deep dark red, almost black, colour when it's done.
The variations on goulash are endless - there's a restaurant in Vienna which serves it in 15 different variations (incl. a chocolate one for dessert) the Gulaschmuseum. The varieties differ in the type of meat used, but mainly in what they're served with. Dumplings, spaetzle, pasta, potatoes... you name it, all have their place in one or another goulash recipe. The present one is a Fiakergulasch (Fiaker being the horse-drawn carriages which you still see around Vienna as rather old-fashioned taxis to this day) and this version really is the most typical for Vienna: served with potatoes andor bread dumplings, a Wiener sausage (that goes by the name of Frankfurter in Austria), a gherkin and a fried egg on top. The sausage is often cut into quarters on both ends, which makes them curl up in the frying process. We call these "crazy sausages"...
The good thing about all things goulash, no matter which recipe, is that it tastes even better the next day - this makes it perfect to prepare well ahead of festivities. Think about it when you fret over what to serve as a midnight feast on New Year's Eve or even as the ultimate hangover cure the next day... and I intend to have it on the 1st of January, even though I won't have been drinking!!!

Truffled bread dumplings and red cabbage

These recipes are long overdue... I served them with a delicious fillet of venison with portwine & orange sauce on a bed of porcini mushrooms not so long ago. I like the bread dumplings and the red cabbage not only because they're the perfect accompaniment for venison, but also because they can prepared well ahead, taking much of the strain out of a dinner invitation. And, of course, they're the quintessence of autumnal cuisine.
Bread dumplings are a very traditional Austrian food - any bakery across the country will use unsold white bread to produce and sell not onlybreadcrumbs, but also diced bread, perfect for this dish. You can, of course, easily make your own by using day-old, stale bread as well. The bread is mixed in with fried onions, herbs, eggs and milk, then rolled into individual dumplings (Semmelknödel) and steamed over a pot of water, or, as in this recipe, into a log which is rolled into a piece of cloth or aluminium foil and cooked in water (Serviettenknödel). They are great with sautéed wild mushrooms (chanterelle, porcini, girolles, etc), but also delicious just fried in a little bit of butter and enjoyed with an autumnal salad of fennel and spinach. To pep up the basic recipe, people like to add fried bacon bits... or, as on my visit to the Purzelbaum restaurant in Salzburg and in my recipe here, produce a more decadent version of it by adding fresh truffles.
Red cabbage, on the other hand, while being pretty much foreign to British menus, are a sine-qua-non on the culinary agenda of any Austrian restaurant during the autumn months. Be it to accompany various game dishes during the hunting season or the traditional goose in the month of November, red cabbage is the staple side dish everywhere and the preparation varies greatly as every establishment prouds itself of some secret recipe or other. I stuck to my bible of Austrian cooking, Plachutta's "Die Gute Küche"... you can see that this book has become my trusted friend over the years, as the outer shell is as battered as its inside is littered with splashes of sauce, cookie dough and greasy fingerprints - not a pretty sight, maybe, but indispensable in my kitchen on the rare occasions where I delve deep into my culinary heritage.
Plachutta's recipe may be time-consuming, macerating the shredded cabbage in orange juice for hours, but the result is worth every minute spent... and to be honest, I had so much other stuff to prepare day that I didn't mind a bowl of cabbage sitting around for a while. The cabbage was so incredibly fruity and yummy that I could have eaten it on its own. It would go very well with duck as well, I suppose, or any game bird for that matter - maybe try it with your Thanksgiving turkey this year... the bread dumplings would probably make good stuffing as well - who knows, this might be a better marriage of the Austrian and the American than the Schwarzenegger/Shriver connection!