Berliner Pfannkuchen

Berliner Pfannkuchen belong to winter's noisy table: Silvester, New Year's Eve, and the weeks of Karneval, Fasching, and Fastnacht before Lent. In Berlin and Brandenburg they're Pfannkuchen, full stop; ask for a Berliner there and you'll get a look. In the Rhineland and north they're Berliner, in Hesse Kreppel or Kräppel, in Bavaria and Austria Krapfen, and the filling starts arguments too: red jam in Berlin, apricot further south, rosehip in Franconia. Im Norden anders, im Süden anders.

At my stove the rule is simple: the last proof makes the pale ring. A round that has risen until light floats high in the fat, so its middle sits just above the surface and stays pale while the top and bottom cook gold. Underproof it and it sinks, drinks fat, and browns all over before the center is done. Overproof it and it wrinkles when you lift it. Das braucht seine Zeit, but not all day.

This is not packet fairground dough. The dough is milk, yeast, egg, butter, and flour; the filling is the larder doing its winter work, raspberry, redcurrant, apricot, or rosehip jam put up when the fruit had sense. Warm the jam and strain it, because a seed blocks the nozzle and then the kitchen hears about it.

Keep the fat steady at 170C and fry in small batches. Too hot gives you a dark shell and raw middle; too cool makes a greasy sponge. One pale stripe means it has fried right through. Schön ist, was schmeckt.