
Chef Elsa
Dillfisolen
Tender Austrian green beans folded into a silky, dill-bright cream sauce built on a proper Einbrenn. The Gasthaus side dish that quietly steals the whole meal.
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Yesterday's boiled potatoes, coarsely grated and torn in a hot pan with too much butter until the edges go golden and crisp. Farmhouse cooking at its most honest, served straight from the skillet.
Every Austrian farmhouse kitchen knows what to do with leftover boiled potatoes. You grate them coarsely, drop them into a screaming hot pan with a generous amount of butter, and leave them alone until the bottom turns golden and crisp. Then you tear the whole thing apart with a spatula or two forks, the way you'd tear a Kaiserschmarrn, and let the fresh edges crisp up all over again. The result is a pan full of ragged potato pieces, some crunchy, some soft, all of them tasting like butter and salt and the kind of cooking that doesn't need a recipe so much as a good instinct.
Gretel always said that the best Austrian dishes came from not wanting to waste anything. Erdäpfelschmarrn is proof. You cook too many potatoes on Monday, and by Tuesday you have something better than what you started with. The cold potato grates differently than a raw one. It holds its shape in the pan instead of turning to mush, and the starch on the surface crisps in the butter the way a raw potato never could. This is why you must start with yesterday's potatoes, boiled and cooled overnight in the fridge. If you try to rush it with potatoes you just cooked and cooled for an hour, they'll be too wet and you'll end up with something closer to a Rösti than a Schmarrn.
I grew up eating this with a green salad dressed in pumpkin seed oil, which is the Styrian way, or with a fried egg slid on top, which is the way my grandmother Eva did it in Kent because she said a fried egg made anything into supper. At my restaurant in Salzburg, I serve it alongside braised meats or on its own with sour cream and chives for lunch. It's the kind of dish that belongs wherever you put it.
Schmarrn dishes, meaning torn or shredded preparations cooked in a pan, are rooted in Alpine peasant cooking across Austria's farming regions. The word itself comes from the Bavarian-Austrian dialect for something torn apart or muddled together. While Kaiserschmarrn got the imperial name and the Kaffeehaus glamour, Erdäpfelschmarrn (Erdäpfel being the Austrian word for potato, literally 'earth apple') stayed on the farmhouse table. It appears in regional cookbooks from Tyrol, Salzburg, and Upper Austria as Bauernschmarrn or Erdäpfelschmarrn, always made from leftover boiled potatoes, always fried in butter or Schmalz, and always served as a simple main course or hearty side.
Quantity
1 kg
boiled in skins the day before, refrigerated overnight
Quantity
60g
Quantity
substitute for half the butter
Quantity
1 medium
finely diced
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
pinch
lightly crushed
Quantity
2 tablespoons
roughly chopped
Quantity
1 tablespoon
finely cut
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| waxy potatoesboiled in skins the day before, refrigerated overnight | 1 kg |
| unsalted butter | 60g |
| Schmalz (rendered lard) (optional) | substitute for half the butter |
| onionfinely diced | 1 medium |
| salt | to taste |
| freshly ground black pepper | to taste |
| caraway seeds (optional)lightly crushed | pinch |
| fresh flat-leaf parsleyroughly chopped | 2 tablespoons |
| fresh chivesfinely cut | 1 tablespoon |
Peel the cold boiled potatoes. They should feel firm and slightly waxy, not crumbly. Grate them on the coarse side of a box grater into long, rough shreds. Don't press hard or try to make them uniform. Some pieces will be chunky, some will be fine. That's exactly what you want. The different sizes give you a mix of textures in the finished dish: crispy edges from the thin shreds, creamy centers from the larger chunks.
Melt about a third of the butter in a heavy pan over medium heat. A cast iron skillet is ideal here, at least 28cm across. You need the space. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until it turns soft and pale gold. This takes about four minutes. If you're using caraway seeds, add them now and let them toast in the butter with the onion for thirty seconds. The kitchen will tell you when they're ready. You'll smell them.
Add the grated potatoes to the pan and spread them out into an even layer. Season generously with salt and pepper. Now here's the discipline: don't touch them. Let the bottom layer sit on the hot surface for four to five minutes until a proper golden crust forms. You'll hear it crackling. If you start pushing the potatoes around out of nervousness, you'll never get that crust. The Maillard reaction needs contact with the hot pan, and every time you move the potatoes you're starting over. Walk away if you have to.
Add another third of the butter in small pieces around the edges of the pan. Using a spatula or two forks, break the potato cake into rough, irregular chunks. Flip the pieces so fresh surfaces face the hot pan. Press them down gently. Let them sit again for another three to four minutes to build a new layer of crust. The torn edges are where the magic happens. They catch the butter, they hit the heat, and they go crisp and golden while the insides stay soft.
Add the last of the butter. Tear the pieces apart one more time into smaller, more ragged shapes. Some will be the size of a walnut, some will be crumbs. That's perfect. Toss them gently in the pan and let them fry for two to three more minutes, turning once or twice, until you have a mix of deeply golden, crispy pieces and softer, buttery ones throughout. The whole pan should look beautifully uneven. Taste for salt.
Scatter the chopped parsley and chives over the top. Serve straight from the pan or piled onto a warm plate. In Austria, this comes to the table with a green salad dressed in vinaigrette or pumpkin seed oil, a spoonful of sour cream, or a fried egg set right on top. It's good Austrian home cooking. It doesn't need anything more than it already is. Mahlzeit!
1 serving (about 250g)
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