Erdbeerknödel (Strawberry Dumplings)

Every June, the strawberries arrive at the Grünmarkt in Salzburg and I lose all sense of proportion. I buy too many. I always buy too many. But Erdbeerknödel are the reason. These are whole berries, each one wrapped in a soft blanket of Topfen dough, cooked gently in simmering water, then rolled through buttered breadcrumbs that crackle when you press your spoon through them. You cut one open at the table and there it is: a warm, intact strawberry surrounded by tender dough, releasing a little rush of juice and fragrance that makes everyone at the table stop talking for a second.

Gretel always said the fruit Knödel are the truest test of a Mehlspeisen cook. Not because the technique is difficult, but because there is nowhere to hide. The dough must be tender enough to yield to a spoon but strong enough to hold a whole piece of fruit through ten minutes of simmering. Too wet and it dissolves. Too dry and you're eating dumplings, not Knödel. The balance lives in the Topfen, and how well you drained it, and whether you had the restraint not to overwork the dough when every instinct told you to keep kneading.

In my grandmother Eva's kitchen, Gretel made Marillenknödel with apricots from the greengrocer in Deal. They weren't Wachau apricots, but she made them sing all the same. I make Erdbeerknödel with Salzburg strawberries in June and July, and I will not make them in February with pale, tasteless fruit flown in from somewhere warm. Austrian cooking is seasonal. That's part of what makes it honest. Wait for strawberries that smell like strawberries. Then make these. They're worth the wait.