
Chef Elsa
Apfelradeln
Thick apple rings in a light, eggy batter, fried golden in butter and oil, then buried under cinnamon sugar while they're still hot enough to melt it on contact.
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Pillowy steamed yeast dumplings hiding a heart of dark Powidl plum jam, split open at the table and drenched in melted butter, ground poppy seeds, and sugar. Austrian Mehlspeisen at its most comforting.
The first time I ate Germknödel the way they're meant to be eaten, I was twelve years old in a Gasthaus above Zell am See. Gretel had ordered for the table without looking at the menu. When the dumpling arrived it took up the whole plate: a pale, pillowy dome drowning in melted butter, buried under a dark snowdrift of ground poppy seeds and sugar. She split it open with a spoon and the Powidl, thick and nearly black, oozed out into the butter. I didn't say a word for ten minutes.
Germknödel is a yeast dumpling, steamed until it swells into something impossibly soft, with a hidden heart of Powidl (a concentrated plum jam so thick it barely moves when you tilt the spoon). The topping is melted butter, ground poppy seeds, and powdered sugar, and together they coat the warm dough in a way that tastes like nothing else in the Austrian kitchen. Austrians eat this after skiing, after hiking, after any day that deserves a reward. In my restaurant in Salzburg I put Germknödel on the menu every October and take it off in April. It's cold-weather food. It wants to warm you from the inside. And yes, in Austria this counts as a main course. Mehlspeisen are not afterthoughts here. A Germknödel with a green salad on the side is a perfectly respectable dinner, and half the ski huts in the Alps will back me up on that.
The technique is gentler than you'd expect. Yeast dough, a simple fill, a patient steam. If you've ever made bread, you can make Germknödel. The dough is soft and enriched with butter and egg yolk, so it handles beautifully once it's had its first rise. The only moment that asks for real attention is sealing the Powidl inside without leaving gaps. Take your time there. If the seal breaks during steaming, you lose the surprise at the table, and the surprise is the whole point.
Germ is the Austrian word for yeast, from the Latin germen meaning sprout. In Germany they say Hefe, and the difference in vocabulary is a small reminder that Austrian and German kitchens are not the same kitchen. Germknödel likely originated in Bohemian and Alpine peasant cooking, where steamed and boiled dumplings were everyday sustenance, not dessert. The Powidl filling connects the dish to the Czech tradition of thick, slowly cooked plum paste, one of many Bohemian influences that entered Austrian cuisine through centuries of shared Habsburg rule. Today Germknödel is practically synonymous with Austrian ski culture, served in mountain huts from Tyrol to Salzburg, though the dish predates the ski industry by at least two centuries.
Quantity
300g
Quantity
20g
Quantity
150ml
lukewarm
Quantity
40g
melted and cooled slightly
Quantity
1
Quantity
30g
Quantity
1 packet (8g)
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
1/2
zested
Quantity
150g
Quantity
1 teaspoon
for the filling
Quantity
80g
melted
Quantity
60g
Quantity
40g
Quantity
for the table
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| plain flour | 300g |
| fresh yeast | 20g |
| whole milklukewarm | 150ml |
| unsalted butter (for dough)melted and cooled slightly | 40g |
| egg yolk | 1 |
| caster sugar | 30g |
| Vanillezucker (vanilla sugar) | 1 packet (8g) |
| fine salt | pinch |
| lemonzested | 1/2 |
| Powidl (thick plum jam) | 150g |
| dark rum (optional)for the filling | 1 teaspoon |
| unsalted butter (for serving)melted | 80g |
| ground poppy seeds | 60g |
| powdered sugar (for topping) | 40g |
| powdered sugar (for dusting) | for the table |
Warm the milk until it's just lukewarm, no hotter than your inner wrist can stand comfortably. Crumble the fresh yeast into the milk, add a pinch of the sugar, and stir gently until dissolved. Let it sit for five minutes. When it turns foamy and smells yeasty, it's alive and ready. In a large bowl, combine the flour, the rest of the sugar, the Vanillezucker, salt, and lemon zest. Make a well in the center. Pour in the yeast mixture, the melted butter, and the egg yolk. Stir with a wooden spoon until it comes together into a shaggy mass, then turn it out onto a lightly floured surface and knead for eight to ten minutes. The dough should become smooth, soft, and just slightly tacky. It won't be stiff like bread dough. This is an enriched dough, closer to brioche, and it should feel alive under your hands.
Place the dough in a lightly oiled bowl, cover with a clean kitchen towel, and set it somewhere warm. Not hot, warm. The top of your oven while it's off, a sunny windowsill, next to (not on) a radiator. Let it rise for about one hour, until doubled in size. While you wait, prepare the filling. Measure out the Powidl and stir in the rum if you're using it. If your Powidl is loose or runny, cook it gently in a small pan for five minutes, stirring constantly, until it thickens enough to hold its shape on a spoon. Spoon six even portions onto a plate lined with cling film and put them in the freezer for fifteen minutes. Cold filling is much easier to wrap.
Punch the risen dough down gently and turn it out onto a lightly floured surface. Divide it into six equal pieces. A kitchen scale helps here because evenly sized dumplings steam evenly. Take one piece and flatten it into a circle about ten centimeters across, thicker in the middle and thinner at the edges. Place a portion of the chilled Powidl in the center. Now gather the edges up and over the filling, pinching them together firmly at the top. Roll the sealed dumpling gently between your palms to smooth out the seam. The seal has to hold. If it opens during steaming, the Powidl leaks out and you lose the moment at the table when the spoon breaks through and the jam comes flooding out. Set each dumpling seam-side down on a piece of lightly oiled parchment paper, about eight centimeters square.
Cover the shaped dumplings loosely with a kitchen towel and let them rest for fifteen to twenty minutes. They'll puff up slightly. This second rise is short but it matters. Without it, the dumplings will be dense instead of pillowy. The yeast needs one last push before the heat sets the structure. While the dumplings rest, bring a large pot of water to a simmer and prepare your steamer.
Place the dumplings on their parchment squares into your steamer basket, leaving at least three centimeters between them. They will swell dramatically during cooking. Set the basket over the pot of simmering water and cover with a tight-fitting lid. Steam for fifteen to eighteen minutes without lifting the lid. This is important. Every time you open the lid, you release the steam that's puffing the dough, and the dumplings can collapse. After fifteen minutes, check one by lifting the lid quickly. A done Germknödel is nearly twice its original size, with a dry, matte surface that springs back when you press it gently. If the surface still looks wet and sticky, give it two more minutes.
While the dumplings steam, melt the 80g of butter in a small pan over low heat until it's completely liquid and hot. In a small bowl, mix the ground poppy seeds with the 40g of powdered sugar. This is the Mohnzucker. Set both within arm's reach of your serving plates. Everything needs to come together quickly once the dumplings are done.
Peel the parchment from the bottom of each dumpling and place one on each warm plate. Pour the melted butter generously over the top, letting it pool around the base. Spoon the Mohnzucker (poppy seed sugar) over the buttered surface so it sticks and coats the dumpling in a dark, fragrant layer. Dust with a little extra powdered sugar if you like. Bring it to the table whole. The person eating it gets to split it open with a spoon and discover the Powidl inside. That moment, when the dark jam oozes into the melted butter, is what this whole dish is about. Mahlzeit!
1 serving (about 155g)
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