
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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Styrian buckwheat crumbles toasted golden in butter, scattered with sugar, and eaten from a bowl with warm milk poured over. Farmhouse cooking at its most honest and good.
Ifirst tasted Heidensterz on one of those childhood trips to Austria with Gretel and my grandmother Eva. We'd driven south from Salzburg into Styria, green hills and pumpkin fields, and stopped at a Gasthaus where the menu was written on a chalkboard in dialect I could barely read. Gretel ordered for everyone. What arrived was a wide bowl of rough, dark crumbles with a jug of warm milk on the side. It looked like nothing. It tasted like toasted earth and butter and comfort. I remember Gretel tapping the table and saying, 'This is good Austrian home cooking. Not everything needs to be from Vienna.'
Sterz is one of the oldest dishes in the Austrian kitchen, and Heidensterz, made with buckwheat flour, is the Styrian version. Heiden is what they call buckwheat in the south, and the flour has a deep, almost smoky nuttiness that wheat can't touch. You toast it in butter until the kitchen smells like roasted hazelnuts, add boiling water, let it set, then break it apart with a fork into rough, uneven crumbles. More butter. A scatter of sugar. That's it.
The sweet version is served with warm milk poured over at the table, or alongside a bowl of Preiselbeeren or stewed fruit. It's the kind of dish that feeds a family for almost nothing and tastes like it cost the world. Austrians outside Styria sometimes don't even know it exists, which is a shame, because it belongs in the same conversation as Kaiserschmarrn and Griesnockerl. Mehlspeisen are the heart of Austrian cuisine, and Heidensterz is proof that the heart beats well beyond Vienna.
Sterz dishes predate Austria itself, rooted in the peasant cooking of the Alpine and sub-Alpine regions where grain porridges were daily sustenance. Buckwheat arrived in southern Austria from Central Asia via trade routes in the 15th century and thrived in Styria's cooler, wetter climate where wheat struggled. Heidensterz became a staple of Styrian farmhouse kitchens, eaten at breakfast, as a main meal, or as a sweet course. The word Sterz comes from the Middle High German for 'stump' or 'tail,' describing the way the cooked mass was originally turned out of the pot in a solid block before being broken apart.
Quantity
200g
Quantity
80g
divided
Quantity
250ml
boiling
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
Quantity
2 tablespoons, plus more for serving
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
for serving
Quantity
for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| buckwheat flour (Buchweizenmehl / Heidenmehl) | 200g |
| unsalted butterdivided | 80g |
| waterboiling | 250ml |
| fine salt | 1/2 teaspoon |
| granulated sugar | 2 tablespoons, plus more for serving |
| vanilla sugar (Vanillezucker) | 1 teaspoon |
| warm whole milk | for serving |
| Preiselbeeren or fruit compote (optional) | for serving |
Melt 40g of butter in a heavy pan over medium heat. When it foams and the foam begins to settle, add all the buckwheat flour at once. Stir constantly with a wooden spoon. You're toasting the flour in the fat, and this is where the flavor of the entire dish is built. Keep moving the flour through the butter for three to four minutes until it darkens a shade, smells deeply nutty, and the raw flour taste cooks out. Your nose will tell you when it's right. It should smell like roasted hazelnuts, not raw grain.
Dissolve the salt in 250ml of boiling water. Pull the pan slightly off the heat and pour the water into the toasted flour in a steady stream, stirring as you go. It will splutter and hiss. That's fine. Stir quickly until the liquid is absorbed and you have a thick, heavy mass clinging together in the pan. It won't look pretty. It shouldn't.
Reduce the heat to the lowest setting. Poke five or six holes into the surface of the mass with the handle of your wooden spoon. These vents let trapped moisture escape so the Sterz dries out and crumbles properly instead of staying gluey. Cover the pan with a tight lid and leave it alone for ten minutes. Don't stir. Don't peek. The bottom will form a golden crust and that's exactly what you want.
Remove the lid and take a fork in each hand. Break the mass apart into rough, irregular crumbles, scraping up the golden crust from the bottom as you go. The pieces should be uneven: some the size of a walnut, some like coarse breadcrumbs. This is not a dish that wants uniformity. The different sizes give you different textures in every bite, some crisp, some tender in the middle.
Add the remaining 40g of butter in pieces and toss the crumbles through the melting butter until every piece is coated and the smaller bits start to turn golden and crisp at the edges. Sprinkle the sugar and Vanillezucker over everything and toss again. Let it cook for another minute or two, just long enough for the sugar to catch slightly on the hot pan and give the crumbles a faint caramel edge. The kitchen will smell extraordinary.
Pile the crumbles into warm bowls. Bring a jug of warm milk to the table and let everyone pour their own. The milk softens the outer crumbles while the ones in the middle stay dry and toasty. Set out a bowl of Preiselbeeren or fruit compote alongside if you have it. Extra sugar on the table for anyone who wants it. Mahlzeit!
1 serving (about 220g)
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