Knödelsalat

Knödelsalat is Franconian thrift at its cleanest: yesterday's Klöße, potato dumplings, sliced cold and dressed before anyone can pretend leftovers are a problem. It belongs after the Sunday roast, or on a warm weeknight with sausages, radishes, and rye bread. In Franconia they will call them Klöße, not Knödel, and they'll notice if you don't.

Bavaria is happier using Semmelknödel, bread dumplings, for a similar salad, sometimes with bacon. Franconia keeps this one on potato Klöße, vinegar, oil, onion, and herbs. The north has fewer dumplings on the table in the first place. Im Norden anders, im Süden anders.

The technique decides it: the dumplings must be fully cold, sliced thick enough to hold, and dressed in the right order. Vinegar, onion, salt, and a spoon of cold broth touch the potato first because bare starch drinks acid and seasoning. Oil comes after. Pour oil first and you've sealed the slices against the vinegar, then you get greasy cold potato.

Fold, don't stir. A Kloß is already cooked starch, and if you bully it, it breaks. Twenty minutes in the bowl is enough for the sharpness to settle; the chives go last so they stay green. Weggeworfen wird nichts. The cold dumpling gets a second table.