
Chef Elsa
Kaiserschmarrn (Emperor's Torn Pancake)
A thick, golden pancake torn into rough pieces in a buttered pan, caramelised until the edges go sticky and sweet, dusted with sugar at the table alongside a bowl of warm, spiced plum compote.
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Ripe apricots hidden inside soft potato dough, boiled until they swell and give, then tumbled through golden buttered breadcrumbs and dusted with sugar, the kind of summer pudding that asks for nothing but a warm plate and a spoon.
There are two weeks in high summer when apricots smell the way apricots should. Not the pale, woolly sort that sit in supermarket trays all year, but the ones that come in briefly, flushed and fragrant, almost too soft to handle. In Austria, they call them Marillen, and if you're very lucky, they come from the Wachau valley, where the fruit is small and deep-flavoured and worth building a whole dish around. That window is the only time to make these.
Marillenknödel are not my tradition. I won't pretend otherwise. But I've eaten them in a kitchen in Salzburg on a warm evening when the windows were open and someone put a plate of these in front of me, dusted with sugar and still faintly steaming, and I understood immediately why Austrians speak of this dish the way they do. It sits at the heart of Mehlspeisen, the sweet dishes that are taken seriously in Vienna and the countryside alike, treated not as an afterthought but as the point of the meal.
The dough is made from potatoes, which sounds odd until you work with it. It's soft, yielding, slightly elastic. Each apricot is stoned and given a sugar cube in place of the pit, then wrapped in dough and lowered into simmering water. They bob to the surface when they're ready. The breadcrumbs, toasted in butter with a little Vanillezucker until they smell of hazelnuts and warmth, are the finishing act. You roll the dumplings through them while they're still hot, and the crumbs cling to the dough like a second skin.
This is simple food done well. The kind of cooking where the ingredient does the talking and your job is to not get in its way. Right food, right evening.
Quantity
500g
unpeeled
Quantity
150g
griffiges Mehl if available
Quantity
1
Quantity
30g
softened, for the dough
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
8
Wachau Marillen if available
Quantity
8
Quantity
100g
Quantity
80g
for the breadcrumbs
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
for dusting
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| floury potatoesunpeeled | 500g |
| plain flourgriffiges Mehl if available | 150g |
| egg yolk | 1 |
| unsalted buttersoftened, for the dough | 30g |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
| ripe apricotsWachau Marillen if available | 8 |
| sugar cubes | 8 |
| fine white breadcrumbs (Semmelbrösel) | 100g |
| unsalted butterfor the breadcrumbs | 80g |
| Vanillezucker (vanilla sugar) | 1 tablespoon |
| icing sugar (Staubzucker) | for dusting |
Put the potatoes, whole and unpeeled, into a large pan of cold salted water. Bring to a gentle boil and cook until a knife slides through without resistance, twenty to twenty-five minutes depending on size. Drain and let them sit for a few minutes until cool enough to handle, then peel while still warm. Pass them through a potato ricer or push them through a fine sieve onto a clean work surface. Spread them out and let the steam escape. This matters. Wet potatoes make sticky dough, and sticky dough makes sad dumplings.
Once the potato has cooled to just warm, add the flour, egg yolk, softened butter, and salt. Work it together gently with your hands until you have a smooth, pliable dough. It should be soft but not tacky. If it sticks to your palms, dust with a little more flour, but add it sparingly. Too much flour and the dumplings turn heavy. You're looking for something that feels like a well-behaved bread dough, willing to be shaped without fighting back.
Split each apricot along its natural seam and ease the stone out. Don't cut them fully in half. You want them to open like a book, just enough to remove the stone and slip a sugar cube inside. Close them up again. The sugar will melt into the fruit as the dumplings cook, creating a pocket of warm, syrupy juice inside. This is the hidden heart of the dish.
Dust your work surface lightly with flour. Divide the dough into eight equal pieces. Flatten each piece in your palm into a round about half a centimetre thick, large enough to comfortably enclose an apricot. Place an apricot in the centre, sugar cube tucked inside, then draw the dough up and around it, pinching the seams closed. Roll gently between your palms to smooth the surface. The dough should cover the fruit completely with no thin spots or gaps. Set each one on a lightly floured board as you go.
Bring a wide, deep pan of lightly salted water to a gentle simmer. Not a rolling boil. Aggressive water breaks dumplings apart. Lower them in carefully, a few at a time so they aren't crowded, and let them cook at a steady, quiet simmer. They'll sink at first, then gradually rise to the surface. Once they float, give them another three to four minutes. Fifteen minutes total is about right. Lift them out with a slotted spoon and let them drain briefly.
While the dumplings cook, melt the butter in a wide frying pan over a medium heat. When it foams, add the breadcrumbs and the Vanillezucker. Stir constantly. The crumbs will absorb the butter and then gradually begin to colour, turning from pale to biscuit to a warm, toasty gold. This takes five or six minutes of steady attention. Trust your nose. When they smell of toasted nuts and vanilla, they're done. Take them off the heat immediately. The line between golden and burnt is thin and unforgiving.
Toss the warm dumplings into the buttered breadcrumbs, turning them until they're coated on all sides. The crumbs will cling to the damp surface of the dough, forming a golden, crisp shell. Transfer to warm plates, two per person. Dust generously with icing sugar. Serve straight away, while the steam still rises and the apricot inside is molten and sweet. There are few better feelings than putting a warm plate of these in front of someone on a summer evening.
1 serving (about 300g)
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