
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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Thin, golden Palatschinken rolled around warm Marillenmarmelade and dusted with powdered sugar at the table, the way Viennese grandmothers have been making Tuesday night feel special for generations.
In my grandmother Eva's kitchen in Kent, Palatschinken were the first thing Gretel trusted me to make on my own. I was maybe eight. The batter is forgiving, she told me, and the pan does most of the work. She was right. I burned the first one, ate it standing at the stove with jam on my chin, and the second one came out golden. That's the thing about Palatschinken. They reward you almost immediately.
Don't call them crepes. I know they look similar. The batter is close. But Palatschinken belong to a different tradition, one that came to Vienna through Hungary and Bohemia and became the foundation of an entire family of Austrian desserts. Fill them with Topfen and bake them and you have Topfenpalatschinken. Layer them with chocolate cream and you have Palatschinkentorte. But the simplest and, I think, the most honest version is this one: warm Marillenmarmelade, a generous roll, a snowfall of powdered sugar. That's it. That's dinner if you want it to be, because in Austria, Mehlspeisen are not an afterthought. They are a meal.
The batter needs to rest. Twenty minutes, minimum. The flour has to absorb the liquid fully or your first Palatschinke will be grainy and thick when it should be silky and thin. Use that time to warm your jam, set the table, pour yourself a glass of wine. When you come back to the bowl, the batter will have changed. It will pour like cream and coat the pan in one smooth turn of the wrist. You'll know it when you feel it.
The word Palatschinken comes from the Romanian plăcintă by way of Hungarian palacsinta, tracing a clear path through the Habsburg empire's eastern provinces into the Viennese kitchen. By the 19th century, Palatschinken had become one of the pillars of Viennese Mehlspeisen, appearing in dozens of variations across cookbooks and Kaffeehaus menus. Katharina Prato's foundational 1858 cookbook 'Die Süddeutsche Küche' lists over a dozen fillings, from apricot jam to ground walnuts to curd cheese, confirming that even then this was a dish with a family tree, not a single recipe.
Quantity
150g
Quantity
2 large
Quantity
250ml
Quantity
50ml
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
for frying
Quantity
200g
Quantity
for dusting
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| plain flour | 150g |
| eggs | 2 large |
| whole milk | 250ml |
| sparkling mineral water | 50ml |
| granulated sugar | 1 tablespoon |
| vanilla sugar (Vanillezucker) | 1 teaspoon |
| salt | pinch |
| unsalted butter | for frying |
| Marillenmarmelade (apricot jam) | 200g |
| powdered sugar | for dusting |
Whisk the eggs and sugar together in a bowl until the sugar dissolves. Add the milk and sparkling water, then sift in the flour gradually, whisking as you go. Add the Vanillezucker and the pinch of salt. Whisk until completely smooth. The batter should be thin, about the consistency of pouring cream. If it feels thick, add a splash more milk. Don't worry about getting it exact. You'll know after the first Palatschinke whether you need to thin it.
Cover the bowl and let the batter rest for at least twenty minutes at room temperature. This is not a suggestion. The flour needs time to fully absorb the liquid and the gluten needs to relax. A rested batter spreads evenly and produces Palatschinken that are silky and thin. An unrested batter gives you something thick and grainy that tears when you try to roll it.
While the batter rests, warm the apricot jam gently in a small saucepan over low heat, stirring occasionally. You want it loose enough to spread easily but not bubbling. If your jam has large pieces of fruit, break them up with a spoon. The jam should coat the back of a Palatschinke smoothly, not sit on it in lumps.
Heat a 24cm non-stick pan or well-seasoned crepe pan over medium heat. Add a small knob of butter and swirl it until it coats the surface. Lift the pan off the heat, pour in a small ladleful of batter, and immediately tilt and rotate the pan so the batter runs across the entire base in a thin, even layer. Put it back on the heat. Cook until the edges begin to lift and turn golden, about sixty to ninety seconds. Slide a thin spatula under the Palatschinke and flip it. Cook the second side for thirty seconds more. The first side should be evenly golden. The second side will be spotted and paler. That's correct. The golden side faces out when you roll.
Lay each finished Palatschinke golden side down on a plate. Spread a generous spoonful of warm Marillenmarmelade across the surface, leaving a small border at the edges. Roll it up tightly from one side. Don't fold it like an envelope. A Palatschinke with Marmelade is rolled, not wrapped. The jam should peek out from the ends. Line up the finished rolls on a warm serving plate, seam side down.
Dust the rolled Palatschinken generously with powdered sugar at the table. Use a fine sieve and be liberal. The sugar should settle across the plate like a first snow. Serve immediately while the jam is still warm inside. No sauce, no cream, no garnish. The apricot jam and the thin, buttery pancake are the whole story. Mahlzeit!
1 serving (about 185g)
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