
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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Day-old bread filled with dark Powidl plum butter, soaked in vanilla custard, and fried in butter until the outside shatters and the filling turns warm and jammy. Austrian thrift at its most delicious.
In my grandmother Eva's kitchen in Kent, nothing was thrown away. Stale bread especially. If a loaf went past its best, that was not a problem. That was Pofesen night. Eva would spread thick, dark Powidl between two slices of yesterday's bread, press them together, soak them through in sweetened egg and milk, and fry them in butter until the kitchen smelled like a Viennese Gasthaus on a cold evening. Gretel always said the best Austrian cooking starts with what you have, not what you wish you had. Pofesen is proof.
Powidl is the ingredient that makes this dish sing. It's a thick, dark plum butter, cooked down until almost black, with a deep, tart sweetness that cheap jam can't replicate. Bohemian in origin, it became a staple of the Viennese kitchen centuries ago and never left. You spread it generously between two slices of bread, thick enough that when the sandwich hits the hot pan, the filling stays put and turns warm and soft without running everywhere. If you can find Powidl at a Central European grocery, use it. If not, a good thick prune butter (Lekvar) will carry you through.
What I love about Pofesen is the honesty of it. This is a dish that exists because someone had leftover bread and decided to make something wonderful out of it instead of letting it go to waste. The bread soaks up the custard, the outside fries to a crisp golden shell, and the Powidl inside goes warm and jammy. You dust the whole thing with cinnamon sugar and eat it with your hands or a fork, standing at the counter or sitting at the table. This is good Austrian home cooking, the kind that doesn't need a fancy plate or a special occasion. It just needs day-old bread and a cook who understands that simple food done well is the highest compliment you can pay your ingredients.
Pofesen takes its name from the Italian 'pavese,' pointing to the long Italian influence on Austrian cooking through the Habsburg empire. The dish belongs to Austria's deep tradition of Restlverwertung, the art of using up leftovers that runs through the entire cuisine, from Knödelbrot to Semmelschmarrn. Powidl itself arrived in Viennese kitchens from Bohemia (now the Czech Republic), another Habsburg territory, and became so central to the pastry tradition that the Viennese saying 'da hast dein Powidl' (there's your Powidl) means roughly 'that's your problem now,' proof that this plum butter was as common as trouble.
Quantity
8 slices
about 1cm thick
Quantity
150g
Quantity
3 large
Quantity
200ml
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
half
zested
Quantity
60g
for frying
Quantity
2 tablespoons
for dusting
Quantity
1 teaspoon
for dusting
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| day-old white bread (Weißbrot or Semmel)about 1cm thick | 8 slices |
| Powidl (thick plum butter) or prune Lekvar | 150g |
| eggs | 3 large |
| whole milk | 200ml |
| granulated sugar | 1 tablespoon |
| vanilla sugar (Vanillezucker) | 1 teaspoon |
| salt | pinch |
| lemonzested | half |
| unsalted butterfor frying | 60g |
| powdered sugarfor dusting | 2 tablespoons |
| ground cinnamonfor dusting | 1 teaspoon |
Lay out eight slices of bread on your work surface. Spread four of them generously with Powidl, about two tablespoons per slice. Go right to the edges. Stingy filling means dry corners, and nobody wants that. Press the remaining four slices on top to make sandwiches, pressing the edges gently so they hold together. The bread being a day old is actually what you want here. Fresh bread is too soft and falls apart when soaked. Stale bread has structure. It absorbs the custard without collapsing.
In a wide, shallow bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, sugar, Vanillezucker, a pinch of salt, and the lemon zest. Beat it until everything is smoothly combined and the sugar has dissolved. The lemon zest is quiet but important. It lifts the sweetness and keeps the custard from tasting flat. This is the same principle behind adding lemon to any sweet batter: a little acid wakes everything up.
Lay each Powidl sandwich into the custard and let it sit for about thirty seconds per side. You want the bread to drink up the egg mixture without turning to mush. It should feel heavy and saturated when you lift it, but still hold its shape. If the bread is properly stale, it will absorb the custard like a sponge and keep itself together. If it's too fresh, you'll know immediately because it will start to sag and tear.
Melt half the butter in a wide, heavy pan over medium heat. When it foams and the foam begins to subside, lay in two sandwiches. Don't crowd the pan. Fry for about two to three minutes per side, until deeply golden and crisp. The custard coating should set into a firm, caramelized shell. You'll hear a gentle sizzle, not a violent one. If the butter starts to brown too fast, drop the heat. Add more butter between batches. Each sandwich deserves its own fresh puddle of melted butter.
Transfer the fried Pofesen to a warm plate. Mix the powdered sugar and cinnamon together and dust each one generously while they're still hot. The sugar melts slightly into the warm surface and forms a sweet, fragrant crust. Cut them in half on the diagonal if you like, so the dark Powidl filling shows at the center. Serve right away. These don't wait. The outside should still be crackling when the fork goes in. Mahlzeit!
1 serving (about 190g)
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