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Vienna's famous bittersweet chocolate Torte with a hidden layer of Marillenmarmelade sealed under a mirror-dark Schokoladeglasur, served with a cold spoonful of unsweetened Schlagobers on the side, never on top.
I've made Sachertorte more times than I can count, and the thing that still gets me is the glaze. You cook chocolate and sugar together until it coats a spoon in a clean, glossy sheet, then you pour it over the cake in one steady motion. You don't touch it. You don't spread it. You let gravity do the work. When it sets, you can see your reflection in it. That moment never gets old.
The cake itself is denser than most people expect if they've only had imitations. It's not a light sponge. It's a close-crumbed, bittersweet chocolate cake with a thin layer of apricot jam hiding inside. The jam is what makes it work. Without that sharp, fruity layer cutting through the chocolate, the whole thing would be too heavy, too one-note. With it, every bite has somewhere to go. Gretel always said the Marillenmarmelade was the secret that held the whole Torte together, and she didn't just mean structurally.
I learned to make this properly at GAFA in Vienna, on the Judenplatz. My instructor weighed the sugar to the gram and watched the glaze like a hawk. But the first time I understood what Sachertorte was supposed to taste like, I was eleven years old in a Kaffeehaus near the Graben, sitting between Gretel and my grandmother Eva. The slice arrived on a white plate. Cold Schlagobers on the side, not on top. A glass of water. A small fork. Gretel took one bite and said, "Good. They haven't ruined it." That was high praise from Gretel.
Serve it the Viennese way: a slice on a white plate, a generous spoonful of unsweetened whipped cream beside it. The cream is not decoration. It's the third flavor. Bittersweet chocolate, tart apricot, cold fresh cream. That balance is the whole point of Sachertorte, and it took the Viennese two centuries to perfect it.
Franz Sacher created the original Sachertorte in 1832 as a 16-year-old apprentice in Prince Metternich's kitchen, filling in for the head chef who had fallen ill. His son Eduard later brought the recipe to the Hotel Sacher, where it became Vienna's most famous culinary export. Demel, the rival Konditorei, claimed their version was the authentic one, and the two establishments fought it out in Austrian courts for seven years. Hotel Sacher won the exclusive right to the name "Original Sachertorte" in 1963. The difference between them comes down to where the apricot jam goes: Sacher puts it in a single layer under the glaze, Demel splits it into two layers inside the cake. Viennese people have opinions about this.
Quantity
150g
chopped
Quantity
150g
softened
Quantity
100g
Quantity
1 packet (8g)
Quantity
6 large
separated
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
100g
Quantity
140g
sifted
Quantity
200g
Quantity
200g
Quantity
200g
Quantity
125ml
Quantity
300ml
well chilled
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| dark chocolate (70% cocoa minimum)chopped | 150g |
| unsalted buttersoftened | 150g |
| Staubzucker (powdered sugar) | 100g |
| Vanillezucker (vanilla sugar) | 1 packet (8g) |
| eggsseparated | 6 large |
| salt | pinch |
| granulated sugar (for meringue) | 100g |
| plain floursifted | 140g |
| Marillenmarmelade (apricot jam) | 200g |
| dark chocolate (70% cocoa minimum, for Glasur) | 200g |
| granulated sugar (for Glasur) | 200g |
| water (for Glasur) | 125ml |
| heavy cream for Schlagoberswell chilled | 300ml |
Heat the oven to 170°C (340°F). Butter a 24cm springform tin generously, then dust it with flour and tap out the excess. Line the base with a round of baking parchment. Sachertorte has a tendency to stick, so don't skip any of this. Set the tin aside.
Chop the 150g of dark chocolate finely and melt it in a heatproof bowl set over a pot of barely simmering water. The bowl should not touch the water. Stir gently until smooth, then take it off the heat and let it cool to lukewarm. If you add hot chocolate to butter, the fat will split and you'll have a greasy mess instead of a batter. Patience here saves you later.
In a large bowl, beat the softened butter with the Staubzucker and Vanillezucker until pale, light, and fluffy. This takes a good three to four minutes with an electric mixer. You're beating air into the butter, which is the only leavening this cake gets aside from the egg whites. Don't rush it. When you press a finger into the mixture, it should feel like silk, not grit.
Beat in the egg yolks one at a time, mixing well after each addition. The batter should look glossy and smooth. Now pour in the lukewarm melted chocolate and fold it through until the color is uniform. It will turn the most beautiful deep brown. Resist the urge to keep stirring once it's combined. Overworking the batter makes the cake tough.
In a separate, spotlessly clean bowl, beat the egg whites with the pinch of salt until they hold soft peaks. Then add the 100g of granulated sugar gradually, a tablespoon at a time, beating continuously. Keep going until the meringue is glossy and holds firm, upright peaks when you lift the whisk. This is the structure of your cake. If the whites are under-whipped, the Torte will be dense and heavy. If they're over-whipped and dry, they'll break apart when you fold them in.
Sift the flour over the chocolate mixture and fold it in gently with a large spatula. Don't stir, fold. There's a difference. Stirring knocks the air out. Folding keeps it. The batter will be thick and heavy at this point. Now take a third of the whipped egg whites and stir them in firmly to lighten the mixture. This sacrificial third loosens the batter so the rest of the whites can survive. Fold the remaining whites in two additions, turning the bowl and cutting through the center with your spatula. Stop the moment you can't see any white streaks. A few small pockets of white are better than a deflated batter.
Pour the batter into the prepared tin and smooth the top gently with a spatula. Bake at 170°C for 50 to 55 minutes. The cake is done when a skewer inserted into the center comes out with just a few moist crumbs clinging to it. Not wet batter, not bone dry. A few crumbs. The top will have risen into a slight dome and may crack. That's normal. The glaze will hide everything. Let it cool in the tin for ten minutes, then release the springform and turn the cake out onto a wire rack. Let it cool completely. This takes at least an hour, and I mean completely. A warm cake will melt the jam layer and ruin the glaze.
Once the cake is completely cool, flip it upside down so the flat bottom becomes the top. You want a smooth surface for the glaze. If the dome is very pronounced, you can trim it level with a long serrated knife, but usually flipping is enough. Warm the Marillenmarmelade in a small saucepan until it's liquid, then push it through a sieve to remove any fruit pieces. You need it perfectly smooth. Using a pastry brush, spread a thin, even layer of the warm sieved jam over the top and sides of the cake. This layer does two things: it seals the crumb so crumbs don't float up into the glaze, and it gives the glaze something to grip. Let the jam set for about fifteen minutes until it feels tacky to the touch.
Combine the 200g of sugar and 125ml of water in a small, heavy saucepan. Stir over medium heat until the sugar dissolves completely, then stop stirring. Let it come to a boil and cook until it reaches 112°C on a sugar thermometer, or until a drop of syrup between your thumb and finger pulls into a short thread when you spread your fingers apart. This is the thread stage. Take the pan off the heat. Chop the 200g of dark chocolate finely and add it all at once to the hot syrup. Stir slowly with a wooden spoon, not a whisk, until the chocolate is completely melted and the glaze is thick, smooth, and glossy. You don't want air bubbles. If it looks grainy, return it to gentle heat and stir until it comes together. The glaze should coat the back of a spoon in a clean, opaque sheet.
Place the jam-coated cake on a wire rack set over a baking tray. This catches the excess glaze. The Glasur should be warm and pourable but not hot. If it's too hot, it will slide right off the cake. If it's too cool, it will set in thick ridges before it has time to smooth itself. You want it at about 35°C, the point where it flows slowly and thickly when you tilt the spoon. Pour it all over the top of the cake in one confident motion, starting at the center. Let it flow outward and down the sides on its own. You can use a palette knife dipped in hot water to guide it gently down any bare patches on the sides, but do not go back over the top. One pour. One chance. The beauty of the Glasur is that undisturbed, gravity-settled surface. Let the cake sit until the glaze sets firm, at least one hour at room temperature. Don't refrigerate it. Cold makes the glaze lose its shine.
Just before serving, whip the well-chilled cream until it holds soft, billowy peaks. Do not add sugar. Schlagobers for Sachertorte is always unsweetened. The sweetness comes from the cake and the glaze. The cream is there for its cool, fresh richness, and for the contrast. If you sweeten the cream, you throw off the balance that two hundred years of Viennese baking perfected.
Cut with a sharp knife dipped in hot water and wiped clean between slices. The glaze will crack neatly if your knife is warm. Place each slice on a white plate. Set a generous spoonful of the cold Schlagobers beside the slice. Beside it, not on top. This is not optional. It's not a suggestion. It's Sachertorte. Mahlzeit!
1 serving (about 155g)
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