
Chef Elsa
Apfelkren
Freshly grated horseradish folded with tart apple and lemon, the cold, sharp sauce that belongs beside every plate of Tafelspitz in Vienna and has done for as long as anyone can remember.
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Vienna's cold chive sauce, built from soaked bread, hard-boiled egg yolks, and enough fresh Schnittlauch to turn the whole bowl green. Tafelspitz isn't complete without it.
Gretel always said you could judge a Viennese cook by three things: her broth, her Strudel, and her Schnittlauchsauce. Two of those take hours. This one takes twenty-five minutes, and there's still nowhere to hide. Every ingredient is plain. Bread, eggs, mustard, oil, chives. That's it. If your technique is right, you get a cold, silky emulsion with a sharp green bite that makes warm Tafelspitz sing. If your technique is off, you get a greasy puddle that tastes like regret.
I grew up watching Gretel make this sauce in my grandmother Eva's kitchen in Kent, always when there was boiled beef on the table. She'd soak stale bread in broth, mash the egg yolks by hand, and pour the oil in so slowly I thought she'd fallen asleep standing up. Then she'd pile in the chives, more than seemed reasonable, and taste it once. She almost never adjusted it. Decades of making the same sauce had put the proportions in her hands.
Schnittlauchsauce belongs to Tafelspitz the way the glass of water belongs to Viennese coffee. You can serve the beef without it, technically, but nobody in Vienna would. At my restaurant in Salzburg, the sauce goes out cold on its own small dish, next to Apfelkren (apple-horseradish sauce) and a spoonful of Preiselbeeren, and every plate comes back empty. The sauce is simple. That's what makes it good. Austrian cooking doesn't dress up honest food. It puts honest food on the table and trusts you to taste the difference.
Schnittlauchsauce is one of the three traditional cold sauces served alongside Tafelspitz in Viennese Bürgerliche Küche, the others being Apfelkren (apple-horseradish) and Semmelkren (bread-horseradish). The bread-based emulsion technique predates the widespread availability of commercial mayonnaise in Austrian kitchens, using soaked Semmeln and egg yolk to achieve a stable cold sauce without the risk of raw egg. Emperor Franz Josef was said to eat boiled beef every day at court, and the trio of cold sauces served alongside it became codified into the Viennese canon during the 19th century.
Quantity
2, about 100g total
crust removed, torn into pieces
Quantity
150ml
from the Tafelspitz pot
Quantity
3
yolks only
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
120ml
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
freshly ground, to taste
Quantity
1 large bunch, about 40g
finely cut
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| day-old Semmeln (Austrian bread rolls)crust removed, torn into pieces | 2, about 100g total |
| warm beef brothfrom the Tafelspitz pot | 150ml |
| hard-boiled eggsyolks only | 3 |
| Dijon mustard | 1 tablespoon |
| white wine vinegar | 1 tablespoon |
| neutral oil (sunflower or grapeseed) | 120ml |
| granulated sugar | 1 teaspoon |
| salt | to taste |
| white pepper | freshly ground, to taste |
| fresh chivesfinely cut | 1 large bunch, about 40g |
Remove the crusts from the Semmeln and tear the soft interior into rough pieces. Place them in a bowl and pour the warm beef broth over them. Let the bread soak for ten minutes until it's completely saturated and soft enough to mash with a fork. The bread is the body of this sauce. It gives the emulsion its weight and velvety texture without any cream or butter. If you don't have Semmeln, use any white bread with a tight, even crumb. Avoid anything with a sour tang or an open, airy structure.
Boil three eggs for ten to twelve minutes so the yolks are completely set and dry all the way through. Run them under cold water, peel, and separate the yolks from the whites. You only need the yolks here. They act as the emulsifier, binding the oil and broth together the same way a yolk holds a mayonnaise. Press the yolks through a fine sieve or mash them with a fork until they're smooth and crumbly with no lumps. Save the whites for something else, a salad, a garnish, a snack while you cook.
Squeeze excess broth from the soaked bread and place it in a deep bowl with the sieved egg yolks, mustard, vinegar, sugar, salt, and white pepper. Mash everything together with a fork until you have a thick, rough paste. Now add the oil in a thin, steady stream, whisking constantly. Work slowly. This is an emulsion, the same principle as mayonnaise, and if you pour the oil in too fast the sauce will break and go greasy. You'll feel the paste loosen and turn creamy as the oil incorporates. Once all the oil is in, the sauce should be smooth and thick enough to coat the back of a spoon.
Taste and correct the seasoning. The sauce should have a gentle tang from the vinegar and mustard, a whisper of sweetness from the sugar, and enough salt to carry the flavor. If it's too thick, add a splash more broth and whisk it in. You want a consistency that flows slowly off a spoon and pools on the plate beside the beef, not a stiff paste and not a thin dressing. White pepper is traditional here, not black. It keeps the sauce pale and clean-looking.
Cut the chives finely with a sharp knife. Don't chop them with a rocking motion or you'll bruise them and they'll turn dark and damp. Hold the bundle taut and slice through cleanly, straight across, into thin rings. Fold the chives into the sauce just before serving. The sauce should be more green than not. If you look at it and think that's too many chives, it's probably right. Austrians are not shy with the Schnittlauch. Serve cold or at room temperature alongside warm Tafelspitz. The temperature contrast is the point.
1 serving (about 80g)
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