Steirischer Backhendlsalat

The first time I tasted Steirisches Kürbiskernöl I was nine years old, sitting in a Buschenschank outside Graz with Gretel and my grandmother Eva. Gretel drizzled it over a plate of sliced tomatoes and white beans and told me to taste it. I remember the color before the flavor: so dark green it looked almost black, until you tilted the plate and it caught the light and turned garnet at the edges. Then the flavor, nutty and deep and completely unlike anything in my grandmother's Kent kitchen. I was hooked.

Backhendlsalat is Styria's answer to the question every good cook eventually asks: what happens when you put something crispy on top of something soft and dress the whole thing properly? The chicken is breaded and fried exactly like a Wiener Schnitzel, golden and wavy and shatteringly crisp. You slice it into thick strips while it's still hot and lay it over a bed of Vogerlsalat (lamb's lettuce, those tiny dark rosettes that taste like earth and pepper) and warm potatoes dressed in beef broth and vinegar. Then the Kernöl goes on. Not heated. Never heated. You drizzle it cold from the bottle in dark green ribbons and it pools in the folds of the lettuce and stains the potatoes and makes the whole plate smell like toasted pumpkin seeds.

This is a Gasthaus dish. You'll find it on every second menu in Styria and across most of Austria by now. It's substantial enough to be your whole dinner, and on a warm evening with a glass of Welschriesling, I can't think of many things I'd rather eat. The contrast is what makes it work: hot chicken, cool greens, warm potatoes, cold oil. Every bite is a little different from the last.