
Chef Elsa
Esterházy Rostbraten
Braised beef steaks in a velvety sauce of julienned root vegetables, capers, mustard, and sour cream, the kind of dish that made the Esterházy name famous in kitchens long after it faded from politics.
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Styrian fried chicken, jointed and breaded in the Viennese way, fried golden in clarified butter, and served with a warm potato salad glistening with dark Styrian Kürbiskernöl that tastes like nothing else on earth.
The first time I tasted real Kürbiskernöl was on a childhood trip to Styria with Gretel and my grandmother Eva. We stopped at a Buschenschank, one of those farm taverns where the family grows everything and cooks what they grow, and the farmer's wife set down a plate of fried chicken with a bowl of warm potato salad so dark green it looked almost black. I remember Eva nudging Gretel. Gretel tasting the oil, closing her eyes, saying nothing for a moment. Then: "This is why we come back."
Steirisches Backhendl is Austria's fried chicken, and it has been Austria's fried chicken since long before anyone in America thought to bread a drumstick. The technique is the same one that makes Wiener Schnitzel great: flour, egg, breadcrumbs, and enough hot clarified butter that the coating never touches the bottom of the pan. The breading puffs and separates from the meat, creating that wavy, shattering crust that crackles when you bite through it. Underneath, the chicken stays juicy because the sealed coating holds everything in.
What makes this Styrian is what comes alongside. Warm potato salad dressed with beef broth, white wine vinegar, and a generous pour of Kürbiskernöl, the dark, nutty pumpkin seed oil that Styria has been pressing for centuries. The oil is so intensely flavored that a tablespoon changes a whole dish. It's thick, nearly black, and it tastes like toasted pumpkin seeds concentrated into liquid velvet. You can't substitute it. If you can't find it, make the potato salad with good olive oil and it will be lovely, but it won't be Styrian.
This is the kind of cooking I love most. Good ingredients, proper technique, no tricks. A chicken dinner that's been making Austrians happy for two hundred years, and it will make you happy too.
Backhendl was the signature dish of Vienna's Biedermeier period in the early 19th century, when it appeared on nearly every Gasthaus menu and became synonymous with comfortable bourgeois dining. The Styrian variation distinguishes itself through its pairing with Kürbiskernöl, pressed from the seeds of the hull-less Styrian pumpkin (Cucurbita pepo var. styriaca), a regional specialty protected by EU geographical indication since 1996. Backhendl's popularity predates American fried chicken traditions by decades, and the Viennese breading method, shared with Wiener Schnitzel, likely traces back to Milanese influences that traveled north through the Habsburg empire.
Quantity
1 (about 1.6 kg)
jointed into 8 pieces
Quantity
2
juiced
Quantity
to season
Quantity
150g
seasoned with salt and pepper
Quantity
3 large
beaten
Quantity
200g
Quantity
about 500g
for frying
Quantity
for serving
Quantity
750g
Quantity
1 small
finely diced
Quantity
150ml
Quantity
3 tablespoons
Quantity
2 tablespoons, plus extra for drizzling
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
to season
Quantity
for garnish
finely cut
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| whole chickenjointed into 8 pieces | 1 (about 1.6 kg) |
| lemonsjuiced | 2 |
| salt and black pepper | to season |
| plain flourseasoned with salt and pepper | 150g |
| eggsbeaten | 3 large |
| fine dry breadcrumbs (Semmelbrösel) | 200g |
| clarified butter or lardfor frying | about 500g |
| lemon wedges | for serving |
| waxy potatoes (Kipfler or Charlotte) | 750g |
| red onionfinely diced | 1 small |
| warm beef broth | 150ml |
| white wine vinegar | 3 tablespoons |
| Styrian pumpkin seed oil (Kürbiskernöl) | 2 tablespoons, plus extra for drizzling |
| neutral oil (sunflower or rapeseed) | 2 tablespoons |
| smooth mustard | 1 teaspoon |
| salt, pepper, and sugar | to season |
| fresh chivesfinely cut | for garnish |
Season the chicken pieces generously with salt and pepper, then squeeze the lemon juice over every piece, turning them so the juice gets into all the crevices. Let them sit for at least thirty minutes at room temperature, or up to two hours in the fridge. The lemon does two things: it tenderizes the meat gently, and it gives the finished chicken a brightness that cuts through the richness of the breading and the butter. Pat the pieces completely dry with kitchen paper before breading. Any moisture left on the surface will make the flour clump and the coating slide off in the pan.
Boil the potatoes whole and unpeeled in salted water until a knife slides in without resistance, about twenty to twenty-five minutes depending on size. Don't overcook them. A potato that falls apart can't hold a dressing. While they're still hot, peel them carefully (the skins slip off easily when warm) and slice them into rounds about half a centimeter thick. Spread them in a single layer on a wide plate so they can absorb the dressing evenly.
Whisk together the warm beef broth, white wine vinegar, neutral oil, mustard, a good pinch of salt, pepper, and the pinch of sugar. Pour this over the warm potato slices and toss gently. Let the salad sit for ten minutes while the potatoes absorb the liquid. Just before serving, drizzle the Kürbiskernöl over the top and scatter the chives. Don't stir the pumpkin seed oil through. You want it sitting on the surface in dark, glossy pools so it hits you with every bite. The diced red onion goes in now too, raw. It wants that sharp bite against the warm, soft potatoes.
Line up three wide, shallow bowls. Seasoned flour in the first. Beaten eggs in the second. Fine dry Semmelbrösel in the third. Semmelbrösel are Austrian dried bread rolls ground fine, and they fry up lighter and crispier than fresh breadcrumbs. If you can't find them, blitz stale white bread rolls in a food processor until very fine, then dry them out in a low oven. Take each chicken piece and coat it in flour first, shaking off the excess. Then dip it through the egg, letting the surplus drip off. Finally, press it into the breadcrumbs on all sides. Don't pack the crumbs on tight. Lay them on gently with your fingertips. A light, loose coating puffs up when it fries. A packed, tight one sits flat and dense.
Heat the clarified butter or lard in a deep, heavy pan or wide pot until it reaches about 160 to 170 degrees Celsius. You need enough fat that the chicken pieces float, at least three centimeters deep. This is the same principle as Wiener Schnitzel: if the chicken sits on the bottom of the pan, the coating on the underside will compress and go flat instead of puffing up golden and wavy. Lower the pieces in carefully, dark meat first since it takes longer. Don't crowd the pan. Fry in two batches if you need to. Cook for twelve to fifteen minutes, turning once halfway through, until the crust is deep gold all over and the juices run clear when you pierce the thickest part of a thigh.
Lift the chicken pieces out with tongs or a slotted spoon and set them on a wire rack over a tray. Not on kitchen paper. Paper traps moisture against the crust and softens it within minutes, undoing all your careful frying. A wire rack lets air circulate underneath. Let the pieces rest for three minutes. Season with a final pinch of flaky salt while the surface is still hot enough to hold it.
Pile the golden chicken pieces on a warm platter with lemon wedges tucked alongside. Bring the potato salad to the table in its own bowl so everyone can see that dark swirl of Kürbiskernöl on top. Let people help themselves. This is Gasthaus food, generous and unfussy. Squeeze lemon over your chicken at the table and eat it with your hands if you want. Nobody in Styria will judge you. Mahlzeit!
1 serving (about 460g)
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Chef Elsa
Braised beef steaks in a velvety sauce of julienned root vegetables, capers, mustard, and sour cream, the kind of dish that made the Esterházy name famous in kitchens long after it faded from politics.

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