
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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Tender quark dumplings poached until they float, then rolled through butter-toasted breadcrumbs until golden all over. Mehlspeisen at their quietest and best.
Topfenknödel are the dish I make when I want to explain what Mehlspeisen really means. Not just "flour foods," which is the literal translation, but the whole world of Austrian dough and batter and pastry that sits at the center of this cuisine. Americans think dessert is the last course. Austrians think dessert is the point.
These Knödel are made from Topfen, the Austrian fresh curd cheese that's drier and more crumbly than the quark you find in most German supermarkets. Mixed with eggs, a little semolina, butter, and just enough sugar to know it's there. You roll them into balls, poach them in barely trembling water, then toss them through a pan of breadcrumbs that you've toasted in far too much butter. The crumbs cling and turn the outside golden and crunchy. The inside stays soft and cool and faintly tangy from the Topfen. A dusting of powdered sugar at the table. That's the whole thing.
In my grandmother Eva's kitchen in Kent, Gretel would make these on a Tuesday afternoon like it was nothing. No occasion required. She'd press the Topfen dry in a tea towel, mix the dough with her hands, and have them poaching within the hour. I remember thinking they looked plain sitting on the board before they went into the water, just pale little balls of nothing. Then the breadcrumbs happened and they became something completely different. That's the lesson of Topfenknödel: the simplest preparations demand the most from your ingredients. There's nowhere for bad Topfen to hide.
Topfenknödel belong to the vast family of Austrian Knödel, which absorbed influences from Bohemian dumpling traditions during the centuries of Habsburg rule. Topfen itself has been a staple of Alpine dairy cooking since the Middle Ages, appearing in everything from Strudel fillings to Palatschinken. The sweet Knödel tradition, where dumplings are served as a main course rather than a side, is distinctly Austrian and reflects the Mehlspeisen philosophy that flour-based dishes deserve the same respect as meat or fish.
Quantity
500g
well-drained
Quantity
2 large
Quantity
60g
Quantity
40g
softened
Quantity
30g
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
zest of half a lemon
Quantity
80g
Quantity
80g
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
for dusting
Quantity
for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| Topfen or quark (full-fat)well-drained | 500g |
| eggs | 2 large |
| fine semolina (Weizengrieß) | 60g |
| unsalted buttersoftened | 40g |
| granulated sugar (for dough) | 30g |
| vanilla sugar (Vanillezucker) | 1 teaspoon |
| salt | pinch |
| lemon zest | zest of half a lemon |
| fine dry breadcrumbs | 80g |
| unsalted butter (for breadcrumbs) | 80g |
| granulated sugar (for breadcrumbs) | 2 tablespoons |
| powdered sugar | for dusting |
| sour cream or warm fruit compote (optional) | for serving |
If your Topfen or quark feels at all wet, spoon it into a clean tea towel, gather the corners, and squeeze out the excess moisture over the sink. You want it as dry as you can get it. This is the single most important step in the entire recipe. Wet Topfen means a loose dough, and a loose dough means Knödel that fall apart in the water and break your heart. The pressed Topfen should hold its shape when you squeeze a handful.
Beat the softened butter with the sugar, Vanillezucker, salt, and lemon zest until light and creamy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating after each. Fold in the drained Topfen until just combined, then gently stir in the semolina. Stop mixing the moment everything comes together. You're not making bread. Overworking this dough toughens it, and Topfenknödel should be so tender they barely hold their shape on the spoon.
Cover the bowl and let the dough rest in the fridge for thirty minutes. The semolina needs this time to absorb the moisture from the Topfen and swell. If you skip the rest, your dough will be too soft to shape and you'll add more flour out of panic, which makes the Knödel dense and heavy. Patience here costs you nothing and earns you everything.
Wet your hands to prevent sticking. Scoop a generous tablespoon of dough and roll it gently between your palms into a ball about the size of a small apricot. Don't squeeze or compress. You're coaxing the dough into shape, not forcing it. Set each Knödel on a lightly floured board. You should get about twelve from this batch.
Bring a wide pot of lightly salted water to a gentle simmer. Not a boil. The surface should tremble, not roll. Slide the Knödel in carefully, a few at a time so they don't crowd. They'll sink to the bottom and then slowly float to the top after three to four minutes. Once they float, let them cook for another eight to ten minutes. They're done when they feel firm but still give slightly when you press one with a spoon. Pull one out and cut it open if you're unsure. Better to sacrifice one Knödel than serve twelve that are raw in the middle.
While the Knödel poach, melt the 80g butter in a wide pan over medium heat. When it foams, add the breadcrumbs and stir constantly. They go from pale to golden to burnt in about ninety seconds, so stay at the stove. When they turn an even golden brown and smell nutty and rich, sprinkle in the sugar and stir for another thirty seconds until it melts into the crumbs. Take the pan off the heat.
Lift the Knödel from the water with a slotted spoon and let them drain for a moment. Drop them into the pan of butter-toasted breadcrumbs and roll them gently until coated on all sides. The crumbs should cling in a golden, buttery crust. Plate three Knödel per person, dust with powdered sugar, and serve with a spoonful of sour cream or warm fruit compote on the side. Mahlzeit!
1 serving (about 250g)
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