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Austria's lighter, tangier answer to cheesecake, baked on a snapping Mürbteig base with fresh Topfen quark, lemon zest, and Vanillezucker. The cake Gretel and Eva made on a Tuesday because good quark deserved it.
Gretel always said that the difference between Topfentorte and what the rest of the world calls cheesecake comes down to one ingredient: Topfen. Fresh Austrian quark, soft and white, tangier than cream cheese and lighter by half. When I was small, watching her and my grandmother Eva bake in Kent, the Topfentorte was the cake that appeared most often. Not because it was special-occasion food, but because it was the kind of thing you made on a Tuesday when you had good quark and a few eggs and you wanted something beautiful without spending your whole afternoon on it.
The filling is barely sweet. That surprises people who've grown up on American cheesecake, which buries everything under sugar and cream cheese until all you taste is rich. Topfentorte wants you to taste the quark: its sourness, its freshness, the way it plays against lemon zest and Vanillezucker. The eggs get separated, the whites whipped stiff and folded in at the end, and this is the whole secret to the texture. Not dense. Not heavy. Something between a soufflé and a custard, set on a thin, buttery Mürbteig base that snaps clean when you press your fork through it.
I bake this at my restaurant in Salzburg year-round, but I love it most in late spring and summer when the quark from the local dairy is at its freshest. A thin slice, a cup of good coffee. No garnish, no sauce, maybe a little powdered sugar on top because the white against the golden surface looks right. This is good Austrian home cooking that also belongs in a Konditorei, and that's a rare thing.
Topfen has been central to Austrian baking for centuries, appearing in everything from Strudel fillings to Knödel to Torten. The Topfentorte as we know it developed in the Viennese Bürgerküche of the 19th century, where the abundance of fresh dairy from Alpine regions made quark-based cakes a staple of the home kitchen long before cheesecake became fashionable elsewhere. Unlike the New York cheesecake, which relies on cream cheese (an American invention from 1872), the Austrian version has always used fresh quark, producing a lighter cake with a clean, tangy finish that doesn't coat your mouth. Every region has its variation: Styrians might fold in ground pumpkin seeds, Tyrolean bakers sometimes add a splash of Obstler, and the Viennese insist on semolina rather than flour as the binder.
Quantity
200g
Quantity
80g
cold, cut into small cubes
Quantity
50g
Quantity
1
Quantity
zest of half a lemon
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
750g
well-drained
Quantity
120g
Quantity
1 packet (8g)
Quantity
4 large
separated
Quantity
zest of 1 lemon
Quantity
juice of half a lemon
Quantity
40g
Quantity
100g
Quantity
50g
melted and cooled
Quantity
50g
soaked in rum for at least one hour
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
for greasing pan
Quantity
for dusting
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| plain flour (for Mürbteig) | 200g |
| unsalted butter (for Mürbteig)cold, cut into small cubes | 80g |
| powdered sugar (Staubzucker) | 50g |
| egg yolk (for Mürbteig) | 1 |
| lemon zest (for Mürbteig) | zest of half a lemon |
| salt (for Mürbteig) | pinch |
| Topfen (quark, 20% fat)well-drained | 750g |
| granulated sugar | 120g |
| Vanillezucker | 1 packet (8g) |
| eggs (for filling)separated | 4 large |
| lemon zest (for filling) | zest of 1 lemon |
| lemon juice | juice of half a lemon |
| fine semolina (Grieß) | 40g |
| sour cream (Sauerrahm) | 100g |
| unsalted butter (for filling)melted and cooled | 50g |
| raisins (optional)soaked in rum for at least one hour | 50g |
| salt (for egg whites) | pinch |
| butter and flour | for greasing pan |
| powdered sugar | for dusting |
Tip the flour onto a clean work surface and scatter the cold butter cubes over it. Add the powdered sugar, egg yolk, lemon zest, and a pinch of salt. Work everything together quickly with your fingertips, pressing and rubbing the butter into the flour until the mixture looks like coarse sand, then bring it together into a smooth dough. You want cold hands and quick work here. The longer you handle it, the more the butter warms and the tougher your base will be. Shape the dough into a flat disc, wrap it in cling film, and refrigerate for thirty minutes.
Preheat your oven to 180°C (160°C fan). Butter a 26cm springform pan and dust it lightly with flour. Press the chilled dough evenly across the bottom of the pan. Use the heel of your hand and work from the center outward. You don't need to bring it up the sides, just a flat, even base about three to four millimeters thick. Prick it all over with a fork and bake for ten minutes, until it's set and just barely starting to turn golden at the edges. Pull it out. Turn the oven down to 160°C (140°C fan).
While the base par-bakes, beat the egg yolks with the granulated sugar and Vanillezucker until thick and pale, about three minutes with a hand mixer. You want the mixture to fall off the beaters in a slow, thick ribbon. Add the Topfen, sour cream, melted butter, lemon zest, and lemon juice. Beat until smooth and creamy. Stir in the semolina by hand. The semolina is your binder. It absorbs moisture from the quark as the cake bakes, giving the filling structure without making it stodgy the way flour would. If you're using rum-soaked raisins, fold them in now.
In a very clean bowl, beat the four egg whites with a pinch of salt until they hold stiff, glossy peaks. This is what makes Topfentorte light. Without the whipped whites, you'd have a dense quark cake. With them, you get something that rises and sets almost like a soufflé. Fold a third of the whites into the Topfen mixture first, stirring firmly to loosen it. Then fold in the remaining whites in two additions, gently, turning the bowl and cutting through the batter with a spatula. You'll still see a few white streaks. That's fine. Better a few streaks than a deflated filling.
Pour the filling over the par-baked base. It will be airy and voluminous. Smooth the top gently with a spatula, but don't press down or you'll lose the air you just folded in. Place the pan in the center of the oven at 160°C and bake for fifty to fifty-five minutes. The cake will puff up beautifully during baking. The top should turn a pale gold and feel set when you touch it lightly. A slight wobble in the center is correct. It will firm as it cools. Don't open the oven door for the first forty minutes. Temperature shocks make Topfentorte crack, and while a crack doesn't change the flavor, you've come this far and you deserve a beautiful finish.
When the baking time is up, turn the oven off. Prop the door open with a wooden spoon and let the cake cool inside for thirty minutes. This gradual cooling is not fussiness, it's physics. The filling is set by egg proteins, and if you pull it into a cold kitchen too fast, the sudden temperature drop causes it to shrink away from the edges and crack down the middle. After thirty minutes, move it to a wire rack and let it cool completely. The cake will sink slightly as it cools. Every Topfentorte does this. It's the soufflé-like whites settling back down and it means you did it right.
Run a thin knife around the inside of the springform and release the ring. Slide the Topfentorte onto a serving plate (or serve it on the springform base if you'd rather not risk moving it). Dust the top generously with powdered sugar just before serving. Serve at room temperature, not cold. Straight from the fridge, the filling tastes muted and the texture goes tight. Thirty minutes out of the fridge is all it needs. A thinslice, a fork, and a cup of strong coffee. Mahlzeit!
1 serving (about 155g)
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