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Piped Viennese meringues in stars, kisses, and little mushrooms, dried to a whisper in a low oven and light enough to hang on the Christmas tree if they survive that long.
In my grandmother Eva's kitchen in Kent, December meant Windbäckerei. Gretel would arrive with her piping bags and a collection of nozzles she'd had for decades, and the two of them would spend an afternoon turning egg whites and sugar into things that looked like they belonged in a Konditorei window. Stars. Little mushrooms with cocoa-dusted caps. Pointed kisses that stood up straight on the baking tray. I was given the smallest piping bag and allowed to make blobs, which Gretel called "Busserln" to make me feel better about their shape.
Windbäckerei means "wind bakery," and the name tells you everything. These are almost nothing. Egg whites, sugar, a little Vanillezucker, and time in a low oven. They weigh practically nothing in your hand. They dissolve the moment they touch your tongue. Making them feels like a magic trick: you start with a bowl of transparent liquid and end up with crisp, snow-white shapes you can thread with ribbon and hang on a tree.
The technique is about patience and cleanliness. Any trace of fat in your bowl and the whites won't whip. Any rush with the sugar and the meringue weeps. But if you take your time, if you add the sugar slowly and pipe with a steady hand, you'll end up with something so beautiful and so simple that it reminds you what Mehlspeisen are really about. Not complication. Not showing off. Just understanding what a few ingredients can become when you treat them with care.
Meringue arrived in Austrian kitchens through the French and Italian culinary exchange that shaped Habsburg court cooking from the 17th century onward, though the Viennese made it entirely their own. Windbäckerei became a fixture of Austrian Advent traditions, with families piping elaborate shapes for the Christbaum alongside Vanillekipferl and Lebkuchen. The Viennese tradition of shaping meringues into mushrooms, complete with cocoa-dusted caps, likely dates to the 19th century Konditorei culture, where pastry chefs competed to create the most whimsical and technically precise holiday displays.
Quantity
4 large
at room temperature
Quantity
200g
Quantity
1 sachet (8g)
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
1 tablespoon
for dusting mushroom caps
Quantity
50g
melted, for assembling mushrooms
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| egg whitesat room temperature | 4 large |
| caster sugar (feinster Zucker) | 200g |
| vanilla sugar (Vanillezucker) | 1 sachet (8g) |
| lemon juice or white vinegar | 1 teaspoon |
| salt | pinch |
| cocoa powder (optional)for dusting mushroom caps | 1 tablespoon |
| dark chocolate (optional)melted, for assembling mushrooms | 50g |
Set your oven to 100°C (210°F). Line two baking trays with parchment paper. Fit your piping bags with whatever nozzles you like: a large star tip for rosettes, a plain round tip for mushroom caps and stems, a smaller star for tiny Busserln. Have everything ready before you start whipping, because once the meringue is made, it waits for nobody.
Put the egg whites in your clean bowl with the pinch of salt and the lemon juice. Beat on medium speed until they turn white and foamy, then increase to high until soft peaks form. The whites should hold a shape that curls over gently at the tip when you lift the whisk. This is your foundation. If you rush past this stage to start adding sugar, the whole structure suffers.
With the mixer still running on high, add the caster sugar one tablespoon at a time. Wait about fifteen seconds between each addition. This is where people lose patience and dump it all in at once, and that's exactly how you end up with meringue that weeps sticky syrup and won't hold its shape. The sugar needs time to dissolve into the protein structure. After all the caster sugar is incorporated, add the Vanillezucker and beat for another two minutes. The meringue should be thick, glossy, and stiff. When you pull the whisk out, the peak should stand straight up without drooping. Rub a little between your fingers. If it feels gritty, keep beating. The sugar isn't dissolved yet.
Fill your piping bag no more than half full. Twist the top closed and hold it with your dominant hand, guiding the tip with the other. For simple Busserln (kisses), hold the bag straight above the tray at a slight angle, squeeze a mound about three centimeters wide, then pull up sharply to leave a pointed peak. For rosettes, use a star tip and pipe in a tight spiral from the center outward. For mushroom caps, pipe small domes with a round tip, smoothing any peaks with a wet fingertip. For stems, pipe short upright columns about two centimeters tall. Leave a thumb's width between each shape. They won't spread, but they need air around them to dry evenly.
Place the trays in the oven and immediately prop the door open with a wooden spoon. This lets moisture escape, and that's the whole point of what you're doing. You're not baking these. You're drying them. Leave them for about two hours. Don't open the door to check every fifteen minutes. After two hours, turn the oven off and leave the meringues inside withthe door still propped until the oven is completely cool. They finish drying in the residual heat. A perfectly dried meringue lifts cleanly off the parchment. If it sticks, it needs more time.
If you've made mushroom caps and stems, use the tip of a small knife to carefully hollow a tiny indentation in the flat bottom of each cap. Dip the pointed end of a stem into melted dark chocolate and press it into the hollow. Hold it for a few seconds until the chocolate sets enough to hold. Once assembled, dust the caps lightly with cocoa powder through a fine sieve. They should look like little Steinpilze from the forest floor. These are the ones that make people stop and stare at your Keksteller.
Store the finished Windbäckerei in an airtight tin, layered between sheets of parchment paper. They keep for weeks this way, which makes them ideal for Advent baking. If you want to hang them on the Christmas tree, thread a thin ribbon through a needle and carefully pierce the base of each meringue before they go into the oven. The hole bakes in and holds the ribbon beautifully. Set a plate of them out with coffee in the afternoon, or pile them on the Keksteller alongside your Vanillekipferl and Lebkuchen. Mahlzeit!
1 serving (about 5g)
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