
Chef Elsa
Anisbogen
Paper-thin anise wafers piped, dried overnight, baked pale gold, and bent over a rolling pin while still hot. Old-fashioned Austrian Weihnachtsbäckerei at its most elegant and rewarding.
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Flourless cinnamon-almond stars with a snow-white meringue cap, baked low and slow until the edges barely blush gold. The cookie tin that makes an Austrian Christmas smell right.
Gretel always said that Christmas baking in Austria wasn't one afternoon, it was a season. You started in late November, filled tin after tin, and by Advent the whole house smelled like cinnamon, almonds, and Vanillezucker. Zimtsterne were always first. They needed time to rest in the tin before they reached their best, so you made them early and let them wait.
I remember standing on my stool in my grandmother Eva's kitchen in Kent, pressing a star cutter into the dough while Gretel spread the white icing across the top with a palette knife, steady and quick, the way someone does when they've done it a thousand times. The trick, she told me, was patience with the icing and patience with the oven. Low heat. White tops. Golden edges. If the meringue turned brown you'd pushed too hard.
Zimtsterne are a flour-free cookie, which makes them one of the oldest recipes in the Alpine baking tradition. Ground almonds do all the structural work. The egg white meringue binds the dough and becomes the glossy cap on top. Cinnamon runs through everything. When you bite into one, the outside gives a gentle snap and the inside is soft and dense, almost like marzipan that someone taught to hold its shape. They're not crisp cookies. They're not soft cookies. They're something entirely their own.
The technique asks for a bit of care but no real difficulty. You whip the meringue, set some aside for icing, fold almonds and cinnamon into the rest, chill, roll, ice, cut, dry, bake. Every step has a reason. Once you understand why the dough needs to chill and why the icing needs to dry before the oven, the whole process makes sense and the cookies come out right.
Zimtsterne are documented in German-language cookbooks as far back as the 16th century, making them one of the oldest surviving Christmas cookie recipes in the Alpine tradition. Their origins are tied to the medieval spice trade through Venice and the Habsburg trade routes that brought cinnamon, then an extravagant luxury, to Austrian and South German kitchens. The almond-based, flourless construction suggests a connection to earlier Arabic and Mediterranean confections that entered European baking through these same routes. By the 18th century, Zimtsterne were firmly established as a Christmas staple across Austria, Bavaria, and Switzerland, baked in enormous batches and stored in painted tins through the Advent season.
Quantity
3 large
at room temperature
Quantity
250g
sifted
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
350g
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
zest of 1
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
for rolling
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| egg whitesat room temperature | 3 large |
| powdered sugar (Staubzucker)sifted | 250g |
| fresh lemon juice | 1 tablespoon |
| ground almonds (unblanched) | 350g |
| ground Ceylon cinnamon | 1 tablespoon |
| fine salt | pinch |
| unwaxed lemon | zest of 1 |
| Kirschwasser (cherry brandy) (optional) | 1 teaspoon |
| powdered sugar | for rolling |
Beat the egg whites in a spotlessly clean bowl with a pinch of salt until they hold soft peaks. Add the sifted powdered sugar a few tablespoons at a time, beating continuously until the meringue is thick, glossy, and holds stiff peaks when you lift the whisk. This takes a good five minutes with a hand mixer, a bit less with a stand mixer. The meringue should look like wet white satin. Add the lemon juice in the final thirty seconds of beating. It stabilizes the whites and keeps the icing from yellowing.
Scoop out about a third of the meringue, roughly 4 to 5 heaped tablespoons, and set it aside in a small bowl. Cover it tightly with cling film pressed directly against the surface so it doesn't crust over. This reserved portion is your Glasur, the icing that goes on top of each star. Don't skip this step and don't be stingy with the amount you set aside. Without enough icing, your Zimtsterne lose their whole identity.
Into the remaining meringue, fold the ground almonds, cinnamon, lemon zest, and the Kirschwasser if using. Work it together with a spatula or your hands until you have a soft, slightly sticky dough. It should hold together when pressed but feel damp and fragile. Don't knead it the way you'd knead bread dough. There's no gluten here, only almond and egg white holding things together. Treat it gently. Wrap the dough in cling film and refrigerate for at least forty-five minutes.
Dust your work surface generously with powdered sugar, not flour. Flour would compromise the gluten-free nature of these cookies, and besides, powdered sugar tastes better. Roll the chilled dough out to about seven millimeters thick. It should feel firm under the rolling pin but not crack at the edges. If it cracks, it's too cold. Let it sit for two minutes and try again. Using a small offset spatula or the back of a spoon, spread the reserved meringue icing in a thin, even layer across the entire surface of the rolled dough. You want it white and opaque but not thick. About two millimeters is right.
Dip a star-shaped cookie cutter (about 5cm) in hot water before each cut and shake off the excess. The hot water keeps the sticky meringue from clinging to the metal and dragging when you press down. Cut the stars as close together as you can. Transfer each one carefully to a lined baking sheet using a thin spatula. Gather the scraps, re-roll, chill for ten minutes if the dough has gone soft, ice again, and cut more stars. You'll get two or three rounds from the scraps before the dough gets tired.
Let the cut stars sit uncovered at room temperature for at least thirty minutes before baking. The surface of the meringue icing needs to form a dry skin. Touch it gently with your fingertip. If it feels tacky, give it more time. If it feels papery and set, you're ready. This drying step is what gives Zimtsterne their signature look: a matte white top that stays pristine while the edges of the cookie puff and brown around it.
Preheat your oven to 140°C (280°F). This is lower than you'd expect for cookies and that's the point. Zimtsterne need gentle heat. The icing must stay white. If your oven runs hot and the tops start yellowing, you've lost the visual contrast that makes these cookies what they are. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes. The meringue top should remain pale white while the edges of the cookie turn just barely golden. The cookies will feel soft when they come out. Don't panic. They firm up as they cool. If you bake them until they feel firm in the oven, they'll be dry as chalk by the time they reach the tin.
Let the cookies cool completely on the baking sheet before moving them. They're fragile while warm. Once cool, the outside should be gently crisp and the inside should be soft, moist, and chewy with almond and cinnamon. Store them in an airtight tin with a sheet of baking parchment between each layer. Zimtsterne actually improve after two or three days in the tin as the flavors deepen and the texture settles. They'll keep for three weeks stored properly, which is good, because you're going to want them around for the whole Advent season.
1 serving (about 18g)
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