
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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Two Viennese shortcrust rounds wearing crisp meringue hats, pinched together with warm apricot jam. Three textures, three flavors, one perfect bite from the Austrian Christmas tin.
In my grandmother Eva's kitchen, the Christmas baking started in November and didn't stop until every tin was full. Gretel always said Weihnachtsbäckerei was serious business in Vienna, and she meant it. There were Vanillekipferln, Linzer Augen, Lebkuchen, and somewhere toward the end, when the kitchen was already dusted in flour and powdered sugar, the Zwickerbusserl would appear. They were the ones I always reached for first.
The name translates to something like "pinch kisses," and the construction is cleverer than most cookies dare to be. You make a proper Mürbteig, the fine, butter-rich shortcrust that is the backbone of Austrian biscuit baking. You cut it into neat rounds, pipe a little meringue hat on top of each one, and bake them together. When they come out and cool, you spread warm Marillenmarmelade on the flat side of one round, press the flat side of a second round against it, and suddenly you have this perfect small thing: meringue on top, meringue on the bottom, a belt of buttery pastry and sharp apricot jam holding it all together.
What makes them special is the three textures happening at once. The meringue is dry and crisp. The Mürbteig is sandy and tender. The jam is soft and tart. Your teeth go through all three in a single bite and nothing about it is accidental. This is Viennese Mehlspeisen thinking at its most precise: build the dessert so every component has a job,and don't add anything that doesn't earn its place.
Zwickerbusserl belong to the vast tradition of Weihnachtsbäckerei, the weeks-long Christmas baking season that Austrian households take as seriously as any religious observance. The practice of filling ornate biscuit tins with a dozen or more varieties traces back to at least the 18th century, when sugar became affordable enough for bourgeois Viennese kitchens. Meringue-topped biscuits like these reflect the strong French and Italian pastry influences absorbed through the Habsburg court, where Konditoren competed to produce ever more intricate small confections for aristocratic tables.
Quantity
300g
Quantity
200g
cold and cubed
Quantity
100g
sifted
Quantity
2 large
reserve whites for meringue
Quantity
1 packet (8g)
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
half
zested
Quantity
2 large
Quantity
120g
Quantity
150g
sieved
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| plain flour | 300g |
| unsalted buttercold and cubed | 200g |
| Staubzucker (powdered sugar)sifted | 100g |
| egg yolksreserve whites for meringue | 2 large |
| Vanillezucker (vanilla sugar) | 1 packet (8g) |
| fine salt | pinch |
| lemonzested | half |
| egg whites | 2 large |
| caster sugar | 120g |
| Marillenmarmelade (apricot jam)sieved | 150g |
Tip the flour onto a clean work surface and scatter the cold butter cubes over it. Using your fingertips or a pastry scraper, work the butter into the flour until the mixture looks like coarse breadcrumbs. Make a well in the center. Add the sifted powdered sugar, egg yolks, Vanillezucker, salt, and lemon zest. Bring everything together quickly with your hands, pressing and folding until you have a smooth dough. Do not knead it. The moment it comes together, stop. Mürbteig gets its name from the word mürbe, meaning tender and crumbly. If you overwork it, the butter melts from the heat of your hands and the whole thing turns tough.
Flatten the dough into a thick disc, wrap it in cling film, and refrigerate for at least one hour. The dough needs this rest. The butter has to firm up again or it will stick to everything when you roll it, and the gluten needs time to relax so the biscuits hold their shape in the oven instead of shrinking.
Preheat your oven to 170°C (340°F), conventional, not fan. Line two baking trays with parchment. Roll the chilled dough out on a lightly floured surface to about four millimeters thick. Cut rounds with a 5cm fluted cutter. You want 40 rounds, enough for 20 pairs. Gather the scraps gently, press them together, chill again briefly if needed, and cut more. Lay the rounds on the prepared trays with a little space between them. They won't spread much, but they need room for the meringue.
In a spotlessly clean bowl, whisk the egg whites until they hold soft peaks. Add the caster sugar one tablespoon at a time, whisking well after each addition. Keep going until the meringue is thick, glossy, and holds stiff peaks that don't droop when you lift the whisk. If you rush the sugar, the meringue will weep in the oven and pool around the base of the cookies. Patience here pays you back in clean, crisp little hats.
Fit a piping bag with a medium star tip and fill it with the meringue. Pipe a generous rosette or swirl onto each shortcrust round, starting from the center and spiraling outward. Leave a narrow border of bare dough at the edge, about two millimeters. The meringue will expand slightly as it bakes and you want it sitting neatly on top of the biscuit, not dripping over the side. Each little hat should be about two centimeters tall. Don't be stingy. The meringue is half the point.
Bake one tray at a time in the center of the oven for 12 to 15 minutes. You're watching for two things: the shortcrust should be pale gold at the edges, and the meringue should be dry to the touch and just barely turning the faintest ivory at the tips. If the meringue browns too much, your oven is too hot. Drop the temperature by ten degrees and give the next tray a minute less. Let the cookies cool completely on the tray. The meringue is fragile when warm and firms up as it cools.
Press the Marillenmarmelade through a fine sieve to remove any fruit pieces. You want a smooth, glossy spread. Warm it gently in a small saucepan over low heat until it loosens and flows easily from a spoon. Apricot jam is what Austrian bakers reach for when they need a filling that cuts through sweetness. The tartness of the Marillen balances the sugar in the meringue and the butter in the pastry. Nothing else works quite the same way.
Turn half the cookies upside down so the meringue points downward. Spread a thin, even layer of the warm apricot jam on the exposed flat base. Take a second cookie, meringue pointing up, and press the flat base gently against the jam-covered base. You're sandwiching two meringue-topped rounds together, flat side to flat side, with apricot jam as the glue. Press just firmly enough that the jam grabs hold. This is the pinch that gives them their name, the Zwicker. Each finished Busserl should have a meringue peak on top and a meringue peak on the bottom, with a thin golden seam of jam and shortcrust running through the middle.
Let the assembled Zwickerbusserl sit for at least an hour before packing or serving. The jam needs time to set fully and the flavors need to come together. After resting, the bite is perfect: crisp meringue giving way to tender, buttery shortcrust, then that bright shock of apricot in the middle. Mahlzeit!
1 serving (about 44g)
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