One of my most profound regrets in recent months is visiting a naked spa after eating wiener schnitzel with sliced potatoes.
Really, salad ought to be taken before exposing oneself. But then Austria doesn’t really deal in salad alone. It is a country of mostly meat and carbohydrates.
I was in Sölden, making use of Tyrol’s closing ski season, when the runs are clearer and prices lower. It is summer now so I won’t dwell on my wintry activities.
The fact is, sitting in a naked spa next to a man who told me he was an arms dealer and a woman I strongly suspected of being a swinger came as a surprise. It was all quite embarrassing.
More so given the fact that I had eaten an enormous schnitzel before. I was staying at a hotel called Das Central for Wein am Berg, a bougie wine festival that sees hundreds descend on the Alpine town.
Much of the food was distinctly and purposefully Austrian. So too the wine: a lot of Pinot Blanc, a clean and crisp white wine found across central Europe and one that should be paid more consideration here in the UK. If you are still celebrating Labour’s victory and have a bit of cash in your pocket, try one made by Christian Tschida.
Back to schnitzel. It is a necessary enjoyment and I love it because – even if it remains an inappropriate pre-spa dish – it happens to be lighter than its breaded cutlet counterparts.
Most breaded and fried cutlets see the outer shell bound to the meat. A crust more than a billowing jacket; far thicker, heavier and denser whether cotoletta alla Milanese from Italy, Japanese tonkatsu, or a basic old French escalope.
Yet wiener schnitzel, born in Vienna, has its own form, its own magic. The veal is hammered to be thin, breaded and fried à la all other preparations but the crumb on the outside is thinner and lighter and it pillows and poufs into a crisp and bubbly shell, golden brown in colour and glistening softly in oil.
Much of the shell comes away from the meat and so cutting into it sees steam pour out – it is the steam that helps to cook the meat while allowing it to stay moist. The flavour is locked in and the veal remains tender and juicy. It is all unfathomably delicate. Probably why it works so well with rich, buttery potatoes.
How is this achieved? It is a process known in German as soufflieren – a term that reminds us of soufflé, another miraculously, unfathomably light dish. The airtight seal, I was told, is down to a combination of super-fine breadcrumbs, which don’t allow any holes to form but act as a single blanket, and in using extremely hot oil which is in constant motion, swirling over the entirety of the veal so that it cooks evenly and quickly.
This helps to encourage steam under the crumb and pushes the outer shell away. Ultra-thin meat is also required to aid fast cooking.
I was at Das Central for just three days but managed two schnitzels. Both were marvellous, and best enjoyed with Pinot Blanc because – simply and predictably – high mineral, chalky wine cuts through the fat. And I think it is by far the best variation. Any meat fried in breadcrumbs is welcome, but true wiener schnitzel is king.
It doesn’t need capers or sardines or a fried egg. Only a wedge of lemon for a citrusy spark is needed – and those potatoes cooked slowly in butter and sprinkled with parsley for a little freshness. Or a cucumber salad, fragrant with dill and plucky with vinegar.
And on reflection, best enjoyed fully clothed.
