The sophistication of Topfenstrudel, a relatively simple timeless classic – ‘simple’ may be a misnomer, ‘seemingly easy to make’ would fit the description better – warrants reflection and deliberate thought. A curated collection of tasting notes on this cheesecake-to-end-all-cheesecakes could easily make a blog by itself – a side-by-side comparison, periodically updated and re-ranked, of flavours of Topfenstrudels and handmade variations on the theme. Sampled by multiple contributors deployed across former Habsburg-ruled Central Europe – from Northern Italy to Western Ukraine, from the Balkans to Southern Poland, and everything in between – hard at work eating their way through a list of pre-selected bakeries and delis, museum cafeterias and coffeehouses, bed & breakfasts and hotel lobby bars, mountaintop eateries and upscale restaurants.
For such an admittedly basic staple, Topfenstrudel is delicious beyond my ability to explain, and wins hands down in any comparison with the overly rich Sachertorte, the overly fruity Linzertorte, or its close relative the Apfelstrudel. Of all its Austrian siblings, only the Mohnstrudel, with its ground poppy seed filling, comes close – but only when procured from the right purveyors like Innsbruck’s famous Cafe Kroll. And if people continue to attribute it to the family of baklava, sfogliatele, or mille-feuille, they ought to at least recognize Topfenstrudel as their distant – and much refined, ennobled, and indeed perfected – relative. In fact, it is closer to tvorozhnaya zapekanka, a personal favorite since my pre-school age, and what I loosely define as the idea of a Topfenstrudel is still a benchmark other deserts try, and usually fail, to match. Raised on steady helpings of this regional staple, I had no idea this cheap surrogate of my childhood, peddled from my daycare kitchen counter by stone-faced, mean-spirited Soviet state apparatchiks of indefinite age, was so close to the original recipe so well preserved since late 1600’s. It is astounding how something so easily made can be so complex on the palate, and so satisfying – who needs all those overwrought and overdecorated creations by Michelin star pastry chefs, drowned in over-the-top sauces, colorful designer condiments, edible gold and whatnot?
The one at the casual but highly rated Hirlanda restaurant in a family-owned boutique hotel in Zurs, Austria managed to exceed all expectations, already elevated by recent experiences nearby. Just when it seemed impossible to top the meatier but more than palatable Topfenpalatschinken hours earlier at the nearby Guggis or the proprietary version of Topfenstrudel that inspired only superlatives when served at the same bed & breakfast a day earlier. With the first bite, ordered to put closure to our very tasty Hirlanda dinner with friends and family, my Guggis tasting quickly faded into background, along with any recollection of numerous food p@rn closeups of the strudel taken there at different angles. Gone were my long-cherished memories of classic Topfenstrudel by Cafe Sacher in Innsbruck’s Hofburg, images of its fluffy namesake by Cafe Sabarsky at New York’s Neue Galerie’s altogether dwarfed, crowded out by my real-time sensations Hirlanda managed to send, in one jolt, to stratospheric heights. I am talking about this conviction you sometimes get that any small deviation in the recipe, the mix of ingredients, or the preparation would only detract from rather than add to the taste and quality, a mathematically accurate definition of perfection. One that signals you should resist the temptation, reduce the size of the bites, and slow down – in order to prolong the sensation. But my surprise here went beyond the subtleties of its paper-thin dough worked to perfection, the intensity of vanilla and citrus flavors, or even the delicious awesomeness of the strudel’s cottage-cheese-and-sour-cherries filling.
Call me impressionable but in this one I found something even greater – a few surprising notes of orange peel and dark chocolate in the aftertaste of the strudel’s golden brown crust and in the firm layer just below the surface, a combination of flavors that is tough to beat even in isolation, let alone when packaged up with this succulent filling. One of these flavors must have been fake news, as I am pretty sure there was no chocolate in Hirlanda’s Topfenstrudel, and I have pictures to prove it. Was this unusual kick caused by a chemical reaction between vanilla, melted butter, and segregated egg whites folded into the cheese that colluded with the lemon peel and egg yolk flavors to produce such a runaway effect that really resonated on the palate? Was a splash of dark rum involved? A pinch of spice? Special process control settings in the kitchen? Or was it simply the lingering notes of Hirlanda’s elaborately prepared Chateaubriand steak – served with a side of vegetables just before and washed down with a superb Blaufrankish – that conditioned my tastebuds to react in such a special way? No way to know – but the good news is the same delightful confusion of refined aftertastes can be easily replicated if you precede your Topfenstrudel with an order of Chateaubriand for two and a glass of nice Austrian red. Don’t miss it!
