Matters of Taste

Molveno - The Most Fabulous Town You've Never Heard Of

A couple of weeks ago in Italy my husband and I experienced the travel equivalent of winning the SuperLotto. 

After an hour of driving mountain roads that looked like the Christmas “ribbon candy” of the ‘50s, we rounded a hairpin turn and looked down upon the most beautiful lake town we have ever seen. All the usual superlatives simply do not do Molveno justice.  Stunning, magical, breathtaking, awesome –-- Molveno, in northernmost Italy’s Trentino region, is all that and more. The narrow, eight-mile-around lake is brilliant blue, sparkles in the sunlight, and is so clean I could count every single stone in the water, even at the edge where families were swimming and playing in paddle boats.

                          

Dense forest drops straight down to water’s edge, leaving no room for a road except in the tiny town on the northern tip. There, immaculately painted homes and hotels dot the steep hillside, and a large, lush town park is home to a kiddie fun zone, an Olympic swimming pool, tennis courts and assorted cafes. Looming over the town are the Brenta Dolomites, a cluster of towering carbonate spires that top out at about 10,500 feet. (They are called Dolomites because they are of the same rock type as the principal Dolomites range on the other side of the Adige River.)

                           

Discovering Molveno (photo by NBCNews) was the most serendipitous of adventures. We were en route from the “real” Dolomites on the Austria-Italy border, heading south to Venice to catch a plane home. I had scoured maps and the Internet to find an interesting town somewhere between the two points, where we could spend a couple of nights and get to the airport in time for a late-morning flight.

I chose the town because of the lake and the multiple hiking trails shown on maps of the surrounding mountains. But nothing on the Internet prepared us for magnificence of Molveno.

At the Hotel Alle Dolomiti (which I found on the Internet), we had a large, attractive room with a balcony overlooking the town park and the lake. We paid about $170 a night for the room with breakfast and four-course dinner (plus free parking and Wi-Fi). 

We were expecting a good but not great dinner when we arrived in the elegant dining room the first night, and were totally blown away by the exceptional pasta dishes. So fabulous was my homemade orrechiette with “creamy broccoli” sauce, perked up with red pepper flakes, that I ordered pasta dishes as primi AND secondi the next night. The Spaghetti “Vegetarian Carbonara” with egg yolk and strips of sautéed zucchini was terrific. Ditto the gossamer pasta roll filled with well-seasoned minced vegetables. Delicate ravioli (pictured here) and fine tagliolini with pesto, green beans and potatoes are also specialties of the house.

                                   

The hotel owner, Renato Sartori, is the chef. During busy summer months, he is joined by chef Bruno Stofella who seems to be a pretty big deal in Italy and has travelled to the U.S . to share his skills as well. The Alle Dolomiti sponsors Gastronomy Weeks that include hands-on pasta making lessons with Sartori and Stofella.

We worked off the carbo extravaganzas each day with fabulous walks --- one day around the lake on a gently rolling dirt path that darted in and out of the woods and offered dramatic views of the spiky Dolomites, the lake, and the town. The next day: a steep, woodsy climb, along a river, to the neighboring ski town of Andalo. (Photo from Tr3ntino.it.) From there we hiked onto the Pradel plateau high above Molveno, and back down into the town.

                                   

Out for a postprandial stroll late one night, we wandered about a half-mile along the unlighted lakeside footpath.  In the darkness the twinkling lights of Molveno stood out in the distance, and the brilliant stars were above ---  our lucky stars that we thanked for leading us to this new and enchanting part of the world.

The 50 Best Restaurants in the World --- Says Who?

I recently checked out Restaurant magazine’s list of “The World’s 50 Best Restaurants of 2013” and discovered that I had dined at about ten of the winners. But a couple weeks ago, I stumbled upon a restaurant in Austria’s remote Steiermark (Styria) wine country that outshone all of them.

(Those lists always crack me up, by the way. First, critiquing food is a highly subjective business --- one man’s foie gras is another man’s chopped liver. Second, the winners often have well-oiled PR machines that do their jobs as well or better than the chefs.) 

                       

My lucky find was Kreuzwirt near the one-block town of Leutschach. (To give the place some context, it’s near Graz, home of Wolfgang Puck and Arnold Schwarzenegger.)

Kreuzwirt is the restaurant at Gut Pössnitzberg, a respected winery, specializing in sparkling wine for more than 40 years. Gerhard Fuchs, the chef, has three “toques” from Gault-Millau and was that guide’s “Chef of the Year” in 2004.

Fuchs kicked off our dining adventure with a fascinating “martini” –-- a scoop of homemade vermouth sorbet in a tiny martini glass, flecked with olive bits and herbs to mimic the “juniper” flavor of gin. Three small bites packing a wallop of flavor and fragrance. 

Other complimentary hors d’oeuvres followed: crackly pastry shells filled with a pesto of local herbs; house-cured salami, so thin it melted on the tongue; and Schwiegermutterzunge (“mother-in-law tongues!”) -- four flat, wafer-thin, translucent bread sticks, held together by a pretty ribbon.

 

                                     

 

He then moved on to a single raviolo of indescribable yumminess – fragile pasta dough holding one perfectly poached egg from the neighboring Freiland farm. One prick of my fork and the bright yellow juices popped out to mingle with sautéed spinach, browned butter, and a shower of shaved white truffle.

The next dazzler was a diminutive noisette of Maibock, a type of local venison, pan- sauteed an appealing pink all the way through, with fresh sage and a type of brown bean that was so fat and meaty it served as a “starch” on the plate. The shiny natural juices were enhanced by coarse lemon-infused salt and pretty sage blossoms. Since Fuchs likes to serve his entrees “two ways,” we were then treated to tender chunks of Maibock in a stew of sautéed local summer mushrooms, tiny dice of speck (bacon) and Mairüben (early spring turnips), with just a touch of shallot-scented jus. One Knödel (dumpling) dusted with grated cheese, sat in the middle and a crackly strip of dried bacon (from Freiland) straddled the bowl.

 

                                  

 

Desserts were equally impressive. One, called “Milk & Blossoms,” featured a mousse of raw milk topped with a tiny oval of rhubarb sorbet and a drizzle of vinegar and olive oil. The other, a quivery panna cotta flavored with Waldmeister, a local herb, was served with a petite piece of cream-filled strudel topped with chopped strawberries.

Fuchs is creative without being flashy. Contemporary, without throwing the classics to the wind. He uses “modernist” techniques to get the flavor he wants, not to put on a magic show. The way he handles fresh herbs is nothing short of genius.

And the setting at Kreuzwirt is totally magical. What was once an unremarkable 1950’s building is now a sleek and stylish “box” of wood, steel and glass superimposed on the walls of an old basement. The dozen or so beautifully dressed tables look like they are floating in open space, thanks to floor-to-ceiling windows that open and hide without a trace. We felt we were sitting smack in the rolling green vineyards outside.

                        


As the sun set and the moon peeked out, we sipped the last of our wines, a silken Sauvignon Blanc Trockenbeerenauslese and celebrated our good fortune in discovering a spectacular dining experience that could easily break the Top Ten on any gastro list.

For more details, check out Gut Pössnitzberg. The winery has about 20 inviting hotel rooms, many with large balconies overlooking the vineyards.  We opted for the “Culinary Time-Out” Package for 199 Euros per person (about $250), a great value that included two nights accommodations with buffet breakfasts, one dinner in the garden from the hotel’s menu, and the four-course dinner at Kreuzwirt, with excellent wines matched to each course. 

Looking for a Good Meal; Finding a Lost Grandpa

Our short stop-over in Wroclaw, Poland last week had an agenda, something far more important than finding the best borscht in town.

My husband’s grandfather, Georg Schiftan, whom he never met, was born in 1875 in Breslau (Wroclaw’s name when the city was part of Germany, up until 1945). His great-grandfather, Ernst, was born there, too, and lived in the city until sometime around the turn of the century. My husband, who learned little about the two men from his parents, now deceased, recently decided to learn more.

After scouring documents found in family scrapbooks  --- birth certificates and a wedding license indicating that Ernst was a restaurateur ---- he planned a trip to the Schiftan ancestral home of Breslau/Wroclaw.

                                  

On our first full day we went to the Jewish Information Center, visited the woefully neglected Jewish Cemetery on the outskirts of town, and walked around the neighborhoods of Wroclaw looking for the few old addresses we had.

One of them, Rynek 4, was a beautiful building in the middle of the town’s most important market square, pictured above. (The Schiftans had lived at Ring 4; we eventually figured out that Ring translates into Rynek in Polish.) Today the impressive block is home to many restaurants and cafes, including Lwowska at #4.  (The restaurant specializes in Polish food and specialties from Lvov, a city formerly in southeastern Poland, now part of Ukraine.) 

                                           

We decided it would be cool to have dinner in the building (above) where the Schiftans had once lived. Sure, it was highly unlikely we’d have a table in what was their actual apartment, but just to be there seemed the right thing to do.

Our dinner at Lwowska was nothing short of magical. The series of rooms on the second floor was elaborately paneled in wood and festooned with magnificent arrangements of dried flowers and tree boughs. In the center of our table was a small birch-like tree branch with two precious nosegays of dried flowers resting on it. Glamorous old chandeliers and hundreds of candles cast a soft light; a natty gentleman played softly on an upright piano. (There’s also an old-world bar on the ground floor, and a beautiful sidewalk terrace.)

                                           

Our server first brought a basket of excellent breads and rolls and a small ramekin of something that looked like paté but tasted to me like pure fat. (The “when in Rome” gig only goes so far.)

My appetizer of beet soup was fabulous: a clear, shimmering magenta broth with a luscious sweet-tart flavor, dotted with a few mediocre koldunami, Polish dumplings. We also tried the “Jewish salad” which turned out to be a mix of potatoes, onion and hard-boiled egg, all held together with mayonnaise.

The entrees on the heavy, leather menu included steaks and chops along with traditional dishes. The Roladki, rolls, were delicious “meatballs,” made from ground chicken, red pepper, sheeps milk cheese and local smoked ham. The texture was sensational.

Not to be deterred by the boring dumplings floating in my soup, I ordered Pierogi Mieszanych or “mixed.” Described as “ruskie ravioli,” they were plump and tender and sautéed until the edges were browned and crisp. The fillings included a well-seasoned cabbage-and-mushroom mixture, a savory potato-and-cheese number, and a less exciting ground meat pierogi. (They looked just like these dumplings in a photo from a Polish Website.) We drank Lwowska’s own beer on tap and a bottle of Lindeman’s Shiraz which our served recommended with great enthusiasm.

                                          

At dessert time we by-passed the highly touted baked apple and went for the traditional Lvov wafer cookies filled with chocolate and chopped walnuts and topped with a cloud of whipped cream. The whole exotic feast came to 251 Zlotys or about $35, to which was added a whopping 31 percent in taxes.

The next morning we visited a University library that housed the city’s “address books” back to the early 1800s. After much consternation on the part of the guards and librarians --- no one spoke a word of English – we encountered a young man who spoke German and showed us to the room housing the books. We explained briefly to him about our search for a great- grandfather who lived at Rynek 4 and .was a restaurateur. He left us with the books and returned about 20 minutes later, asking in hushed tones “was the restaurant called E. Schiftan?” When I answered a startled “yes,” he asked us to follow him.

In a room down the hall,  he held up a large photo of the block of houses including Ring 4, dated 1903. He focused a jeweler’s magnifying loop on the picture and told us to look. There, on the façade, where Lwowska stands today, was “E. Schiftan Restaurant.”

                                      

Our evening at Lwowska suddenly took on new meaning. No longer just a feast of pierogi, meatballs and chocolate wafers,  it had been a memorable family dinner with the grandpa and great-grandpa my husband never knew.

 

Beet Soup in Poland -- Don't Forget the Bib!

Last week, in just 24 hours in Wroclaw, Poland, I managed to slurp three different versions of beet soup. All three were fabulous –-- with shimmering magenta color and beguilingly sweet flavor. But it’s a messy business, this beet soup slurping. A splash here, a splash there, and that white North Face fleece is history. Ties? Forget about it.

                                        

Late last Tuesday we arrived in this medieval town that was called Breslau when it was part of Germany. (The city was given to Poland after WWII, German citizens were kicked out, and Poles from eastern Poland, annexed by Russia, were moved in.) Following a New York Times tip, we went to the restaurant “Sarah”for dinner. Tucked away on a dark, narrow street in what was Breslau’s Jewish Quarter, Sarah is said to be the only “Jewish” restaurant in the city. Two enormous menorahs sit in the large storefront windows. The interior, a small room with a tiny, two-stooled bar and about 10 tables, is warm and inviting. Tables are covered with cotton lace tablecloths and centered with assorted vintage silver candlesticks. Silverware is old and mismatched. Mirrors and furniture are old and mismatched. The whole place feels like Grandma’s dining room.

                                        

Sarah’s was beet soup #1. Barszcz czysty, which translates as “clear borscht.” I opted to jazz it up with a few cubes of boiled potato and a plop of sour cream, which added a lot more z’s to the name: Barszcz czerwony z ziemniakami zabielany smietana, and 50 cents to the cost which was about $3 for a large bowl.

Sarah’s soup was clear and shiny, the most vivid fuschia color I’ve ever seen on a plate or in a bowl. The taste was startlingly pure – earthy yet sweet. The potatoes were superfluous; the sour cream added a nice creaminess though I hated to lose the brilliant red.

The next day at lunchtime we popped into the small but inviting Soul Café on one of the town's many beautiful squares. It was cold and rainy so I ordered a bowl of beet soup, which arrived steaming, in a small white ceramic tureen. This was my favorite, a fragrant fuschia broth, with powerful beet flavor, and packed with tiny nubbins of celery, onion, carrot and sausage, all delicious and all stained bright red.

                                    

                    
That night we dined at Lwowska (below, in a photo from Forbes) on the central market square and I encountered beet soup #3, a clear, shimmering red broth with the intense flavor and captivating sweetness I had, by now, come to expect from Polish beet soup.

                        

Of the various options available, I chose the soup with koldunami, “homemade stuffed dumplings.” But, unlike the delicious goodies swimming in Soul Café’s soup, these starchy dumplings were a distraction, taking away from the intensity of the vegetable broth. (More about Restaurant Lwowska in my next post.) 

By the way, beet soup is never going to win any beauty contests. I didn’t take photos because my three soups were very plain and the lighting was marginal. In browsing the Internet I found hundreds of beet soups but not one that looked like the brilliantly clear, magenta soups in Wroclaw. 

The Gastro-Adventure of 2012

Pairing an exciting physical adventure with a great meal is my idea of a good time. And, I didn’t have to go far to find my favorite gastro-adventure this year. No Swiss funiculars involved. No Andean peaks. No raging Canadian rivers.

                          

Instead, I simply hailed a cab in downtown San Francisco, hopped out 15 minutes later at the famous old Cliff House, and set out on the amazing California Coastal Trail. About ten miles in its entirety, the trail wends its way through forests and toney residential neighborhoods, along sheer cliffs, across sandy coves, and up and down steep dunes.

                           

It’s an extraordinary blend of natural landscapes and well-known man-made attractions such the Praesidio, Sutro baths, and Fort Point, a Civil War fort. Much of  this adventure can be called a “stroll,” but anyone looking for a workout won’t be disappointed by the steps running up and down the cliffs, and the 100-plus “stairs” carved into a sand-dune “wall” near Baker Beach. As an added attraction, the shimmering Golden Gate Bridge is almost never out of sight.

On a glorious, sunny autumn day, we walked from Cliff House, past Sutro Baths, darted in and out of the thick forest of Lincoln Park, strolled through the affluent enclave of Sea Cliff, peeking into gates to see the magical mansions set on the edge of the cliffs. We then dropped down to long, sandy China and Baker beaches and walked along the water’s edge, until we climbed back up again on those 100-plus sand “steps.”(Photo from EveryTrail.com which gives an excellent step-by-step guide to this hike.)

                                 

Continuing past the Praesidio, Golden Gate Bridge, Fort Point, Crissy Field, and the Marina Green Park, we finally turned into the residential streets of the Marina neighborhood and found our way to bustling Chestnut Street. Total walking time was about 2 ½ - 3 hours. It's hard to give an exact mileage, because there are many options along the way. Mapquest estimates six miles, several hiking guides say it's closer to 10 miles.

The “gastro” part of the adventure was equally exciting.

                      

Tacolicious was the pot of gold at the end of our ramble. This casual emporium of creative Mexican fare is wildly popular, with crowds clustered at the door and on the sidewalk pretty much any hour of the day. (There are also T-Lishes in the Mission district and Palo Alto.)  

Tacos are the main attraction – each consisting of two griddled tortillas, stuffed enthusiastically with unusual combos of super-fresh, (mostly) locally sourced ingredients.

I loved the fried local rock cod that’s paired with shredded cabbage and tangy cream sauce; the house-made chorizo sausage with succulent potato chunks; and the vegetarian butternut squash number that’s spiked with poblano peppers, red bell peppers, spicy pepitas, and slightly bitter greens. (The above photo, by Michael Macor for the San Francisco Chronicle, shows the asparagus, potato, mushroom and green garlic taco; traditional carnitas; beer-and-shot braised chicken; fried local rock cod.) 

Since we were feeling “fit” (and totally deserving!) after our rousing hike, we also ordered the zesty shot-and-a-beer braised chicken tacos which are miraculously tender, and the braised short rib tacos that can thank guakillo chiles for their spicy, tangy, slightly smoky flavor.  Each taco gets a “custom” dusting of onion, cilantro, cabbage, lettuce, tomato, cheese, or whatever other crunchy bit will add to the fun.

                                 

Though it bills itself as a “cocktail-driven restaurant,” with 120 tequilas begging to be sipped, Tacolicious also offers imaginative alcohol-free concoctions that are ideal lunch accompaniments. (The menu heading is “Drivers, Kids and Recovering Bartenders.”) I love the Mia (cranberry juice, sparkling lemonade and fruit salsa), the Moss (passion fruit, pineapple, and sparkling limeade), and the Silas (lemon, lime and mint). 

For folks not in the mood for tacos (really?), the menu also offers “snacks” that range from a creamy, dreamy guacamole and snappy ceviche with apple and orange bits, to the popular albacore tuna tostada with crispy leeks and chipotle mayo, and  the pork-beef meatballs done with roasted tomato-chipotle salsa and cotija cheese. Then there are the chips 'n salsa. Let's just say I feel sorry for all the people who haven’t burned up a bunch of calories before hitting Tacolicious. They must have to stop after just one basket of the warm, addicting tortilla chips (served with three sensational house-made sauces, hot, medium and mild).  I had to be dragged out of there before I could completely polish off our third basket.

 

                                        

Tacolicious in the Marina is a small place , one long, narrow room with a smattering of tables, an inviting copper-topped bar, and a constant cluster of happy people waiting for a place to sit. We were lucky enough to score one of the tiny tables in the sidewalk enclosure, giving us front-row-center seats to the exuberant party that is Chestnut Street.

 

 

#1 Turkey Day Task: Work Up An Appetite

Every year on Thanksgiving Day, we invite our guests to arrive an hour before the first Cosmo is shaken, with old sneakers in hand, and we all set off on a mile-plus walk on the beach. The sunset is usually fabulous this time of year; it’s a great chance to schmooze; our black lab Geena is in heaven; and we all work off a few of the calories  to come.

This year my husband and I went one better. We spent the week before Thanksgiving at Rancho La Puerta in Tecate, Mexico. The first spa in North America (founded in 1940), it’s a vast, unspoiled property, offering delicious vegetarian fare and a staggering array of exercise, fitness and wellness classes.

                                     

I was a visiting speaker for the week, giving a presentation called “Feats & Eats: How a Food Writer Ate Her Way Around the World for 30 Years Without Gaining Pounds or Inches.” (The talk touches on great food at great restaurants over the globe and appealing, accessible exercise options in the vicinity of each.)

At the Ranch, every day is one big, movin’-and-groovin’ adventure. The morning starts at 6:15 am with a rigorous 3.5- or 5.5-mile hike up Mt. Kuchumaa which frames the resorts 3,000 acres. A typical day’s “class schedule” includes Mountain Hike, Stretch and Relax, Pilates Matwork, Cardio Hip-Hop, Tennis Clinic, Sand Volleyball, Cardio Kickboxing, Latin Dance, and Trekking: Treadmill Workout.

                                     

And, the food is fabulous. Unlike the bland, uninspired fare at many spas, Ranch food is creative, delicious, beautifully presented, and satisfying. The menu is mostly vegetable based (though there is a seafood option a couple times a week), with all herbs and many fruits and veggies coming from the Ranch’s own extensive gardens.  Grilled Polenta with Sautéed Spinach, Lentil Medley, Roasted Carrots & Red Bell Pepper Sauce was one of the entrees that struck my fancy last week.

But, to me, the most impressive part of every meal is the salad, and the salad dressing in particular. I’ve been a guest for at least 20 days over several years, and I don’t remember ever seeing the same salad twice.  Every one has been a beautiful still-life, and every dressing has offered unique flavors and supremely satisfying mouthfeel, with minimal fat and calories.(In the photo: Roasted Pear & Arugula Salad with Pomegranate-Chipotle Vinaigrette.)

                                              

Last week I discovered my all-time favorite: Mint Salad Dressing, made with one of the many types of mint grown on the property. It was so good, I went back to the buffet for extra steamed and raw vegetables, just so I’d have something to dip in the luscious nectar.

We left Rancho La Puerta feeling fit, healthy, and well-rested, ready for the Thanksgiving week onslaught of food and drink, family, friends and fun.

I also left with the recipe for the mint dressing.

(For more info about Rancho La Puerta, check out its Website or read my blog posts about the experience.)

MINT-JALAPENO DRESSING

Makes 2 cups

3 large shallots, peeled and roughly chopped

1 cup fresh mint leaves or combination of mint and basil

1 jalapeno, seeds and ribs removed, roughly chopped

1 cup water

½ cup red wine vinegar

¼ cup agave syrup or honey

1 teaspoon sea salt, or to taste

1/8 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper

In a blender, combine all the ingredients, pulsing until smooth.

Chick Chick Hooray!

“Nobody doesn’t like fried chicken,” said Lee Schrager, organizer of Food Network South Beach Wine & Food Festival, in the Wall Street Journal.

Good grammar aside, Schrager is probably right. Even the people who say they don’t like fried chicken really do like fried chicken; they just don’t like to admit it.

A recent article in the WSJ asks “Could fried chicken, in its many forms…be the next big trend in food?”  Well, reporter Charles Passy says that based on the menu at the Food Network New York City Food & Wine Festival held last weekend, the answer is a resounding YES.

                                    

At one of the Festival's “themed” events, called "Shake & Bake," patrons who paid the all-inclusive $145 admission fee, chowed down on the likes of Fried Chicken Thigh Burger; traditional southern-style Buttermilk Fried Chicken;  Matzo Meal-Crusted Drumsticks; two versions of Chicken in a Waffle Cone;  Korean Fried Chicken Tacos; and Backhendl with Potato-Arugula Salad (pictured here) by Blaue Gans' chef Kurt Gutenbrunner. (Photo by Arthur Bovino for The Daily Meal.)

All this talk about crispy chicks got me thinking and drooling over my own Remembrances of Fried Chickens Past.

One of the best-ever was a serendipitous encounter this summer with the perfect Backhendl, German for fried chicken, (pictured below): crisp, non-greasy, smartly seasoned, with the ideal one-two punch of dark golden crust and tender juicy meat. Fresh lemon and parsley adorned it, and a glistening, vinegar-based potato salad was on the side.

                                        

My husband and I made this bird’s acquaintance at Kirchenwirt, a small, family-run cafe in the middle of no-where, on the outskirts of Vienna, Austria.  The Kirchenwirt gasthof gets plenty of visitors despite its out-of-the-way location because it sits across the street from the Basilika Klein-Mariazell, a picturesque church and cloister founded in 1134. Though it has weathered some tough times, the elegant cluster of buildings is today both a living religious community and an architectural work of art.

                                      


It is also smack dab in the middle of a massive network of inviting hiking trails. Our Austrian friends suggested the day’s excursion and guided us on an enchanting three-hour hike that took us through gladed forests, across grassy meadows, up and down rolling hills, and through tiny hamlets such as Altenmarkt an der Triesting.  It was there we passed a lovely old home with this sign on the gate. The sign says: “I am a Rottweiler. Beyond here (this gate) Benjamin von Husarentempel will bite you.”

                                      

The hike started and ended at the Basilica Klein-Mariazell, so Kirchenwirt was a natural place for lunch.  We sat on the terrace, in warm sunshine, with cold draft beers, and gave thanks for good friends,   gorgeous landscapes, a glorious hike --- and great fried chicken.

Corn Soup: Hot and Cold, American and Austrian

To me, nothing says SUMMER better than an ear of just-picked corn, boiled for a minute or two, then anointed with unsalted butter and a bit of kosher salt. But chef Helmut Österreicher has his own ideas on the subject. At Österreicher im MAK, his restaurant in Vienna’s Museum of Applied Arts, the award-winning chef whips up a deliriously delicious corn cream soup, Maiscreme-Suppe mit Krauter-Popcorn. It’s smoother-than-smooth, impossibly fresh tasting. And, to add a bit of whimsy to a humble veggie soup, Österreicher tops it with lighter-than-air herbed popcorn.

                                      


And, this stellar soup is only part of the good news about Österreicher im MAK. In his effort to merge classical and contemporary versions of Austrian cooking, chef Österreicher woos guests with a quivering white asparagus panna cotta (below) surrounded by “raw” vegetable salad; elegant pastry pockets filled with sun-dried cherry tomatoes and fresh basil; yellow curry risotto topped with grilled shrimp and green beans; and a totally old-fashioned, totally yummy veal “hamburger” with mashed potatoes and grilled onions.

                                      

As befits a restaurant in a museum of applied arts, Österreicher im MAK is an unusually beautiful space, with sleek, elegant furnishings, stylish table settings, and creative lighting, including a signature chandelier that no one who sees it will ever forget. The restaurant also offers one of Vienna’s most captivating gardens, where lunch is served. (Photo below from The New York Times.)

                                      

I’ve been thinking about Herr Österreicher's amazing corn soup ever since I tasted it during a visit in June. Last week I attempted to whip up my own cream of corn soup (a chilled version since it was nearly 80 degrees), using Olathe Sweet Corn. (I’m in Telluride, Colorado at the moment, with the town of Olathe, renowned for its corn, just about an hour away.) Using a recipe from one of my favorite cookbooks – “In the Hands of a Chef” by Jody Adams and Ken Rivard -- I dutifully made corn stock from the stripped cobs, sautéed the kernels with leeks and shallots, and pureed and blended the whole shebang using both Cuisinart and blender. It was a helluva lot of work, but it was delicious and handsome with its crunchy sprinkle of diced cucumber, avocado, red onion and tomato. You’ll find this Chilled Smooth Corn Soup with Tomatoes, Avocado, and Lime in “In the Hands of a Chef.”  Available on Amazon.com for $13.98.

Veggie "Burgers" To Die For

Patty-cake-patty-cake is more than just a kids’ game in Austria. These people take their laibchen very seriously.

Laibchen is the word for a ground-something patty. Typically it’s made from chopped meat – usually beef or pork – mixed with pepper and salt, garlic and fresh herbs, a bit of chopped onion and an egg to hold it all together. Dusted with fine breadcrumbs, it’s pan-fried in vegetable oil and served with a green salad and a beer.

                                         

But modern-day Austrian chefs are hacking up all sorts of things these days to produce an elegant, creative, usually vegetarian riff on this rustic staple.

At Gasthof Fürberg, a small, family-run hotel on Lake Wolfgang in Austria’s Salzkammergut region, the
laibchen (above) are formed from topfen (a fresh cheese similar to quark), minced onion, leek, carrot, celery, beets, and other veggies, and a big dose of minced herbs. Formed into patties, patted with beaten egg and fine breadcrumbs, they are pan-fried and set afloat in a savory wild mushroom ragout. The dense forests around Lake Wolfgang are home to many varieties of mushrooms; the cream comes from a local farm; the herbs are from the hotel’s garden. This is farm-to-table dining at its finest. And that bouquet of fried parsley beside the Fürberg patties isn’t just for looks, by the way. Its bright herbal flavor and lacy crispness made a great dish ever better.

I enjoyed every bite of my cheese laibchen during a recent stay at Gasthof Fürberg. The setting was magical – a gravel terrace smack on the edge of the lake; lights aglow in massive chestnut trees; and a cloud-dotted indigo sky fading to black. We drank a delicious “cuvee” from the Neusiedlersee wine region of eastern Austria (this one a blend of Zweigelt, Blaufränkisch and Cabernet Sauvignon).

And, since I knew I had already burned off many of my dinner calories with a three-hour hike that afternoon, everything tasted all the better. The hike took us up and over the Falkenstein massif, past a picturesque chapel that St. Wolfgang supposedly chiseled out of rock sometime around 964 AD, then down into the modern village of St. Wolfgang.

                                    

The hike is one of my favorites because it offers varied terrain (some insanely steep, some baby carriage-friendly), sunshine and shade, a peek inside the gates of lakeside villas, and a smattering of religious legends that I find very entertaining. The path is part of a famous pilgrimage route that includes the aforementioned chapel, another weensy chapel in the side of the mountain that has spring water gushing out of the stone -- supposedly unleashed by St. Wolfgang’s sword; and yet another chapel featuring an indentation in the wall, supposedly made by the saint’s head. Legend has it that if a hiker rests his head in that space he will never suffer from headaches.  Since it was covered in slime and seeping water, I decided to take my chances with the headaches.

A few days before our arrival at Fürberg, we had encountered cauliflower laibchen at the charming Steirerhof hotel in Austria’s Steiermark region. (The area is best known to Americans as the home of Ahhhhhnold Schwarzenegger --- remember him?) .

The golden patties consisted of mashed and chunky cauliflower, sautéed onions, topfen cheese, and lots of fresh chopped chives. They sat on “thrones” of whipped topfen. I found the extra cheese to be overkill, but the delicious patties tasted of veggies straight from the garden and the texture was terrific.

Once again, I dug into dinner with gusto, thanks to the rousing hike up and over the Reiteralm that was led that day by the patriarch of the Pitzer family that owns the hotel.  (Son Marcos was in front of the 20-plus group of hikers, dad Karl was behind giving encouragement to those who doubted they could tackle the two steep, snow-clad peaks involved.)

Steirerhof is a member of a loose association of hotels in Austria and northern Italy called Wanderhotels. (Wander is German for hiking.) At these hotels, the room rate usually includes a huge breakfast buffet, a three-course dinner, and a guided hike each day. 

During our adventure onto the Reiteralm (an alm is a large meadow that’s usually a riot of colorful flowers in June, and home to lucky local cows all summer long) we came upon the Spiegelsee,  German for Mirror Lake.

                                         

This was our first visit to the Steiermark region. But, with scenery like this during the day, and meals like Steirerhof's at night, it’s unlikely to be our last.

Hey Bartender, Another Round of Hugos!

Europeans have always loved the Holunder plant, using the fragile white blossoms to make tea, syrups and sodas, and to cure the common cold. (Holunder translates, in English, as elderflowers.)

But today the pretty shrub is a regular rock-star on the bar scene. The Hugo cocktail is everywhere -- a splash of elderflower syrup, Prosecco (Italian sparkling wine), a couple of crushed mint leaves, maybe a lime wedge, and a topper of sparkling water. It’s the rage in Italy, Austria, Germany, where it’s dubbed the “Szenegetränk” this summer, meaning the “scene drink.”  

No one could tell me why it’s called the Hugo, but the word on the Web is that it was created last summer in Südtirol, the idyllic northern Italian area that’s home to the Dolomite mountains and where the holunder plant blankets hillsides and meadows for a few weeks each June.

The low-alcohol cocktail is elegant, subtle, with just a hint of natural sweetness, a whisper of fruit. The flavor is tough to describe. I guess I’d say there’s a fleeting pear presence, a hovering of citrus.

                                     


I stumbled upon this delicious drink on the first night of a recent hut-to-hut trek in the Dolomites. Our merry band of hikers had rendezvoused in Teis, Italy (a hamlet of about 500 people) that afternoon. During dinner at a nearby hotel, our server recommended the Hugo to one of our group who asked for "something different.”  In the weeks that followed, we saw it promo’d on bar menus, in pastry shops, on billboards, in magazines and even at mountain-top huts where hikers clicked glasses to celebrate their successful climbs.

The Hugo is different from the elderflower cocktails that are popular in the U.S. today. Most of those use St. Germain, a liqueur made from elderflower blossoms. These trendy quaffs are delicious too, but they’re heavier and boozier than the Südtirol’s Hugo which uses syrup instead of liqueur.

As an aperitif, the Hugo piques the palate. In the middle of a warm afternoon, it’s a refreshing pick-me-up. One German Website I found said the Hugo “tastes like summer, sun, and vacation.”

Bartender, I’ll have another.