Severin Corti - The Wiener Schnitzel Love Book!

FRIEND: And, what am I supposed to be looking at?

TRAVNICEK: Nothing but salt water … and these guitars! Unlistenable … If only they had a bit of Viennese folk music … And the moon shining right in your face … It’s unbearable …

FRIEND: Not enjoying the Mediterranean nights, Travnicek?

TRAVNICEK: Don’t talk to me about the Mediterranean. It was all right while we were still sitting on the train. I still had my cold schnitzels that I’d brought from home. And a jar of potato salad. But once we got down here … They keep wanting me to eat these ćevapi.

FRIEND: What?

TRAVNICEK: They look like dog pooh with onions. No schnitzel to be found anywhere. And no potato salad. If I’d spent the same money at Lake Wörth (popular bathing destination in the southern Austrian state of Carinthia), people would take me for a foreigner … and there’s no good wine to be had either. Sorrel in all the food and slivovitz is the only hard stuff available … No one to talk to either, except you. Standards are low …

JOSEPH WECHSBERG

With photographs by

INGO PERTRAMER

Whilst living in exile in New York, the great columnist Joseph Wechsberg indulged in some precise reminiscences of the cooking he had enjoyed in Vienna in the 1920’s .

He and his friends devised a special test to determine the quality of a schnitzel beyond any doubt .

All Schnitzel cooks agree that the color of a Wiener Schnitzel should be a light golden brown. Certain Breughel paintings and Stradivari violins have the perfect Schnitzel color. After the first side acquires the right hue, turn the scallop over, and continue to cook.

The perfect crust should blow up in a few places but never break away from meat. In Vienna they say you should be able to slip a knife between the coating and the meat – but please don’t try it. It doesn’t always work. Take out the Schnitzel (after three or four minutes) and drain it well on absorbent kitchen paper. (Of course, you should have the paper ready – don’t run around looking for it now.)

In my carefree days in Vienna it was said that the test of a perfect Wiener Schnitzel was to be able to sit down on it, for at least one full second, without leaving a fat stain on the seat of your pants. I once tried it but something must have gone wrong with that particular Wiener Schnitzel. It left a stain on the seat of my new, light-gray pants.

“I once tried it but something must have gone wrong with that particular Wiener Schnitzel.“

JOSEPH WECHSBERG

MANFRED REBHANDL

Discovering the schnitzel and its disciples in the inns of the Vienna suburbs

“A schnitzel?” There is no more familiar or self-evident place to hear such a question than in the outer Viennese suburbs. The sous-chef at the Schutzhaus auf der Schmelz, set deep in the 15th District, points out the fact of the matter. “The Viennese like their food to be coated in breadcrumbs. And their favourite dish is a classic schnitzel.” Of course, Vienna’s suburban dwellers are amongst the biggest fans of the tradition.

As soon as Freddy sits down at the regulars’ table in Gasthaus Mader, also solid 15th District territory, a white wine spritzer and pork schnitzel will be placed on the checked cloth in front of him. There is no need to order. The most important things in life become part of a comfortable routine at some point. And what could be more important than a good schnitzel? The only point of variance is the salad. “Mixed or potato?”

The waiters here typically go by the name of Josef or Hansi. They use a pen or pencil to note the rest of the order and are dressed in regulation greasy black trousers and a white shirt worn under an equally greasy black waistcoat. They weave their way through the wood-panelled parlour, carrying a tray as they go. “Auuuufpassen, biiiite! Voooorsicht, bittte!” (“Mind your backs!”) These expressions seem to have a Bohemian or Moravian tinge to them. Seven or eight portions of everyone’s favourite dish are balanced on the trays together with bowls of salad. The elegance with which they serve the food suggests a possible second career as a tennis trainer or ballroom dancer.

All of this is true in spades for Uschi from the Gasthaus Kopp at the very heart of the 20th District. She trots out her usual Sunday lunchtime question. “A Schnitzi? Coming right up!” And when the extreme summer heat prevents the customer from finishing the huge slab of meat despite his best endeavours, she is back with a charming smile to offer a pack-up. “You’ll have something to remember me by when you get home,” she says with a friendly wink. And yes, when you arrive back to spend the rest of the day with the leftover schnitzel, you really do find yourself secretly thinking about Uschi.

The schnitzel and its close and distant relations play a major role on the menus of the nation. The example here is from the “Schutzhaus zur Zukunft” in the Fünfhaus area of Vienna.

When schnitzel is on the menu in the suburbs, a small bowl of soup is served beforehand whilst the portions arrive in the taproom at thirty-second intervals. Behind the scenes in the kitchen, someone is supervising the beating of the meat and the sizzling of the pan. This is usually the landlord or landlady, who is the nth generation of their family to run the inn. Gasthaus Mader even still has a coin-operated telephone box, from where the police can be summoned in the event of any difficulties. “Inspector! Someone’s stolen my golden Panier!” “Panier” is breadcrumb coating, and the most important Panier of all is that which covers the schnitzel. Perhaps this actually is Viennese gold, and it needs to be treated with respect. But there is no cause for concern. The cops will turn up at lunchtime anyway, and they will turn on the blue lights if they have to. They come to collect their own golden reward in the form of a takeaway schnitzel.

There is a group of office workers who spend all their lunch breaks here. They order schnitzel virtually every time. Just occasionally, for a change, they might opt for a “Gordon” (cordon bleu, a variant of the schnitzel stuffed with ham and cheese). “There’s just nothing better!” The praise for their beloved pork schnitzel is unanimous. The truth of what they say is confirmed by the impressive bellies protruding from under their polo shirts. One of their number is, however, perturbed. He relates the story of a colleague who has gone to work abroad. Whilst finishing off the last golden shreds of Panier on their plates, they talk with concern about what this former comrade will get to eat. Of course, he may now be earning more and might be able to afford caviar, sushi and the like. But there is no chance that he will get a schnitzel like the one he could obtain here. The last drops of fat are wiped off the plate with the final piece of the meat and added to the bulging stomachs.