German

There are two basic types of potato salad: mayonnaise-based and sugar-and-vinegar-based. I have always preferred the latter because of the sweet-and-sour element—plus it has bacon in it. This alluring sweet-and-sour salad replaces not-so-nice white potatoes with sweet potatoes (much nicer for you), and the texture of the salad has been bulked up with cauliflower.

Spaetzle is a German word meaning “little sparrow,” an evocative description of these small dumplings that have a long, irregular shape. Traditionally, they are boiled, tossed with butter, and served alongside rich, saucy dishes. We like to fry spaetzle in butter because it gives them a delicate crispy edge to contrast their tender texture. They are a nice change of pace from traditional starches like potatoes and pasta. The sourdough spaetzle’s light texture and tangy flavor are equally at home with meat or fish; they can be tossed with fresh peas or fava beans and finished with tarragon, sautéed with wild mushrooms, or combined with bite-size ratatouille for an interesting twist on a classic. Use them in place of rice or small pastas in your favorite preparations and you’ll see what a difference they can make.

A Römertopf, a porous clay pot developed in the 1960s by a German company, is often used in Alsace and southern Germany for long- simmering stews. These stews may be akin to Alsatian baeckeoffe, a pot of meat (usually beef, pork, and veal along with calf or pig feet) mixed with potatoes, marinated in white wine, and cooked in the oven all day long, on Mondays, when the women traditionally do the wash. Agar Lippmann (see page 258) remembers her mother in Alsace making the Sabbath stew in a baeckeoffe, using a mix of flour and water to make a kind of glue to really seal the lid. When I was having lunch at Robert and Evelyne Moos’s house in Annecy, they used a Römertopf to make a similar lamb stew for me. Eveline ceremoniously brought the dish to the table, and in front of all of us, took off the top so that we were enveloped in the steam and aromas of the finished dish.

When researching this book, I talked about Jewish food with Pierre Dreyfus, a greatgrandson of Captain Alfred Dreyfus, the Jewish officer on the French General Staff who was falsely accused of being a German spy. The one recipe that Pierre remembered from his childhood was for butter, or butterkuchen, simple shortbread butter cookies sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. A century ago, butterkuchen, similar to sablés in Brittany, were made by using equal weights of eggs in their shells, butter, sugar, and flour. Sometimes cooks would add a little kirsch or vanilla sugar. Some used a glass to cut round pieces from the cookie dough; others pressed the dough into pans and cut it into tiny squares or rectangles after baking. One elderly lady I interviewed told me how her grandmother would make butter in the summer from the fresh, unpasteurized cream of their cows and store it in a stone jar on a ledge outside their house all winter long. Then, when she wanted to use the butter for butter, it was right there. One day when I was visiting Sandrine Weil (see page 181), she and her daughters showed me how to make a tender butter. This is her take on the butterkuchen, made with rich French butter, which has a low water and high fat content, and is cut after baking into the traditional 1-inch squares.

Kugelhopf, seen in every bakery in Alsace, is the regional special-occasion cake par excellence. The marvelous nineteenth-century illustration by Alphonse Lévy shows how this tea cake, which he calls baba, was also revered by the Jews of Alsace. Kugel means “ball” in German, and hopf means “cake” in Alsatian. This cake is found all over Germany, Austria, Hungary, and parts of Poland. According to food historians Philip and Mary Hyman, a Kugelhopf is first mentioned in German texts in the 1730s, where it is described as a cake baked in a mold shaped like a turban. I suspect that this cake went back and forth throughout the Austro-Hungarian Empire with travelers and cooks, and possibly came back to Lorraine as baba, also a turbaned cake in its original form. Sometimes kugelhopf is raised with yeast; some later versions use baking powder. It may contain raisins, or a combination of raisins and almonds. Kugelhopf molds are as varied as the myriad recipes. You can easily find kugelhopf molds at fine kitchen-supply stores, or you can use a small-capacity Bundt pan. Be careful to watch the cake as it cooks, since baking time will vary depending on the size and material of your pan, and you do not want to let the cake dry out.

This tangy, textured potato salad is much appreciated in Liguria, and it has become a favorite of mine. I like it best served warm—when the freshly cooked potatoes have just been tossed in the hot bacon-and-mustard dressing—though it is also delicious at room temperature, on a buffet or picnic table. As the name implies (and the slightly Nordic ingredients also suggest), this salad came to Liguria from somewhere else. Though I don’t know the precise origins, the Riviera Ligure has for centuries lured writers, composers, poets, and artists from other parts of Europe. Perhaps one of these creative types made this salad during a Ligurian sojourn. Certainly I have no objection that such a tasty dish, even if introduced by an outsider, took root in Liguria and became part of the regional cuisine.

Späetzle are little noodles or dumplings made by pressing a sticky dough through a perforated tool right into boiling water—one of the simplest of all the techniques by which pasta is made. These whole-wheat späetzle are especially delicious, dressed simply with butter and grated cheese, and make a good alternative to potatoes as a contorno accompanying roasts or braised meats. The key to making späetzle is having the right tool or utensil, with holes large enough to let the sticky dough pass through easily and quickly. You might have a colander that works, but I recommend that you buy a späetzle-maker designed for the job. There are different kinds—some slide like a mandoline; others extrude the dough, like potato ricers—and both types are inexpensive and easy to use. And you’ll use your späetzle-maker often, I am sure, after you make and taste a batch of spätzle di farina integrale.

Fry up this German classic tonight. A squeeze of lemon juice over the top brightens up the thin, crispy cutlets.

Brandy, cinnamon, and lemon zest combine to give this tart unbelievable aroma and wonderful flavor.

This recipe yields puffy, golden pancakes with minimal effort because they’re baked rather than cooked on top of the stove. Lemon cuts the sweetness of these pancakes and imparts its fresh, citrusy flavor. Serve with Venison Sausages (page 185).

Schnitzel is the German word for "cutlet" and most often describes a dish of breaded, fried meat. In this version, crispy, quick-cooking chicken cutlets are paired with a sweet-tart salad.

Taking a cue from German potato salad, these Yukon Golds are smashed with a hot bacon dressing and then tossed with fresh dill. Steaming rather than boiling the potatoes keeps them fluffy.

The inspiration here is the fantastically rich dish called Zwiebelkuchen (onion cake), a southern German specialty that arrived in America with European settlers and quickly became a staple in Pennsylvania Dutch homes, where it is known as Zwiwwelkuche. Slow-cooked onions are combined with eggs and sour cream and spooned into a yeasted dough. The pastry is then partially folded over the filling.

As if by magic, this cake creates its own beautiful picture as it bakes. Spread a buttery dough onto a shallow pan and press apple wedges into the top; as the kuchen bakes the dough rises up to frame the apples. This is delicious served warm from the oven topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Boiling the potatoes and chilling them overnight makes them easy to cut and sauté. Leftover potatoes and brisket would make a great breakfast hash.

This kuchen would be terrific made with all types of stone fruit, so feel free to substitute any of your summertime favorites for the plums.

The combination of sauerkraut, sausages, and mustard is well loved in Germany—and beyond. Here, dark beer enhances the sauerkraut, and the hot dogs are simmered in fruity Belgian lambic.

Don't worry if the batter for this traditional German staple seems a bit thin—it should be more liquidy than a normal dough.