Читать книгу The Wiener Schnitzel Love Book! - Severin Corti - Страница 18

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.

Over at the Schmelz im Schutzhaus, Willi cleans a rib of pork three times a week. He removes the bones and tendons and divides the meat up into correctly sized “butterfly cuts”. Because veal is not used, the correct designation on the menu is “Wiener Schnitzel made of pork”. Didi the waiter takes the food out as soon as guests have secured a place at one of the numerous tables under the old chestnut trees out in the restaurant’s huge outdoor seating area. Didi is also prone to offering a hug if he is in the mood. Some of Vienna’s leading entertainers may well be encountered here, such as the folk singer Horst Chmela, the Hans Ecker Trio, and members of the band “Die Hinichen”. One may also run into Harry Prünster, who used to be a major TV star. When such people perform, they need schnitzel.

At the edge of the garden, an 80 year-old lady has sat down with her even older husband, a keen chess player. They are perusing the menus. “How many schnitzel can one person put away in a lifetime?” asks the husband. “A lot!” his wife replies. Pork schnitzel and chicken schnitzel are both charged at €9.50. The sous-chef explains that the ordering ratio is 60:40 in favour of the former. He does not think that the guests here can be expected to pay more than 15 to 16 euro per head for a meal. Veal cannot be offered for under €20, and this is also a reason why the restaurant does not serve it.

“We didn’t feel like cooking at home today,” states the cheery elderly couple. They have now been on Earth for a combined total of over 160 years and estimate that they have eaten “a very, very large amount of schnitzel” during this period. Although the sprightly wife naturally has no equal when it comes to preparing the dish at home, she is also happy to avoid false envy and admit that her husband has also mastered the technique. In chess, a draw would be agreed in such a situation. They have tried every variety of schnitzel during their lives, and each one has been outstanding. Over the years, however, the husband has developed a certain proclivity for schnitzel made from cured meat. “Somehow it just tastes a bit tangier!” He orders one now.

This will be cooked by Willi. The song “It’s not easy” is playing on the kitchen radio, but he has long since perfected the art of baking the perfect schnitzel. The preparatory stages are also second nature, even though every schnitzel needs to be cooked from scratch and requires a separate effort. Willi’s schnitzel beater has left a hefty dent in the robust-looking chopping block over the course of recent years. Pork and chicken fillets are cut to a size of 220 grams and 240 grams respectively before being placed into the hot oil. Willi learned his trade at the Gartenhotel Altmannsdorf, which belonged to the SPÖ, one of Austria’s main two political parties. The SPÖ is now having its own problems attracting votes in the suburbs, but Chancellor Franz Vranitzky was always exceptionally pleased with the schnitzels Willi produced. It goes without saying that the guests here are too.

Up to fifteen kilos of delicious potato salad are sold on very good days. When business is so brisk, five or six waiters are kept on their toes as they serve between 50 and 80 schnitzels each. Willi might therefore make up to 400 schnitzels a day. Sometimes the coating might be “a little lighter” and sometimes “a little darker”. These are the special requests with which he needs to contend. When the schnitzel orders really come flooding in, each waiter also needs his own assistant to help balance the trays to as they are carried between the tables, through the dining hall or across the veranda. Guests tend to start turning up at 11.00 am. May and June are the busiest months, but the inhabitants of the suburbs may also crave schnitzel during the heat of July and August. “It’s never really too hot for a schnitzel,” says Willi. Guests will simply order an extra beer to compensate for the dehydration. If necessary, the classic marinade can also be finished off. And the man who went abroad will spend the long nights asking himself why he didn’t remain in the suburbs, where he could eat schnitzel with his colleagues very single day.

A classic example of an inn in the Viennese suburbs – the “Schutzhaus zur Zukunft” in Fünfhaus

“Its never really too hot for a schnitzel!“

HEAD CHEF WILLI FROM

THE SCHUTZHAUS ZUR ZUKUNFT,

1150 VIENNA