A recent story in the Washington Post reported on a sad trend: All over the country, German restaurants are going out of business.
This news is especially troubling because Germans still make up the largest ancestry group in the United States. But the food of their homeland is rarely served in restaurants. The reason given most often is that German food is heavy.
To which I say: So?
What's wrong with heavy? Let's not even call it heavy, let's call it hearty. That sounds better, and is more accurate. It's hearty, it's filling, it's full-flavored. And it's wonderful.
German food typically comes one of three ways: made with pork, made with bacon or made with both pork and bacon. But the country is also known for its robust, chewy breads and its delicate, cream-filled pastries.
And, of course, its beer. German beer _ stouter and sturdier than American _ is a perfect accompaniment for dishes made from pork and bacon, as well as brawny loaves of bread.
I took a culinary tour of Germany and decided to stay away from the most obvious choices. That meant no sauerbraten, no sausages, no potato pancakes. It would have meant no schnitzel, but I love schnitzel, so I made it anyway.
Specifically, I made Schnitzel a la Holstein, which is my favorite kind. Originally created at a Berlin restaurant for a well-known patron named Friedrich von Holstein, it features a fried egg, anchovies and capers on top of the schnitzel, a breaded veal cutlet.
I highly recommend using veal, if you can find it (I had to go to a butcher) and afford it. A lot of people and some restaurants make schnitzels from pork, but that is a choice made more out of frugality than flavor. There is nothing like a mild and tender veal schnitzel, unless it is a veal schnitzel topped with a luscious egg, the yolk dripping slowly down its side, and salty capers and anchovies.
If you don't care for the toppings, a regular old wiener schnitzel, which is just the breaded cutlet, is wonderful, too.
To contrast with the rustic schnitzel, I decided to add a little refinement to my table. Nothing is more refined than a sauce made from cognac and cream.
Because it is German, this particular sauce was served with pork. I took the most tender part of the pig, the tenderloin, and sliced it into thin medallions. These I browned and simmered in a sauce redolent not only of cognac and cream, but also mushrooms (a full pound of them for four servings), shallots and the sweet German wine Riesling.
You might be tempted to worry, as I did for a moment, that the natural sweetness of the wine and the pork might result in a dish that was overly cloying. But it did not. The savory mushrooms and smooth, rich cream effectively neutralize the sweetness and create an impressive, sophisticated meal.
Sticking with the theme of pork, I also made a stew with pork, leeks and potatoes. It is just the perfect thing to eat after a long day of hiking in the Alps.
The pork _ I used meat from the shoulder _ cooked up nicely tender after just about an hour. I added the leeks and diced potatoes about halfway through the cooking time, which allowed them to become succulently soft but not overcooked. It is a deeply satisfying, earthy recipe that is easy to make and divine to eat.
All of that meat deserved a good salad, so I made an excellent one with beets and onions. Horseradish gives it a modest bite, and it is all brought together by the tang of vinegar and the moderating presence of vegetable oil. A pinch of sugar smoothens out the vinegar, while caraway seeds (the recipe suggests either caraway or cumin) add a welcome sharpness to cut through the rich, root flavor of the beets.
Finally, I could not leave Germany behind without trying one of its legendary pastries. The country is famous for its konditoreis, bakeries that sell only pastries, not bread. The konditerei baked goods are sublimely light and often filled with a heavenly pastry cream.
I decided to make a cream puff, which puts pastry cream to its perfect use, between halves of a delicate pastry shell.
The shell is made from a pate a choux dough, the same as an eclair. This dough, when cooked, puffs up and becomes hollow in the middle, which makes it a perfect choice for pastries. Getting this magic to work requires a few simple tricks (add the flour all at once to a mixture of melted butter and water, mix in the eggs one at a time), but they are easy to do and the result is absolutely worth the technique.
The filling could not be simpler. Simply whip a batch of cream, and fold in powdered sugar and vanilla extract. Sometimes _ often _ simplicity is best.
Put the filling in the shell and it becomes impossible to eat one without a big, silly smile on your face.
