There is apple in neat, thin slices; golden sultanas the size of pistachios; the warm Christmastide note of ground cinnamon and drift upon drift of snow-white icing sugar. There are crisp leaves of pastry, and, should I feel the need, a little pot of whipped cream at its side. As I press my fork down on the folds of crackling pastry, the scent of late autumn slowly fills my corner of the room. I have coffee, too, in a tiny thick-sided cup, and a newspaper on a stick of which I can barely read a word.
I have a love of Europe's time-worn cafés. Those hallowed rooms that reek of chocolate, cinnamon, burnt sugar and marzipan. The tables that are just that bit too small, too dinky; the long white aprons and fraying leather purses of the waiting staff; the creaking chairs and wooden floors. Oh, and the customers: pear-shaped women tucking into meringues the size of the Alps; grey-haired men in black discussing the Thomas Demand show at the Neue Galerie; gentle couples of a certain age so clearly in the throes of an affair. Tourists. Locals. A crying baby. (Or, God help us, two.) And then there is me, taking my first break in a year, watching the trees in the courtyard, the occasional squirrel busying itself among the piles of golden leaves, metal garden chairs stacked up for the winter. I would need more than a scarf out there right now.
Greed has brought me back to a favourite café a few minutes too early, and I have only myself to blame for the fact that my apfelstrudel is ever so slightly undercooked. The waitress had either charmed or harried the pastry cook into cutting just one slice for her patiently waiting British customer. The pastry could be a tad more crisp and the filling might have appreciated a few minutes during which to settle, but who cares? It's Berlin, it's deepest autumn, and I have a pastry in front of me.
Strudel pastry is more a work of art than a piece of cooking. So thin you could, or should, be able to read a newspaper through it, it is not only flour and butter but has an egg in it, too, ensuring it is quite the most difficult of pastries to roll. Actually it is more of a stretch than a roll, and one that must see that the pastry sheet is large enough to cover your entire work surface, yet without so much as a single hole.
At home, where people are just thankful to be offered a pudding at all, I use filo pastry. A cop-out indeed, but a good one and one that is used by more than a few cafés. The Hungarians, who lay claim to the invention of this particular piece of baking, and the Viennese and Germans who have helped to ensure its place in pastry history, are unlikely to approve of this short cut, but when brushed generously with butter and with a few toasted breadcrumbs scattered among the leafy folds, filo is an admirable stand-in for the sheet of sticky, fragile and capricious strudel dough. At least it is for this home cook.
The apple slices cosied up inside the pastry crust should be clearly visible, either in chunks or, as they are today, in thin slices the size of a guitar plectrum. The traditional cooking apple such as Bramley doesn't work here, gifting your pastry with too much froth and not enough body. Its excessive juice will ensure a soggy bottom. Better, I find, is a drier apple, though not as dry as a russet. I have been known to include a spoonful of apple jelly in my strudel filling when I can find it: it adds a certain sumptuousness and cohesive quality to the pieces of fruit. Breadcrumbs that have the effect of lightening the filling and keeping the pastry layers apart are either de rigueur or verboten, depending on whose "traditional" recipe you believe.
Certainly filo pastry – phyllo, call it what you will – is generally used for dry fillings such as the ground nut and honey pastes of the Middle East, or cheese and spinach. Strudel paste is generally kept for wetter fillings such as apple or plum. In the home kitchen, the first is probably the easiest to deal with, coming in useful small sheets that you can butter and overlap to your heart's content.
I might offer a huge, sugar-dusted strudel at Christmas for those who shun plum pudding. It might be rather wonderful to bring it out, like a huge snow-covered golden log, on Christmas Day. But then there will be a queue for the oven at that point, and I will have enough on my plate. Perhaps, then, something for a winter's Sunday afternoon.
APPLE STRUDEL
In Germany and Austria I have been offered cream, custard and ice cream with my hot strudel. It's a hard decision to have to make. I generally take it without any accompaniment then regret it, wishing I had gone for the vanilla ice cream. Serves 6.
For the filling:
750g sweet apples
the zest and juice of a lemon
50g caster sugar
ground cinnamon
50g golden sultanas
50g flaked almonds
For the pastry:
100g butter
80g fresh white breadcrumbs
6 sheets filo pastry
Peel, core and quarter the apples. Cut each quarter into thin slices. Toss them with the lemon zest and juice, the sugar and ground cinnamon. Add the sultan as and flaked almonds. Set the oven at 200C/gas mark 6.
Melt the butter in a small frying pan, then pour a good half of it into a small bowl. To the butter remaining in the pan, add the breadcrumbs and fry till they are golden and crisp. Tip them out on to kitchen paper.
Place a sheet of greaseproof paper or a clean tea towel on a work surface. Cover with a sheet of filo, brush with some of the melted butter and scatter over 2 heaped tbsp of the toasted breadcrumbs. Place another sheet of pastry on top. Brush that, too, with butter and breadcrumbs and continue until all 6 sheets are used up. Scatter any remaining breadcrumbs over the top sheet of pastry.
With the long edge of the pastry nearest you, tip any remaining breadcrumbs over the pastry, then pile the apple filling on to the nearest third of the pastry. Make sure the edge is well buttered, then roll up the pastry into a fat sausage, keeping the filling in place as you roll. Squeeze the open edges together to seal the filling inside. Slide it on to a flat baking sheet. Brush the outside of the pastry with butter and bake for 30 minutes or so till the pastry is thoroughly crisp. Dust with icing sugar and serve.
A SAVOURY STRUDEL FILLING
Serves 6
500g ripe pears
juice of a lemon
250g Gorgonzola
a sprig of thyme
a little freshly grated nutmeg
Peel, core and finely slice the pears, tossing them in lemon juice to stop them browning. Cut the Gorgonzola into small pieces and add to the pears. Remove the thyme leaves from their stems, chop them and add to the pears, together with a little black pepper and a fine grinding of nutmeg. Go easy on the nutmeg – just 3 or 4 rubs across the grater is enough.★
