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38 recipes

Leipziger Lerche

Leipziger Lerchen began as real roast larks stuffed with herbs, sold in Leipzig until the King of Saxony banned songbird hunting in 1876. The city's bakers answered with a pastry that kept the name: a shortcrust tartlet filled with almond-marzipan cream, a cherry or jam hidden in the middle like the bird's heart, and two crossed strips of pastry on top like the string that tied it. Today you find them in every Leipzig café, especially at the Christmas market. A common mistake is overfilling the cases, so the filling bubbles over and the cross sinks. Chef's tip: chill the lined tins for 15 minutes before filling so the pastry keeps sharp edges.

65 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Butterkuchen

Butterkuchen is the cake of northern German celebrations: in Lower Saxony, Bremen and Holstein it is baked on huge trays for funerals, weddings and christenings, which is why it is also called Freudenkuchen, joy cake. A thin, soft yeast base is dimpled all over with your fingertips, the holes filled with butter, then the whole thing showered with sugar and flaked almonds. In the oven the butter and sugar melt into little caramel pools. A common mistake is making the dimples too shallow, so the butter just runs off; press right down to the tray. Chef's tip: as soon as the cake comes out, spoon a few tablespoons of cream over it; it soaks in and keeps the base tender for two days.

110 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

Frankfurter Kranz

Frankfurter Kranz is the crown of Frankfurt's coffee tables, shaped like the crowns of the emperors once crowned in the city's cathedral and still made for birthdays and Sunday visits all over Hesse. A buttery ring cake is cut into three layers, filled with redcurrant jam and vanilla buttercream, then coated all over with golden almond brittle, the jewels being little rosettes topped with red cherries. Older recipes splash the layers with kirsch; this one is made without alcohol. A common mistake is spreading the buttercream when the custard and butter are at different temperatures, which makes it curdle; both must be at room temperature. Chef's tip: bake the cake a day ahead and chill it; cold layers cut cleanly and don't crumble into the cream.

150 min

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Donauwelle

Donauwelle, the 'Danube wave', is a German home-baker's favourite from the 1970s onwards, made on a tray for school fairs, birthdays and the Sunday coffee table. Cut a slice and you see the river: vanilla and chocolate sponge swirled into waves by sour cherries pushed into the batter, then a thick layer of vanilla buttercream and a dark chocolate top combed into ripples. A common mistake is pouring on the chocolate while the buttercream is soft, which melts the layers together; chill the cake well first. Chef's tip: warm a serrated knife in hot water and wipe it between every cut so the chocolate cracks cleanly instead of shattering.

90 min

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Prinzregententorte

Prinzregententorte was created in Munich for Prince Regent Luitpold, who ruled Bavaria from 1886, and it is still the cake Munich cafés and families bring out for name days and big birthdays. Seven very thin sponge layers, one for each of the old Bavarian districts, are stacked with chocolate buttercream, brushed with apricot jam and sealed under a shiny dark chocolate glaze. The slices show neat stripes and taste rich but not heavy. A common mistake is baking the sponge as one thick cake and slicing it; it is far easier and neater to spread each layer thinly on a tin base and bake it for a few minutes. Chef's tip: trace a 26 cm circle on seven sheets of baking paper before you start, then bake two layers at once on separate trays.

150 min

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Friesentorte

On the coasts of East and North Frisia, from Norden to the island of Föhr, Friesentorte is what the tea room serves after a windy walk on the dykes, usually with a pot of strong black tea taken with rock sugar and cream. Three crisp rounds of puff pastry are layered with dark plum butter (Pflaumenmus) and a thick band of whipped cream; the top layer is cut into wedges before baking and glazed with sugar, so every slice gets its own shiny lid. Some versions add rum to the plums; this one is alcohol-free. A common mistake is assembling it hours ahead, which turns the pastry soft. Chef's tip: assemble no more than an hour before serving and keep it cold; the contrast of crackly pastry and cream is the whole point.

70 min

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Rhabarberkuchen mit Baiser

From late April until the traditional end of the season on St John's Day in June, German bakeries and garden tables everywhere have rhubarb cake, and the most loved version is crowned with meringue. A buttery sponge is covered with sour pink rhubarb, baked, then piled with a cloud of sweet meringue and returned to the oven until golden and crisp outside, marshmallow-soft within. The sweet topping balances the sharp fruit perfectly. A common mistake is not draining the rhubarb, so its juice pools under the sponge and the base stays wet. Chef's tip: toss the cut rhubarb with a little sugar an hour ahead, then drain it well; it softens slightly and stops weeping into the cake.

120 min

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Versunkener Apfelkuchen

Versunkener Apfelkuchen, the sunken apple cake, is the quickest cake in the German home repertoire, made on autumn weekends when the first Boskoop and Elstar apples come in from the orchards of the Altes Land near Hamburg and Lake Constance. Peeled apple halves are scored like a fan and pressed into a rich lemon sponge, which rises up around them as it bakes until they seem to sink in. Children love it still warm with whipped cream. A common mistake is cutting the scores too deep, so the apples fall apart; cut about two-thirds of the way through. Chef's tip: brush the apples with apricot jam the moment the cake comes out of the oven; it gives a shiny bakery glaze and keeps them from drying.

70 min

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Camu camu

Camu camu are small purple-red berries that grow on bushes along the flooded riverbanks of the Peruvian Amazon, and in Iquitos and Pucallpa they are sold as frozen pulp and blended into a sharp, pink refresco at juice bars and lunch places. The flavour is intensely sour, more than lime, with a faint cherry note, and the berries are famous for containing far more vitamin C than oranges. It is the drink people order with a heavy plate of tacacho or rice. Never boil camu camu or make the juice hours ahead: heat and air quickly fade its colour and much of the vitamin C, so blend it cold and drink it soon. Frozen pulp or freeze-dried powder from health-food and Latin shops are the forms you'll find abroad. Chef's tip: start with half the pulp and add more to taste; it's strong enough that a little goes a long way.

10 min

Peruvian Drinks

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King kong

Named, the story goes, after the giant ape because of its size when the film reached Peru, the king kong is Lambayeque's proudest sweet: thick, crumbly biscuit layers stacked with manjar blanco, a sticky pineapple jam and a peanut fudge, then cut into heavy slabs. Shops in Lambayeque and Chiclayo sell them by the kilo in boxes, and travellers carry them home as gifts. It is very sweet, buttery and dense, so a slice goes a long way with black coffee. This home version makes the manjar blanco from condensed and evaporated milk to save hours, then turns half of it into the peanut layer. The usual mistake is overbaking the biscuit until it is hard; take it out as soon as the edges are pale gold, as it firms up while it cools. It is a project, so make the fillings first and let them cool. Chef's tip: wrap the finished king kong and leave it overnight before cutting; the layers settle and soften into each other.

150 min

Peruvian Baking

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Turrón de Doña Pepa

Every October, the month of the Señor de los Milagros processions in Lima, bakeries and street sellers pile their trays with turrón de Doña Pepa: layers of crumbly anise-flavoured sticks drenched in a dark syrup of chancaca cooked with fruit and spices, topped with a storm of coloured sprinkles. Popular lore credits it to Josefa Marmanillo, a woman from the Cañete valley who is said to have made it in thanks after the procession. It is sticky, crunchy and soft at once, with orange and clove in the syrup. Its downfall is usually runny syrup that soaks the sticks into mush; it needs to reach a thick, threading stage before it goes on. Chancaca is sold as cones or blocks in Latin shops; panela or dark muscovado also work. Some coloured sprinkles contain gelatin, so check the label. Chef's tip: make it a day ahead; the syrup sets and the sticks soften just enough to slice neatly.

120 min

Peruvian Baking

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Champús

When Lima's grey winter sets in, from June to September, champús sellers set up on street corners with big pots of this thick, fruity drink, ladled warm into glasses and eaten as much as drunk. It's made from mote (hulled white corn), simmered with pineapple, quince or apple, soursop, chancaca and warm spices, then thickened lightly with corn flour, so every spoonful has soft fruit and chewy corn in a spiced, molasses-sweet base. It is close in spirit to mazamorra morada but paler and tangier. The mistake people make is adding the thickener straight into the hot pot, where it forms lumps; always slake it in cold water first and pour it in while stirring. Canned or jarred hominy saves hours; frozen soursop (guanábana) pulp is in Latin shops and can be left out. Serve warm in glasses with spoons. Chef's tip: simmer the pineapple peel and core with the spices for the first 20 minutes, then strain them out; they give much of the flavour.

80 min

Peruvian Drinks

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Emoliente

Before dawn, all over Peru, emolienteros set up their carts with a row of steaming kettles and jars of herbs, and commuters stop for a glass of emoliente on the way to work. It's a hot infusion of toasted barley, flaxseed and herbs, with lime juice and sugar added to order, and it is drunk for comfort and digestion, especially in Lima's damp winter. The flaxseed gives it a slippery, soothing body; the barley a toasty, almost coffee-like note. Street versions use horsetail, alfalfa, boldo and other herbs; this home version keeps it simple, with horsetail as an option (leave it out if you are pregnant or have kidney problems). The usual error is boiling the flax too long, which makes the drink gloopy; add it for the last 10 minutes only. Serve very hot in glasses, with pan con queso or a sandwich. Barley contains gluten. Chef's tip: toast the barley yourself until it is deep brown; it's what gives emoliente its colour and its roasted flavour.

40 min

Peruvian Drinks

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Quinua con manzana

Morning market stalls and street carts from Lima to Huancayo ladle quinua con manzana into glasses alongside emoliente and maca, and many people drink it as breakfast on its own, with a bread roll or a sandwich beside it. Quinoa and chunks of apple are simmered with cinnamon and cloves until the grains burst and the liquid thickens, then sweetened and served warm or cold. Some stalls blend it smooth; others leave the grains and soft apple pieces to spoon up. It is mild, fruity and filling, and children usually like it. The mistake that ruins it is skipping the rinse: quinoa's natural coating, saponin, makes the drink bitter and soapy, so rub it under running water until the foam stops. Chef's tip: add a few drops of lime at the end; it lifts the apple and keeps the drink from tasting flat.

40 min

Peruvian Drinks

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Pfeffernüsse

Pfeffernüsse are small domed biscuits baked in German homes through Advent, especially in the north and in Saxony, and sold in bags at Christmas markets everywhere. They are made with honey and a warm spice mix, and in old recipes the 'pepper' in the name meant exotic spices in general, though a pinch of real black pepper adds a lovely bite. A thin white glaze sets crisp over a chewy centre. The mistake many people make is eating them straight away; they are hard at first and need a few days in a tin with a slice of apple to soften. Chef's tip: warm the honey only until runny, never boiling, or the biscuits turn tough.

35 min

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Marmorkuchen

Marmorkuchen is the cake German children grow up with: a tall, buttery ring of vanilla sponge swirled with chocolate, baked for birthdays and kindergarten parties and kept under a glass dome for afternoon coffee all week. It needs nothing but a dusting of icing sugar, though many families pour over a thin chocolate glaze. A common mistake is over-stirring the two batters together, which turns the cake a muddy brown instead of showing clear marbling. Chef's tip: layer the batters in the tin, then pull a fork through just once in a spiral; less is more.

75 min

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Baumkuchen

Baumkuchen is the king of German cakes, and the little town of Salzwedel in Saxony-Anhalt has baked it on a turning spit over an open flame for two centuries; in December, Baumkuchenspitzen, chocolate-dipped triangles of it, fill the shelves before Christmas. Without a spit you can build it at home in a tin under the grill, one thin layer at a time, and each slice shows the golden rings of a tree. The mistake people make is spreading the batter too thickly, which gives fewer, stodgy layers that cook unevenly; aim for 2 tablespoons at a time. Chef's tip: stand by the oven; each layer turns from pale to burnt within a minute once it browns.

110 min

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Kispiño

Pressed in a fist so each one carries the marks of the cook's fingers, kispiño are small, dense quinoa cakes from the Puno highlands, steamed and then left to dry so they keep for weeks on journeys, herding trips and pilgrimages. Traditional ones are bound with a little lime water (from cal, the mineral) and fat; this home version uses oil and a pinch of aniseed and sugar, so they're vegan and pleasantly savoury-sweet. They're firm and chewy, a little like a grain cake, and good with hot tea, coca tea or a soup on a cold day. The common mistake is making the dough too wet, so the cakes slump in the steamer; it should feel like damp sand that holds its shape when squeezed. Ground quinoa is quinoa flour; grind your own from rinsed, dried and toasted grain, or buy it ready ground. Chef's tip: toast the ground quinoa in a dry pan first until it smells nutty, which takes away any bitterness.

55 min

Peruvian Baking

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Aguajina

Aguaje is the scaly, chestnut-red fruit of the moriche palm that grows in the flooded forests around Iquitos, and its orange flesh ends up in ice lollies, ice cream and, above all, aguajina, the cold drink sold in plastic cups at every corner and in Belén market. The taste is unusual and loved locally: tangy, a little like apricot and carrot, with a rich, slightly oily body. Fresh aguaje must be softened in warm water for an hour before its thin layer of pulp can be scraped off; outside Peru, frozen aguaje pulp from Latin American shops is the realistic choice and gives a good result. A common slip is adding all the sugar before tasting: the pulp's sourness varies from pack to pack, so sweeten at the end. Serve very cold with lunch or on a hot afternoon. Chef's tip: blend the pulp with only part of the water first, so it breaks down fully, then stir in the rest.

15 min

Peruvian Drinks

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Chapo

Breakfast stalls in Iquitos and the riverside towns of Loreto pour chapo into glasses from big steaming pots before the heat of the day sets in, and by afternoon the same drink is sold chilled. It is made from plantains left until their skins are black, simmered with cinnamon and cloves until soft, then blended smooth and loosened with milk. The result is thick, naturally sweet and gently spiced, somewhere between a smoothie and a thin custard, and children love it. Some families make it with water only; evaporated milk is the common addition in town. The mistake is using plantains that are still yellow-green: they taste starchy and the drink turns grey and gluey, so wait until the skins are mostly black and the fruit gives when pressed. Serve hot with bread or a tamal, or cold over ice. Chef's tip: strain it through a sieve after blending for a silky drink, and thin it with water if it thickens as it cools.

30 min

Peruvian Drinks

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Rosinenstuten

Rosinenstuten is the soft, slightly sweet raisin loaf that Westphalian and Rhineland families buy for Sunday breakfast and for christenings, where a giant one was once the traditional gift. It is baked in a long tin, sliced thick and spread with good butter, sometimes with a layer of cheese on top, which sounds odd and works beautifully. The crumb is fine and fluffy and the crust soft and shiny. A common mistake is adding dry raisins straight to the dough; they burn on the crust and steal moisture. Chef's tip: soak the raisins in hot water for 15 minutes, pat them dry and knead them in only at the very end, gently, so the dough stays light.

190 min

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Zwetschgendatschi

When the late-summer Zwetschgen (small, oval damson-type plums) arrive at the markets of Augsburg and Munich, every Bavarian and Swabian kitchen bakes a Datschi on the biggest tray it owns. A thin, soft yeast dough is covered edge to edge with plum halves stood upright in tight, overlapping rows, so the juices run and caramelise as it bakes. It is eaten in the afternoon, cut in squares, with a big spoon of whipped cream. A common mistake is using large round plums, which flood the dough with juice and leave it soggy; the firm, oval Zwetschgen hold their shape. Chef's tip: scatter a thin layer of fine breadcrumbs or ground almonds over the dough before the plums go on to catch the juice.

115 min

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Silesian Streuselkuchen

Streuselkuchen came west with families from Silesia, where a tray of it was baked for every wedding and church fair, and it is now sold in every German bakery. The point is the crumble: big, buttery, vanilla-scented lumps sitting almost as thick as the soft yeast base underneath. It is served plain with coffee in the afternoon, often a day old, when the streusel has gone crisp and the base slightly chewy. A common mistake is rubbing the streusel to fine sand; it should be squeezed into clumps the size of hazelnuts. Chef's tip: use cold, cubed butter and chill the finished streusel for 20 minutes before scattering it, so the lumps keep their shape in the oven.

120 min

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Zwiebelkuchen

When the grape harvest starts in Baden and the Württemberg vineyards in September, bakeries pull out trays of Zwiebelkuchen: a thin yeast base piled with slowly softened onions under a sour-cream and egg custard, sprinkled with caraway. It is traditionally eaten warm with Neuer Wein or Federweißer, the young, still-fermenting wine; that is alcoholic, so pour cloudy fresh grape juice or apple juice instead, which tastes just as right. Many bakers add bacon; this version is vegetarian. A common mistake is rushing the onions on a high heat: they need 25 minutes on low until soft and sweet but still pale. Chef's tip: cool the onions before adding the custard, or the eggs start setting in the bowl.

70 min

by KrazyBadal 0 views

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