The veal thing: Tom Parker Bowles on why a true schnitzel should be the size of your plate
Crumbs, there’s no need to fly by the seat of your pants to produce the perfect schnitzel.
'In my carefree days in Vienna,’ recalls Joseph Wechsberg in The Cooking of Vienna’s Empire, ‘it was said that the test of a perfect wiener schnitzel was to be able to sit down on it, for at least one full second, without leaving a fat stain on the seat of your pants.’ The art, of course, being in that greaseless crust. Quite who’d want to consume the aftermath of such an experiment, I don’t know, but it just goes to show that the Austrians take their breadcrumbed veal very seriously indeed.
One can see why. For this is a dish worthy of worship, fit for kings, archdukes and child prodigies alike, traditionally a veal escalope, cut from the leg and pounded until less than half an inch thick. Purists will insist upon using the ‘kaiserteil’, or the ‘Emperor’s cut’ — lean, fine grained and wonderfully tender — sliced from the inner thigh. But, unless you happen to be friendly with a fleischhauer (Austrian butcher), it can be pretty hard to find.
In Austria, anything other than white veal would be verboten — so much more milky, delicate and pale. Yet the traditional European practice of rearing calves in crates to stop them moving about, without the barest glimmer of sunlight, on an exclusively milk (or milk-formula) diet is anything but humane. Crates have been illegal in the UK since 1992 (and in the EU since 2006) and 95% of our veal is rosé (or pink), meaning the calves are reared in open-sided, straw-bedded barns with a normal diet and plenty of social interaction. The meat may be a shade or two darker, the texture more firm, with a markedly pronounced ‘beefy’ taste — but at least you can eat it with conscience clear.
Don’t skimp on the size. A proper schnitzel should hang over the sides of a large plate, blotting out any sight of the rim. First, you dip the meat in flour, then beaten eggs, then breadcrumbs before sizzling in hot fat. Colour is everything. ‘Certain Bruegel paintings and Stradivari violins have the perfect hue,’ sighs Herr Wechsberg — although some prefer theirs a little less burnished, a little more Klimtian in its golden allure.
'If you do want to remove any excess fat from the crust, avoid the seat of your pants. Kitchen roll will do just fine'
You do not, of course, have to use veal. Chicken is the most usual substitute, together with pork and even beef. The variations are as many and varied as there are peaks in the Austrian Alps. The Holsteiner schnitzel, or veal Holstein, is perhaps the most famous, named after Baron Friedrich von Holstein, a diplomat of the imperial period. At its most baroque, it involves all manner of caviar, truffles, crayfish tails and smoked salmon. Yuck. Keep it simple — just a fried egg, criss-crossed by a pair of anchovy fillets. There used to be a very good version at Fischer’s in Marylebone and at The Wolseley in Piccadilly, but ever since the great Jeremy King was so rudely evicted a few years back, I’ve never returned.
For those who like keeping things simple, there’s the naturschnitzel, dipped in flour, without breadcrumbs; the Cordon Bleu schnitzel, said to be a Swiss invention, sees a slice of ham and Emmental cheese folded within the meat; paprika schnitzel is drenched in a sour cream and paprika sauce; the parma schnitzel covered with grated Parmesan; whereas the sardellen schnitzel is stuffed with an anchovy and butter paste. Veal Milanese, that great northern Italian dish, is a close relative, although the meat is cut from the rib rather than leg and fried in butter instead of lard.
Whatever you choose, it must be served fresh from the pan. ‘Many people leave it in the oven,’ warns Herr Wechsberg, the wise man of the wiener schnitzel, ‘which is a sin.’ I agree. Attack with a sharp knife and serve with a quarter of lemon. Oh, and if you do want to remove any excess fat from the crust, avoid the seat of your pants. Kitchen roll will do just fine.
Wiener schnitzel
This recipe comes from Shaun Hill’s Salt is Essential, one of my favourite cookbooks from one of our finest chefs. Hill is a deeply modest man, but still ‘shakes the pans’, as he puts it, at The Walnut Tree in Abergavenny, South Wales. ‘There are a few basics,’ he explains. ‘Don’t flatten the meat too thinly or it will taste of fried breadcrumbs and little else. I like the meat to be upwards of 1cm thick. Fried stuff needs the contrast of something acidic, so either lemon juice or a sharp salad as an accompaniment.’
Ingredients
Serves 4
4 100g veal escalopes
3 eggs, beaten
100g white breadcrumbs (panko is fine)
Lard for frying, or vegetable oil plus a knob of butter
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Method
• Tap out the escalopes to 1cm thick. The flattening is partly to tenderise the meat and is easily accomplished by putting the escalopes between two sheets of clingfilm, then, if you have no cutlet bat to hand, using the flat side of a heavy knife or the base of a small saucepan to produce an even result.
• Season the escalopes with salt and black pepper, then egg and breadcrumb each one.
• Spoon enough lard or oil and butter into a frying pan to give half a centimetre depth and heat this. You need the fat to be hot enough to seal and crisp the schnitzels without burning them and you can test for this by dropping a piece of bread into the pan — it should sizzle and then turn golden.
• Fry the escalopes, one at a time, unless you have an enormous pan. You may need to strain the fat, wipe the pan free of burning crumbs and then return the lard or oil, so that each subsequent schnitzel is as good as the first.
