A Recipe For Maultaschen, Classic German Comfort Food

A Recipe For Maultaschen, Classic German Comfort Food

A trip to the Black Forest transports a writer back 30 years, to a dish so elementally appealing it required no translation. Here’s the recipe for the meat-filled dumplings called Maultaschen that his host shared with him

By Alexander Lobrano in the Wall Street Journal

THE BAREISS, a cosseting hotel in the pretty Black Forest village of Baiersbronn, has been run by the same family for three generations. It is a monument to Germany’s Wirtschaftswunder (postwar prosperity). The hotel has several restaurants, including the Restaurant Bareiss, where chef Claus-Peter Lumpp has won three Michelin stars for his modern European cooking; a variety of good-looking dining rooms reserved for hotel guests; and the Dorfstube. This last, the snug, warmly wood-paneled, ur-gemütlich stube (tavern), caters to a mix of locals and hotel guests like me, who love its authentic regional dishes and the nostalgia they induce.

On a recent visit, I knew what I’d be having even before the dirndl-skirted waitress came to my table. A very old craving had brought me here: I wanted a bowl of Maultaschen, one of my favorite German dishes since I first tasted it on a bitter cold night in late December, 30 years ago.

My host that evening, Frau Werner, and I didn’t have a language in common, and we’d only just met. But I’ve rarely known affection more eloquent and sincere than hers when she came to the table with a steaming bowl of chive-flecked beef broth filled with three pillowy pasta pockets topped with a golden scattering of crisp-fried onion. “Maultaschen,” she said with a shy grin.

She’d made this specialty of Swabia, the southwestern region of Germany in the Black Forest, to welcome me to her home in Sonnenbühl, a tiny village surrounded by misty fields and pine forests. I’d arrived after a long journey from New York via Frankfurt and Stuttgart. Frau Werner’s son Gerhard, a fashion designer in New York, had invited me to travel with him for the week leading up to New Year’s. Wearing a calico dress, red apron and thick felt slippers, Frau Werner sat watching me eat and exchanging conversation with her son as she mended one of his socks.

‘She came to the table with a steaming bowl of chive-flecked beef broth filled with three pillowy pasta pockets topped with a golden scattering of crisp-fried onion.’

Rich but light and deeply satisfying, the delicate envelopes of pasta contained a fine, fluffy filling of beef, veal, pork, bacon and spinach, with just enough nutmeg to make you notice it. The nutmeg brought to mind the ancient spice trade that the Dutch ran up the Rhine to bring these rare tropical seeds into the heart of Europe.

 “Please tell your mom that this is one of the best things I’ve ever eaten,” I said to Gerhard. He translated, and the sturdy blue-eyed lady blushed deeply and dropped her eyes. Her reply: “I’m only being a mother.” Then she got up, stood behind me and hugged me so hard she almost knocked the wind out of me.

When Gerhard and I returned late at night after an excursion to Berlin and Munich, the heavy blue tablecloth I’d brought as a gift from New York had been spread on the kitchen table, and the red paper box it had come in had been cut up and put in the kindling box by the fireplace. In my room, the goose down comforter had been spread on the bed, and I noticed a missing button had been replaced on one of the two shirts I’d left behind, both of which had been washed and neatly ironed.

In the morning, I accompanied Frau Werner as she did her shopping in the village. She bought the goose she roasted for our New Year’s Eve dinner and both smoked and regular bacon, and then told the butcher to take the beef, veal and pork she’d ordered and grind it twice. Carrying her heavy wicker basket for her, I had my hopes up by the time we got home, and later that afternoon she invited me into the kitchen.

“I’m going to show you how to make Maultaschen, so you won’t forget me when you go back to America,” she said, with Gerhard translating. She sifted the semolina and white flour, and then made a crown of it on the counter, into which she cracked the eggs and added the vegetable oil. She invited me to knead it with my fingers, advising that the dough should be “sonnigen farbige” (sunny colored). Frau Werner wrapped the dough in a dishcloth and put it in the fridge. Next I mixed the ingredients for the stuffing, which we also refrigerated in a large bowl, “so the flavor will set,” she said.

That night, while our efforts chilled, we dined on the juicy roast goose with pickled plums and drank lots of the superb red wine made in the Baden-Württemberg region of Germany. The next afternoon, New Year’s Day, Frau Werner revived me with cinnamon buns and strong coffee. Then we got to work making the Maultaschen that were the best New Year’s Day supper I’ve ever had. She rolled out the dough, telling me it should be the same thickness as a dish towel. We trimmed it into two rectangles and then spooned the stuffing at regular intervals across one sheet before topping it with the other, cutting it up, and patting down the edges to close the parcels. At dinner, our last in Sonnenbühl before Gerhard and I returned to New York, Frau Werner laughed when she tasted the Maultaschen, saying they were “pretty good for being made by an American.”

So when I tell you that the Maultaschen I recently ate at the Dorfstube at the Hotel Bareiss were almost as good as Frau Werner’s, you should understand that it’s the highest compliment I can pay.

 

Maultaschen (Swabian Ravioli) Recipe

Active Time: 1 hour Total Time: 3 hours (includes chilling) Serves: 4

For the dough:

• 3⅔ cups all-purpose flour, plus more for work surface
• ⅓ cup semolina flour
• 5 large eggs
• 1 teaspoon vegetable oil

For the filling:

• ¾ cup chopped onion
• 1 tablespoon canola oil
• ¾ pound ground veal
• ¾ pound lean ground beef
• ¾ pound ground pork
• ¼ pound bacon, finely chopped
• ½ cup finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
• 2 cups finely chopped baby spinach
• ¼ cup heavy cream
• 4 large eggs
• ½ teaspoon salt
• ½ teaspoon freshly ground white pepper
• ½ teaspoon ground nutmeg

For serving:

• 1½ quarts beef broth
• 2 tablespoons chopped fresh chives
• Deep-fried onions homemade or canned)

1. Make dough: In a bowl, mix all ingredients. Turn out onto a floured work surface and knead dough until firm and smooth. Wrap dough in a damp dishcloth and refrigerate at least 2 hours.

2. Make filling: In a medium skillet, lightly fry onion in oil. Transfer cooked onions to a large bowl, add remaining ingredients and mix until thoroughly combined.

3. Make dumplings: On a floured work surface, roll out chilled dough into a thin rectangular sheet of 24 by 8 inches. Use a pastry wheel or knife to cut rectangle in half lengthwise to make two long, thin rectangles. Spoon out meat filling, one heaping tablespoon at a time, onto one long strip of dough at 2-inch intervals. Place remaining dough strip on top, pressing down firmly around heaps of meat filling to seal. Use pastry wheel or knife to cut dough into square dumplings.

4. Cook broth and dumplings: Bring beef broth to a simmer in a stock pot over medium heat. Transfer dumplings to simmering broth. Cook until dumplings float and are al dente, soft but firm, 15 minutes.

5. To serve, ladle broth into soup bowls, then add 2 dumplings to each bowl. Garnish with chives and fried onions.

—Adapted from the Dorfstube, Hotel Bareiss, Baiersbronn, Germany

Poster’s comments:

1)      Consider this post an idea if you will of a wrapped meal, and make your own substitutions with what you have on hand.

2)      Of course make up your own name for it, too.

3)      Here’s a wiki link on the subject, including how to best pronounce it:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maultasche