Dining out in Austria

Hot on the heels of my pine-scented gastronomy adventure in South Tyrol …I crossed the border into Austria where it’s Tirol with an “i.” Now Austria, unlike Italy, doesn’t quite have worldwide fame when it comes to talking about food.

Wiener Schnitzel and the Sound of Music

To the uninitiated, when people think about Austria, they think about Wiener Schnitzel and The Sound of Music and pretty much leave it at that (I apologise, dear Austrians and in fact anyone who knows your land well, but, well, I can only report back on what I hear.)

That’s not my impression of the place, of course, but I have had the good fortune and opportunity to travel there several times. I know about the secret underground ice palace. Their art installations high on mountain peaks and opera festivals held skimming across lakes. Their winter ski season (obviously) and summer wire-balancing klettersteig. Their sweet wooden hearts and cutting edge design , their stunning capital city and its grisly, speckled history. Their sparkling crystals at Innsbruck.

But what I hadn’t, in all this time, really noticed was their food.

Dumplings and Liver Soup

Perhaps I hadn’t noticed because it came with names that reminded me more of Oliver Twist and lukewarm school dinners than fresh flavours and haute cuisine.

Words like dumplings.

Liver soup.

And maultaschen (which, at certain moments, sounds like a fusion dish between mould and moustaches. Not too appealing, I have to say.)

But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: one of the best parts about travel is the chance to find out just how wrong you can be!

Dining at the For Friends Hotel in Seefeld opened my eyes (or, rather, my tastebuds) to just how good this mountain fare can taste when in the right hands. Smoked salmon with horseradish cream and a crispy quail egg. Poached catfish in a vegetable broth. Carpaccio from Tyrolean alpine cattle.

It also shed some light on the word maultaschen, apparently a local specialty.

Who owns maultaschen?

To my delight there were no tashes or fungi in sight but to my dismay sources dispute that they are Austrian! My discovery of these soft yet firm, chunky yet delicate, look-a-lot-like-ravioli-but-really-are-different morsels may have taken place in Austria but the European Union decrees that they belong to Swabia in Germany (they also, as you may remember, have protected the Nuremberg Sausage. ) The cynic in me also spots a certain similarity to the pierogi from Poland.

Still, for all I love the story and history behind my food, the most important thing about it all is that it tastes good. Ideally, very very good.

And that was the big surprise about dining out in these Austrian mountains. It wasn’t just very good, it was excellent. And I’d highly recommend stopping off there to have a taste.

Mmm, mmm…

Disclosure – On this occasion I travelled to Austria as a guest of the Austrian Tourist Board to take a look at their finest experience hotels. All talk about mould, moustaches and indeed anything else are mine, all mine, as ever, as always. Otherwise, there’s just no point.