Vienna's Sweet Empire
By
I peppered Muthenthaler with questions about the finer points of making Demel's most popular sweets, including one of my favorites, the marmorgugelhupf, a marbled version of Vienna's famous coffee cake that is baked in a fluted mold. By way of answering my questions, the chef led me into the production area, a warren of rooms with soaring ceilings. I could hardly believe it: 35 years after my first visit, I was finally in Demel's inner sanctum.
I inhaled deeply and was met with that familiar and reassuring scent of butter and sugar baking together. Before me was a scene of intense but methodical activity taking place amid ovens and storage racks, a sheeter for rolling dough, mixers of several sizes, and yards and yards of wood and marble tabletops. In a bakery like Demel, where almost every item is shaped, filled, or decorated by hand, these tables, or benches, as they are called, are where you find the most interesting work. At one, bakers sliced towering stacks of round cakes into layers; at another, a woman was frosting a cake by holding it from below with her fingertips and maneuvering it to make it meet a spatula that she held in her other hand. At another bench workers piped pastel flowers onto glossy cakes, while nearby a young apprentice was rolling brioche dough into long cylinders and then shaping them into knots, braids, and other designs.
At the end of my tour, Muthenthaler invited me back for an even more close-up experience, and I spent the following two days in Demel's production area, learning how to make everything from diminutive Amadeus butter cookie sandwiches (filled with almond paste and dipped in chocolate) to the russische punschtorte. I had always admired the rich aroma and moist texture of that torte, and as I observed a baker sprinkle the naked layers of the cake with an upturned bottle of Spitz rum, a locally made spirit with a distinctive floral flavor, I reveled in finally knowing the real secret behind one of my favorite Demel desserts. After the cake was filled with custard and frosted with soft meringue (called schaummasse), the baker piped on more meringue in elegant ribbons and swirls, then fired up an extra-large butane pastry torch, which he wielded nimbly around the cake's surface to toast the meringue a light golden color.
Watching the production of Demel's famous trüffeltorte was equally revelatory: I was fascinated to learn that the batter is similar to the one that's used for sachertorte, except that its baked layers are spiked with rum. Instead of simply pouring the liquor over the top of the cake, though, the cooks add it to a sugar syrup, whose sweetness offsets the chocolate's slightly bitter edge.
When the cake was finished, a young baker readied it for the pastry case by slicing it carefully into 16 portions. He put a thick slice onto a plate and handed it to me. The filling was airy and light, in perfect contrast to the rich cake and bittersweet dusting of cocoa on top. As I savored the confection, I experienced a heady mix of emotions: a sense of joy, inspiration, humility, and, most of all, gratitude—to Demel, namely, for bringing such sweet things to life.
I inhaled deeply and was met with that familiar and reassuring scent of butter and sugar baking together. Before me was a scene of intense but methodical activity taking place amid ovens and storage racks, a sheeter for rolling dough, mixers of several sizes, and yards and yards of wood and marble tabletops. In a bakery like Demel, where almost every item is shaped, filled, or decorated by hand, these tables, or benches, as they are called, are where you find the most interesting work. At one, bakers sliced towering stacks of round cakes into layers; at another, a woman was frosting a cake by holding it from below with her fingertips and maneuvering it to make it meet a spatula that she held in her other hand. At another bench workers piped pastel flowers onto glossy cakes, while nearby a young apprentice was rolling brioche dough into long cylinders and then shaping them into knots, braids, and other designs.
At the end of my tour, Muthenthaler invited me back for an even more close-up experience, and I spent the following two days in Demel's production area, learning how to make everything from diminutive Amadeus butter cookie sandwiches (filled with almond paste and dipped in chocolate) to the russische punschtorte. I had always admired the rich aroma and moist texture of that torte, and as I observed a baker sprinkle the naked layers of the cake with an upturned bottle of Spitz rum, a locally made spirit with a distinctive floral flavor, I reveled in finally knowing the real secret behind one of my favorite Demel desserts. After the cake was filled with custard and frosted with soft meringue (called schaummasse), the baker piped on more meringue in elegant ribbons and swirls, then fired up an extra-large butane pastry torch, which he wielded nimbly around the cake's surface to toast the meringue a light golden color.
Watching the production of Demel's famous trüffeltorte was equally revelatory: I was fascinated to learn that the batter is similar to the one that's used for sachertorte, except that its baked layers are spiked with rum. Instead of simply pouring the liquor over the top of the cake, though, the cooks add it to a sugar syrup, whose sweetness offsets the chocolate's slightly bitter edge.
When the cake was finished, a young baker readied it for the pastry case by slicing it carefully into 16 portions. He put a thick slice onto a plate and handed it to me. The filling was airy and light, in perfect contrast to the rich cake and bittersweet dusting of cocoa on top. As I savored the confection, I experienced a heady mix of emotions: a sense of joy, inspiration, humility, and, most of all, gratitude—to Demel, namely, for bringing such sweet things to life.
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