Real Spätzle

© John K. Taber, 1999

Sonja, my wife, did not learn to cook when she was a girl growing up in Stuttgart because of the disruption of ordinary life by the War. But even in War she learned to make Spätzle in spite of spending most of her days living in, or running to, bomb shelters.

Spätzle, a kind of homemade noodle, is the national dish of Schwabia, where it is widely made to the point of being a standing joke. It is also popular in Alsace, which confuses some people into believing that Spätzle is French. It isn’t originally, it is Southern German, and in particular, Schwabish. Probably the confusion is due to the fact that Alsace has changed nationalities numerous times in the long history of France and Germany so that the food there draws on the genius of both French and German cooking.

In the old fashioned way of making Spätzle, the homemade dough is spread thinly by knife on a wooden board with a handle, like a cheese board, and the knife is used to cut thin lines of the dough. Then the line of dough is flicked into a pot of boiling water. It is an art, the idea being to create thin, light noodles. Your reputation as a Schwabish housewife depended on your Spätzle flicking skill, and some women developed a motion that is just a blur to the eye. Nowadays, use of a Spätzle machine is almost universal, a kind of press that looks like a huge garlic press. The dough is placed in the press body, then pressed through holes into the boiling water.

Personally I prefer Spätzle made the old-fashioned way. I think the machine compresses the dough so that the texture of the noodle is not as light as it is when hand flicked. If Sonja hadn’t emigrated to Texas, she would have switched to the machine much sooner, and I never would have tasted real Spätzle made the old-fashioned way. For a long time after Sonja emigrated, Spätzle machines were not available in Texas, though you might have found them in New York or San Francisco.

Northern Germany uses the potato as its staple starch, and in Northern Germany, Spätzle is almost unheard of. Schwabia is part of Southern Germany, next to Bavaria, but still quite different. Schwabia, except for size, reminds you of Texas. The dialect is unique, and there are lots of stories, jokes, and even local theater based on the Schwabian dialect. Northern Germans are called “Prussians” regardless of whether they are from Prussia or not, just as Northern Americans are called “Yankees” in Texas, regardless of whether they are Yankees or not.

And of course, there are innumerable variations on Spätzle. Thaddäus Troll, the Schwabian humorist, writes: “There is Spätzle in the soup, or buttered, or fried. And there is wheat Spätzle, potato Spätzle, milk Spätzle, cheese Spätzle, roasted Spätzle, cabbage Spätzle, liver Spätzle, ham Spätzle, spinach Spätzle, sausage Spätzle, cucumber Spätzle, apple Spätzle, sour Spätzle, and Spätzle soufflée. And when there is no more Spätzle, there are noodles.”

In Stuttgart, the major Schwabian city, I once overheard a “Prussian” exclaim in exasperation “Will you have Spätzle, sir, will you have Spätzle, sir” mocking the waiters in the local restaurants, “Doesn’t anybody have potatoes here?” The answer is, not very often.

In this country, Sonja learned to cook. She learned dishes to serve Spätzle with. From a formidable old Hungarian, she learned the dish for which Sonja is still famous, chicken paprikash, which is perfect with Spätzle. She had to listen to the old lady’s stories of her marriages and amours, her wheelings and dealings, especially with men, and had to serve for free in the old lady’s restaurant. Eventually, Sonja’s perseverence won out, and she got the dish.

Chicken paprikash with Spätzle became our family’s special occasion dish. A family visit isn’t complete unless it is served. Our children invite their friends for chicken paprikash and Spätzle. But of course that’s not the only dish. From an unpromising start in the War in Germany, my wife went on to become a fine cook in America.

One day, Sonja tried Spätzle in a Dallas restaurant that claims to be Austrian. For some reason in Texas if a restaurant is German, they serve wurst and not very good potato salad. But if the dishes are at all continental, it is advertised as Austrian. The menu is limited, but good. Normally, we do not try Spätzle even if it can be found, but perhaps it was the recommendation of German speaking friends. Or, perhaps it was a fateful day.

Sonja thought, these Spätzle are better than mine! She never let on while we were there. She remained poker-faced. I was not aware of it, but a suspicion had crossed her mind. As soon as we were home, and without a word to me, she pulled Kochen wie die Schwaben (Cooking like the Schwabs, ISBN 3-570-01031-7) to check the recipe. It had never occurred to her to check the recipe. Why should she? This is a dish she knows as well as her name. Do you consult dictionaries to spell your name?

But there it was. 3 Eier (3 eggs) to 500 grams of flour! When she was a girl watching Spätzle being made, it was the War. All her life she had been making wartime Spätzle with one egg to 500 grams of flour, not real Spätzle with three! And she had taught so many friends over the years how to make “real” Spätzle, and at the age of 65 she learns it was wartime Spätzle instead of the real thing.

Of course, she had to try the real recipe with three eggs. Personally, I like the real Spätzle much better. But the kids didn’t. For them, wartime Spätzle is the real thing, not peacetime Spätzle. And if you think about it, it is a hard philosophical question to tell which is more “real”, the Spätzle made in peacetime or the Spätzle made in war. Of course, you may think that the real is only what we are used to. But that is a daring statement. What about the things we are not used to, but are quite real nevertheless? Real Spätzle is perhaps a Zen riddle.

So, here is the recipe for a version of real Spätzle, translated into American measurements and directions. I expanded the directions for readers who may not be familiar with handling dough.

Spätzle

Ingredients translated from German measurements

1 level cup all purpose flour unsifted. You will need extra flour on the side to adjust dough consistency.
1 egg (yes, one egg to one cup of flour is peacetime Spätzle. One egg to three cups of flour is wartime.)
½ tsp salt
¼ cup – 1 cup of water. You will use about ¼ cup of water but need extra water on the side to adjust dough consistency
1 TBS cooking oil

The proportion for peacetime Spätzle is about one egg per cup of flour.

Instructions

When working with dough it is smart to have extra water and flour on hand, so that dough consistency can be adjusted as needed. Especially for this recipe which was in metric measurements from a German cookbook, where I have reduced quantities, so that the American quantities don’t quite match.

Mix the flour, egg and salt into a dough, adding the water as needed. Don’t dump all the water in! Don’t overwork the dough or it gets tough. Add water a little at a time while mixing dough to achieve the right consistency. Use about ¼ cup to start. If the dough gets too thin, add some extra flour. Consistency should be smooth but not rubbery. It may be a little sticky.

Bring a large pot of salt water to a boil. Add the oil. Wet a wooden board with cold water. The board should have a handle, a cheese board will do. Put a piece of dough on the wetted board, and with a table knife, spread some of the dough, as if you were spreading peanut butter. Then with the edge of the knife, cut a thin line of dough and flick into the boiling water. Repeat rapidly. When the Spätzle swims on top of the water, it is done. Use a sieve to scoop out to a warmed platter. If you’re not fast enough, don’t worry, just make small batches.

Or, do what the Schwabs do today, use a Spätzle machine.

Use a slotted spoon or a sieve to scoop the cooked Spätzle out.

Serve buttered, or with an entrée with sauce or gravy. It’s really good with chicken paprikash or goulash.

Wartime Spätzle is the same, except with two to three times the flour per egg.