I am a schnitzel enthusiast.
It doesn’t really carry the same cachet as cured meats or runny cheeses in the pantheon of food boosterism, probably because here in the U.S. it’s no different from what you’d get in a chicken parm sandwich. But I love it nonetheless. It was one of the few foods my paternal grandmother knew how to make, and what’s not to love? It’s breaded and fried meat, a proven winner among cuisines from Italy to Japan.
A few weeks ago I was in Vienna, which is the ancestral home of schnitzel. Weiner Schnitzel is traditionally made with veal, though these days they serve it with pork or chicken subbing in for tender baby cow. Since I was there for only a few days, I took it upon myself to eat as much schnitzel as possible during the trip--with the occasional palate-cleansing käsekrainer, a sausage injected with cheese. Yes, the Viennese know how to party.
On my last day—really my last meal in Vienna—I ended up at Figlmüller. Figlmüller is a schnitzel restaurant that’s over 100 years old. It’s where you’ll be sent when you ask the concierge about schnitzel, just because, well, that’s where they’ve always sent the tourists.
Hear that noise? The sound of alarm bells, in case you are wondering.
I should have known better than to hit a tourist trap, but I had time to kill before my train. I ordered one of their famed pork schnitzels, larger than the plate and paired with potato salad. The schnitzel was massive—it’s pounded super-thin--and is best described as a blanket of pork. In my case, it also arrived warmed-over from the kitchen in less than two minutes, making it my least favorite schnitzel of the trip.
C’mon, Figlmüller, at least pretend you’re making me a fresh one next time, OK?