Schöberlsuppe

There's a whole universe of soup garnishes in Viennese cooking that most people outside Austria never hear about. Everyone knows Frittaten and Leberknödel, but the list runs deep: Grießnockerl, Backerbsen, Lungenstrudel, and these, Schöberl. Little savory sponge cubes, golden and light, baked in a sheet and cut with a knife, then dropped into a bowl of clear Rindssuppe. They're one of the secrets of Viennese cuisine that Gretel always insisted belonged in the conversation alongside the showier Einlagen.

In my grandmother Eva's kitchen in Kent, Gretel would make the broth one day and the Schöberl the next morning. She'd cream the butter and yolks together until the mixture went pale, then fold in whipped egg whites so gently you'd think she was handling something alive. Into a buttered tin, into the oven, and twenty minutes later the kitchen smelled like nutmeg and toasted butter. She'd cut the sheet into cubes with a short, sharp knife while it was still warm, and they'd sit on a board looking like little golden building blocks until the broth was hot.

What I love about Schöberl is the texture. They're not dumplings, not noodles, not anything you'd expect to find in a soup. They have a lovely chew on the outside where the bake gives them structure, and a soft, almost custard-like center that absorbs the broth without dissolving. One spoonful and you understand why the Viennese developed dozens of Suppeneinlagen: because a good clear broth deserves a companion worthy of it, and the companion you choose says something about the kind of cook you are.