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AUSTRIAN COOKS 76 One thing was foremost in her parents’ plans for their daughter: for her to learn to do something practical with a secure future. Like cooking, for example, because people, after all, will always have to eat. So she trained at the Kirchenwirt Inn in Austria’s Mühl district, where she comes from. Then she moved to a simple Salzburg restaurant because she felt change was important, and from there to Fuschl Castle because simplicity didn’t offer enough of a challenge. “I was determined to learn more about haute cuisine and realised for the first time how little I really knew.” Truffles? She’d never seen one. Making noodles from scratch? A hopeless proposition. But the celebrated Rudolf Grabner, who was chef in Fuschl at the time, recognised the potential of his young helper, and within a very short time she had worked her way up through the ranks to become his sous-chef. “He gave me opportunities to realise my ideas, and at the end of the day, that strengthened my self-assurance.” With that new confidence she soon learned to assert herself in a culinary world dominated by men. “As a woman you have to prove yourself at least twice as often as a man.” Soon she had become a “sovereign of the stove” in her own right. Firmly, but with less severity than one might think, she says: “A 21-year-old woman who knows exactly what I want helps me in the kitchen. We do it all together, because I like to keep a firm grip on things.” And that’s the kind of trait that has taught Martina Eitzinger’s parents that there’s more to being a chef than just calling yourself one. She’s proud of that, even though there’s a lot they still don’t understand. MARTINA EITZINGER THE FIGHTER / DIE KÄMPFERIN TANGLBERG, 4655 Vorchdorf, Pettenbacherstraße 3–5, Tel.: 07614/83 97, www.tanglberg.at Ihre Eltern wollten vor allem eines: Dass die Tochter später etwas Sicheres macht. Etwas Sicheres wie Kochen, denn Essen werden die Menschen immer müssen. Also lernte sie beim „Kirchenwirt“ in dem Mühlviertler Ort, aus dem sie stammt. Wechselte dann nach Salzburg in ein schlichtes Lokal, weil das Wechseln irgendwie zum Lernen gehört und zog dann bald, weil ihr die Schlichtheit zu wenig Reibungsfläche bot, weiter ins Schloss Fuschl am Fuschlsee. „Da war ich bereits von dem Wunsch beseelt, in die höhere Gastronomie vorzudringen und habe zum ersten Mal gemerkt, wie wenig ich eigentlich wusste.“ Trüffel? Noch nie gesehen. Drainiertes Gemüse? Trainiertes …? Frische Nudeln aus der Nudelmaschine? Hmmm – Ratlosigkeit. Doch der ehemalige Küchenchef Rudolf Grabner erkannte das Potenzial seiner jungen Küchengehilfin – innerhalb kürzester Zeit wurde sie Entremetier, dann Demi-Chef, dann Sous-Chef. „Er hat mir Möglichkeiten geboten, meine Ideen zu verwirklichen, letztendlich hat das mein Selbstbewusstsein gestärkt.“ Derart gestählt lernte sie, sich in der von Männern dominierten Welt der Pfannenschwinger zu behaupten – „als Frau musst du mindestens zwei Mal so oft dein Können unter Beweis stellen wie ein Mann“ und mutierte schließlich selbst zum „Herr am Herd“. Sehr bestimmt, aber weniger hantig, als es klingen mag, erzählt sie: „In der Küche hilft mir ein 21-jähriges Dirndl, die weiß genau, was ich will. Wir machen alles gemeinsam, denn ich hab’ überall meine Hand gerne drauf.“ Genau an diesen Kleinigkeiten haben Martina Eitzingers Eltern gelernt, dass Köchin nicht gleich Köchin ist. Das macht sie stolz. Auch wenn ihnen vieles wie ein Rätsel vorkommt. Photo: Luzia Ellert Martina Eitzinger is a perfectionist who realises that it’s important not to focus so much on perfection that you end up being alone, despite running a popular restaurant. / Martina Eitzinger ist Perfektionistin und weiß, dass man als solche aufpassen muss, nicht eines Tages trotz vollen Lokales allein dazustehen. ONCE UPON A TIME, little boys dreamed of growing up to become firefighters, airforce pilots or at least car mechanics. But now that Jamie Oliver and his Berlin counterpart, Ralf Zacherl, have become TV stars, other professions seem to have lost their charm. The new dream job is chef. The new sex appeal of the profession lies in its fresh image: the sweat has disappeared from brows, heightened complexions have given way to healthier coloration, and joie de vivre is the order of the day. Everything that the first celebrity chef in history, Paul Bocuse, “made possible and later regretted has been perfected and democratised by his pupils over the past 30 years,” noted the daily Frankfurter Allgemeine in a recent article. Today’s chefs differ from their predecessors in one important point: instead of being restricted to the role of culinary expert, they have become philosophers of the good things in life. They have just as much fun promoting wellbeing as they do plucking a free-range chicken, and the beneficiary is the grateful diner. “The interest in culinary enjoyment is no longer a question of money. To an entire generation – the 30- to 40-year-olds – it is now accepted as a matter of course,” says Christian Grünwald, editor-in-chief and co-publisher of the gourmet guide Austria A la Carte. He adds, “There’s no looking back. People have become more conscious of what they eat and drink: for health reasons, for the sheer pleasure of it, and because it is socially acceptable. Good food and drink have gone from being a fashion trend to a creature comfort that many people would not want to live without.” A survey by the Fessel-GfK research institute confirms this development: 43 per cent of those surveyed said they cook almost daily, and 23 per cent put their culinary skills to the test several times a week. In 1994 the comparable figures were 41 and 13 per cent respectively. The percentage of males who cook has also risen sharply: from 46 to 61 per cent in only four years. Demographer Helene Karmasin sees a relationship between the new pleasure derived from cooking and a growing need for self-expression: “Cooking is increasingly seen as an art form in which the individual can distinguish himself from the broader masses.” And the same motivation that gets amateurs started often provides professionals with their only chance of standing out from the competition. “During my training, I was already making a name for myself with unconventional ideas,” remembers Aurelio Nitsche, who denies that a desire to be provocative had anything to do with it. He simply wanted the curriculum to include the things that were important to him personally, for example, the inventive use of fruit. It was his good fortune that he had teachers who appreciated his efforts to integrate it into every possible recipe. Today the menu of the 28-year-old chef at Vienna’s Bordeaux restaurant is the logical continuation of his student days: among the hors d’oeuvres are “sautéed goose-liver on spiced apricots and balsamico shallots” and “carrot mango soup with shrimp” while the main courses include “guinea-fowl à l’orange.” Imagination has never been an impediment to success in this profession, and Nitsche’s attitude is another plus: “I’m happy if my guests are.” It hasn’t always been that way: insiders still roll their eyes over the legendary capriciousness of Marco Pierre White. The former enfant terrible of the British restaurant scene is said to have cared most about personal happiness, self-realisation and appearances. If he didn’t like the looks of his diners, he might throw them out of his restaurant in the middle of their meal. In the early 1990s, when affectation was not only tolerated but even welcomed, such whims were accepted. But today, that kind of behaviour is tantamount to professional suicide. A restaurant meal these days is supposed to be good not only for the stomach but also for the soul: in addition to a first-class meal, diners expect a certain degree of intimacy with the owners and personnel. “To be successful, a restaurant has to offer more than just perfect food in a chic ambience. If the human element isn’t right, no one will keep coming back”, says A la Carte editor Grünwald, describing the unforgiving nature of diners hungry fora bit of TLC. Gerhard Fuchs, whose culinary skills attract both foreign and Austrian gourmets to Straden in the southern Austrian province of Styria, has found a solution that personally suits him better. The 32-year-old talent, who began collecting awards the moment he had a kitchen to call his own, is employed by the Neumeister family, who have won their share of awards for the wines they make. He prefers to devote his passion to his pots, sharing the pleasure with his friends in the kitchen, two sous-chefs and three assistants, who in turn share his enthusiasm for the work. But contact with the guests is entrusted to other hands – Matthias Neumeister and his mother, Anna – who provide a wonderful dining atmosphere. “I don’t really think it’s important for the chef to wander around the dining room,” says Fuchs, almost defiantly. But he has a point to make that confirms his congeniality and modesty: “You shouldn’t let yourself be swept away by the whole thing.” Providing personal attention has always been a profitable concept. To the customer, regardless of social standing, being on close terms with the owner has always been a sign of success. In Austria the concept has a name: Pogusch, which is actually a hill 77
78 AUSTRIAN COOKS in Styria. But it has become famous because of the Steirereck Inn run by the Reitbauer family there. When someone today talks about driving up to Pogusch, they don’t mean a drive in the country; they mean paradise. The warm welcome written in chalk on the blackboard is sincere and is immediately repeated by the Reitbauers themselves, standing inside the door and flanked by fine wines and elegant cheeses, a signal to the visitor that this is a top restaurant of the friendly (and not the dimly lit) variety. The Steirereck is a place where the diners are young and old, unbridled and bourgeois, urbane and rural, and all of them enjoy cuisine that is already been awarded with three stars, and that at down-to-earth prices. “We want everyone to feel equally comfortable here. On Thursdays and Fridays, diners from the local region account for 60 per cent of the guests,” says Heinz Reitbauer Jun., who is responsible for the outstanding quality of the cuisine. “On Saturdays and Sundays 80 to 90 per cent come from Vienna.” The Steirereck serves some 1500 guests on those four days. That they all go home happy is due to more than just On the telephone Gerhard Fuchs sounds like a business executive: an appointment here, another there, and 90 minutes free in between. And because, as we later find out, even that seemed too long to devote to a single interview, he has packed another into his already tight schedule. But though this might seem like a case of the “today Paris, tomorrow Madrid, and the day after that New York” mentality, it all takes place in and around Straden, an idyllic village in Austria’s southern province of Styria. The man with so much on his plate is one of the country’s youngest and most highly regarded chefs. Your impression of the 32-year-old doesn’t change completely when you finally find yourself sitting across from him, but some aspects certainly do: he detests any attempt to attach importance to his person: “I shouldn’t be the focus of the diners’ attention. That’s the job of the service staff.” His contributions are to be found in the kitchen, on the plates, and in his dealings with the local farmers who supply his kitchen. The cuisine (Mangalitza pork with lavender, for example) is statement enough. “I don’t really think it’s important for the chef to wander around the dining room.” Time is too precious to a chef who prefers to peel the potatoes himself. “It’s true that we do it all ourselves. Our pheasants arrive with the feathers still on, and we bake our own bread. That’s why our workday starts at eight a.m. It’s fine to have confidence in people, but it’s even better to keep tabs on them. How do you think I’d feel if my customers complained about the food?” GERHARD FUCHS THE TACITURN / DER VERSCHLOSSENE Am Telefon klingt Gerhard Fuchs wie ein Top-Manager: dort ein Termin, hier ein Termin, zwischendurch anderthalb Stunden frei – und weil ihm auch diese, wie man später merken wird, offenbar für ein einziges Gespräch zu lang erscheinen, hat er noch rasch einen weiteren in seinen strikt geregelten Tag geklopft. Was dem Beobachter, leicht überspitzt, wie heute Paris, morgen Madrid, übermorgen New York vorkommt, spielt sich in Wirklichkeit in und um Straden ab, einem kleinen, idyllischen Ort in der südlichen Steiermark. Der Mann, um den sich so viel dreht, ist einer der jüngsten unter den höchst bewerteten Köchen des Landes. Sitzt man dem 32-Jährigen schließlich gegenüber, ist nicht alles, aber zumindest einiges anders: Jedwede Wichtigkeit um seine Person erscheint ihm als Gräuel: „Ich muss nicht im Vordergrund stehen. Diesen Job erledigen die Leute im Service.“ Das, was er zu sagen hat, geschieht in seiner Küche, auf den Tellern oder bei den zuliefernden Bauern aus der Umgebung. Die Perfektion, mit der ein Gericht (etwa das Mangalitza Wollschwein mit Lavendel) den Raum verlässt, muss als Statement reichen. „Ich finde es nicht wirklich wichtig, dass der Küchenchef durchs Lokal geht.“ Die Zeit ist zu kostbar für einen wie ihn, der am liebsten auch noch selbst die Kartoffel schälte. „Es stimmt: Wir machen alles aus eigener Hand. Wir lassen uns die Fasane in Federn anliefern, backen das Brot. Deshalb fangen wir jeden Tag schon um acht Uhr früh an. Vertrauen ist gut, aber Kontrolle ist besser. Wie würde ich sonst dastehen, wenn es zu einer Reklamation seitens des Gastes kommt?“ SAZIANI-STUB’N, 8345 Straden 42, Tel.: 03473/86 51, www.neumeister.cc Photo: Luzia Ellert Hanging out in the dining room, Jamie-Oliver style, is not Gerhard Fuchs’s cup of tea. He’d rather hover over his pots, where his true passion is simmering. / Jamie-Oliver-like mit Gästen zu chambrieren ist nicht die Sache von Gerhard Fuchs. Sein Platz ist an den Töpfen, dort brodelt seine Leidenschaft. the cuisine. “We take notes on what people like and dislike, and how long a group typically occupies a table, so that we don’t overbook or make people wait too long.” The same kind of perfection is essential at Hanner’s, says its owner, Heinz Hanner. His notes were used as the basis for a special computer program that keeps track of the preparation time for a given dish and the preferences of individual customers. “We have noticed, for example, that smokers finish their meal more quickly than non-smokers – perhaps because they are looking forward to their next cigarette,” says Hanner. He has focused his attention not only on the comfort of his guests but also of his personnel. “We take our meals together around a big table, like a family.” Those who are not in the mood for conversation can watch a huge screen that is always tuned to the music channel MTV. Heinz Hanner realises that he benefits from anything that makes his employees happy. Martina Eitzinger has the same ambition and goals as Reitbauer and Hanner, although her Tanglberg restaurant in Vorchdorf in Upper Austria is much smaller and does not have the same resources. She also takes copious notes. Like her colleagues, she realises that systems need to be much more carefully thought out than only a few years back. Customers still want to be king, but they also want to be treated with greater familiarity. She also recognises the danger that is lurking for all the Austrian Jamies trying to do everything better than it was done by the generations before them, expressing an idea that several of her colleagues only hint at: “You have to be careful not to neglect the people who are near and dear to you, your family and friends. Otherwise you wake up one morning and realise that you are more or less alone, despite running a popular restaurant.” SANFTE REBELLEN Es gab einmal Zeiten, da träumten die Knaben davon, Lokführer, Kampfjet-Pilot oder zumindest Automechaniker zu werden. Doch seit Jamie Oliver oder sein Berliner Pendant, Ralf Zacherl, sich mit ihrer generationsübergreifenden Bubencharmeoffensive TV-Star-Status erkochten, zählt das alles nichts mehr. Der neue Traumberuf ist Koch. Schuld am frischen Sexappeal dieses Berufs ist seine neue Positionierung: Er hat sich den Schweiß von der Stirn gewischt, die bedenklich
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