Hungarian Shortbread

At 1:06 in the night from Sunday to Monday, I am writing from my flannel covered duvet with buttery, salty crumbles of Hungarian Shortbread* melting in the back pockets of my mouth. House and village are asleep.

Little toes here, a knee cap over there poking out from underneath the feather duvet to my left; did not hear my little one wander in and climb over me. She is in deep rest now, the peach pit sized bruise on her knee, a badge from the romping, running, twirling and tumbling that is part of the territory for a four year old. Glad she is sleeping well; tomorrow it is back to biscuits as we like to say in this house. The alarm is set. Pfingstferien (Whit holidays break) has come and gone. We had a lovely two weeks in the Oberpfalz region of Bavaria where we live. Just this is what I was thinking at 00:50/12:50am when I illuminated my alarm clock and finally stole a look. I swore it was almost 5:00am. I feel so rested; must have logged some good shut eye already. Not sure how long I lay in thought before checking the clock, a film of the last weeks was playing clearly in my mind: the breath taking Danube aperture, cuckoo calls in the forest, the remains of the Roman fort Abrusia; fields of wild flowers: dandelions, buttercups; sun, swinging, Schwetzi as the local swimming hole is fondly called, table tops covered in yellow pollen dust, fields of more new wild flowers: sweet peas, vetch, wild sage; sheep farm Heller: mounds of natural and dyed wool, Frau Heller´s unfiltered apple juice, orphan lamb baaing to be bottle fed; poppy seed strudel, dancing, twirling, cuddling, rainbow chalk dust driveway; wild garlic pesto**; yet more wildflowers: daisies, chicory, forget-me-nots, poppies; ribwort; pressing flowers, Dicker Mann: Wiener Schnitzel fried in Butterschmalz (heaven), natural history museum, bees, Herzogsgarten: humongous stunning rhododendrons in multitude, old town, Café Opera: almond croissants, DIBA: roasted sesame seed brittle and ginger lemon gelato. As the film recounts adventures great and small, I arrive at the Hungarian Shortbread which I left cooling on the counter when going to bed. At this point, totally awake, I decide to get up to cover the shortbread; not so bad that I woke up other wise it would dry out too much over night. The shortbread is a recipe from the recent “Butter” issue of Saveur magazine. The idea of freezing the shortbread dough and then grating it before baking is genius. Geniality can not wait to be sampled at a proper morning hour. So I cut myself a sliver. Mmm…buttery, light, crumbly, delicious. My taste buds infer a Diavlo espresso would be perfect now; reasoning tells this insomniac to hold off for obvious reasons besides not wanting to clank around too much. Cupboard open, I reach up and grasp a hand blown irregular juice glass and opt for milk. Milk and short bread are good friends. Deciding to cut one more sliver of shortbread, I am inspired to creep back into bed and put some thoughts down. Now having shared a bit, pardon me if I rambled, I will sign off as I feel sleep coming over me again. See you in the coming days when I edit and post this.

*Further comments on the shortbread recipe featured in the Saveur “Butter” (issue #109):

After you combine the ingredients for dough and before freezing, I recommend shaping the dough into two oblong shapes rather than into balls; this shape is easier to hold and grate in my opinion.

For the filling I used a mixed wild berry jam. But when spring and summer move along I would like to try replacing the jam filling with fresh wild blueberries and later wild cranberries.

**I will try to post the wild garlic pesto recipe in the coming days. It is too late to pick wild garlic at the moment as it has flowered and tastes bitter. Perhaps you have some that you have frozen or you can just tuck this recipe away until next spring.