GRAZ, Austria — In Anne Lamott's novel Blue Shoe, the author describes one character drinking from a water bottle out-of-doors like this: "... Isa, tipping it back to take a swig, looked positively Austrian with rude good health."

It's true; Austrians seem to be an unusually healthy and robust people, and nowhere is that more apparent than outdoors.

On any given weekend, the Austrian countryside positively teems with hikers, bikers, walkers and runners. In town, side streets are clogged with whole families spaziergehen, or formally strolling, and parks are rife with shuffling pensioners and wandering lovers.

In winter, Austrians haul out skis, both cross-country and downhill, snow shoes, snowboards and ice skates. And they use them with an innate, almost religious fervor.

Why all this energy, this compulsive, restless movement? a visitor might ask. Well, the Austrian knows something the visitor may not: At the end of every hike, bike ride, stroll or ski run is — food!

It's almost compulsory for an Austrian to end an outdoor activity with a meal. In fact, it is my opinion that Austrians only hike, bike or whatever to get to the place where the food is being served.

No matter what trail you find yourself on, it's inevitable that you will, at one point or another, pass a restaurant. There are restaurants, or gasthäuser, everywhere — next to abandoned castles, above the snow line in the Alps, deep in roadless forests, next to working farms or by pristine lakes.

I don't know how they built some of these apparently inaccessible restaurants or how they supply them, but supply them they do.

Just after I arrived in Austria, my wife took me on a hike up steep mountain trails; there was nary a soul in sight, just birds, squirrels and the occasional deer. After several hours, as we approached the crest, drenched in sweat but with a proud sense of accomplishment, I saw what I thought was a rooftop. Impossible, I thought, we must be 10 miles into the wilderness. But, as we topped the mountain, we came upon a small chalet surrounded by picnic tables at which quite a few hikers were quaffing beers, eating grilled sausage and relaxing in the sun.

Consider the buschenschank

One of our favorite autumn activities is hiking to a buschenschank. A buschenschank is an Austrian eating and drinking establishment, usually situated in the countryside, with legal limitations different from that of a tavern or restaurant.

The tradition originated in the late 1700s, when Austrian Emperor Joseph II issued a decree that permitted all citizens to sell and serve wine.

Often adjacent to vineyards or orchards, a buschenschank is only allowed to serve its own wine or fruit juices, and must provide food grown, raised, butchered or processed on premises. It can only be open at certain times of the year and no warm or hot food or drink is permitted. The name stems from buschen, which are the green fir or conifer twigs hung over the door to indicate that the buschenschank is open for business.

Here in Steiermark, the most popular drink at a buschenschank is schilchersturm. Sturm is new wine, served just at the point at which the newly pressed grape juice begins to ferment. It is slightly alcoholic and tastes quite tart with rich overtones of ripe fruit. Schilcher is the rosé variety. White and red sturm are also popular.

Austria's wine country extends from Steiermark in the south to Lower Austria (the area around Vienna) and Burgenland in the east. There are many grape varieties unique to the area, but the most common wines found in buschenshanks throughout the region are zweigelt (red), welschreisling (white) and schilcher (rosé).

Although drinking is the primary pastime at a buschenschank, eating comes in a very close second.

Fat, fat and more lovely fat

A brettl is a round, wooden cutting board and a jause is a snack. A brettljause is often the main event at a buschenschank. It consists of a variety of dried, cured and smoked pork meats and sausages served on a round cutting board with a basket of crusty brown bread on the side. Sometimes a liptauer, or fresh farmers cheese, accompanies the meats; always there is freshly grated horseradish and sweet pickles. The only eating utensil provided is a small, serrated knife — this is finger food.

Although the dried sausages and smoked bacon and pork loin are delicious and deserve a column of their own, it is the fat I want to talk about.

The first time I visited a buschenschank, I noticed a mound of what looked to me to be congealed bacon grease on the brettljause. My wife smeared a dollop of the stuff on a piece of bread and popped it in my mouth. It was bacon grease! I was aghast.

"You eat this stuff?" I asked incredulously. It was pretty tasty, but the idea of eating pure fat was something I just couldn't get my mind around. That was a year ago; today I find myself craving the stuff.

There are basically three varieties of this uniquely Austrian spread: verhackertes, grammelfett and bratenfett.

Verhackertes is smoked pork neck, which is salted and put through a meat grinder. Ninety percent pure fat, the spread is creamy white with specks of meat throughout.

Grammelfett is pork cracklings — think chicharrones, amigo — that have been rendered in a bit of lard and then cooled, combined with its own fat, salted and chopped. Crispy bits of pork skin and slightly browned fat make a delicious spread for hearty brown bread.

Bratenfett is the drippings and cooled fat from a roasted pork shoulder that has been salted, seasoned with herbs and basted with lard. The resultant spread is creamy white, laced throughout with jellied meat juices.

Bratenfett is the singular most delicious thing I have ever put in my mouth. It is the essence of every steak, roast or grilled meat I've eaten; the condensed majesty of cooked meat, a haiku of pig, a symphony of sizzle. Oh, hell, now I'm embarrassing myself.

Let me just say that it is, indeed, tasty.

Foraging still hip in Austria

When Austrians aren't eating out, they are out foraging for things to eat at home.

Spring finds them scouring fields for young dandelion greens, which are best when yellow or pale green and found emerging under the turned earth at the edge of farm fields. Barlauch, or wild garlic, is found in the woods throughout the spring, the leaves of which are used to season pasta or risotto dishes.

In early summer, my wife searches the undeveloped land near our house for elderflowers, which she uses to make hollunder syrup for flavoring sparkling water. She also knows where the best raspberry and blackberry bushes are in our neighborhood.

Chanterelle, porcini and parasol mushrooms begin emerging in September. October and November bring walnuts and chestnuts. It is not unusual to see groups of people foraging for fallen chestnuts on the side of roads, just as people forage for piñon nuts on the side of Northern New Mexico roads.

It has been almost a year since I started writing columns. I am happy to report that my wife's visa is finally coming though and that we should be back in Santa Fe by Christmas. I leave you with this recipe for roasting chestnuts, which my wife enjoys eating throughout the fall and early winter while watching sappy German love stories on television.

Auf Wiedersehen!



Fresh chestnuts can be found at Kaune's Food Town, Trader Joe's and Whole Foods Market beginning in late November. Do not eat raw chestnuts; they can give you a stomachache.


Cut chestnuts just through the shell on the rounded side of the nut. Try not to go too far into the meat, but just to open the nut. Place them on a baking sheet and put in a 350-degree oven. After five minutes, toss a small glass of water on the sheet pan to create steam. After 15 minutes, test one to see if it's done; the meat should be floury, soft and sweet. Wrap the roasted chestnuts in towels for a few minutes before eating. Good chestnuts are mildly sweet and not too mealy.


This is a traditional cheese spread served in Austrian buschenschanks.

10 ounces farmers cheese
3 ounces butter, softened
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon finely chopped yellow or white onions
1 small sweet pickle chopped
6 capers, chopped
1 teaspoon salt
Dash pepper
1 to 2 teaspoons sweet red paprika
Chopped chives for serving (optional)

Mix everything but the chives together well. Serve sprinkled with chopped chives, if desired.


These slightly sweet cookies are sort of an Austrian version of biscotti. Measurements are given by weight to ensure accuracy.

6 egg whites
180 grams white sugar
210 grams all purpose flour
150 grams ground almonds
100 grams melted butter
Dash salt

Beat egg whites and sugar together until whites will hold a peak. Fold remaining ingredients gently into beaten egg whites. Place into narrow, greased loaf pan. Bake for an hour or so at 330 degrees.

Leave baked loaf out for several hours. Cut into very thin slices — an electric breadslicer works great.

Place pieces on a sheet pan and bake at 300 degrees until they are dry, but not browned.

These cookies go really well with wine or coffee.