A couple of months ago I was listening to someone wax lyrical about the schnitzel at Fischer’s in Marylebone. Since then, various pages of my cranberry red notebook have been filled with scrawls of jumping thoughts, messy arrows, and at times illegible notes documenting the pursuit of my platonic ideal of a schnitzel.
The platonic ideal is rather specific. It entails a crispy crust made from seeds rather than fine breadcrumbs. This not only gives flavour and variety, but also is reflective of the fact that I never have fine breadcrumbs on hand, instead favouring the coarse rubble I make from odds and ends of bread left in the bread bin (a rubble that wouldn’t be suitable for schnitzel). The platonic ideal negates the need for three-step coating of the chicken; only two are required here (less mess, less faff). The platonic ideal gives equal consideration to the accoutrements: spritzes of lemon between bites; a dollop of dijon to swipe through; a tangle of peppery leaves, shaved fennel and vinegary shallots for freshness.
It seems necessary to note that I haven’t had a schnitzel at Fischer’s, let alone in Austria. I have little to no frame of reference for schnitzel, or at least an authentic one. This recipe was simply a figment of my imagination that evolved into reality via various rounds of pounding chicken with the base of a cast iron pan, various jars of seeds, and various notebook scrawls.