"Respect for tradition does not exclude progress and fun," says chef Lukas Mraz of the Viennese restaurant Mraz und Sohn
Lukas, what is your relationship with Viennese cuisine?
I love it immensely. I'm the third generation in the restaurant that has revered Viennese classics from the very beginning. My grandfather ran a Beisl, which is basically a taproom and the simplest form of hospitality in Vienna. It wasn't until 1990 that he opened our current pub, Mraz und Sohn, but it didn't do well at first because we are located in a working-class neighborhood. So my father decided to cook at a higher level and attract guests from the city centre to a remote part of town. But the "floor plan" of our kitchen remained Viennese, thanks mainly to my father. He grew up alongside his grandfather, so he has a perfect grasp of the basics of Austrian cuisine.
What are these basics?
Most traditional recipes require complicated preparation. They don't involve so many luxury products, but the biggest luxury is time. Take, for example, a Viennese goulash (Saftgulasch). Ten kilos of meat yields ten kilos of onions, which you have to peel, chop properly and slowly fry in pork fat for about five hours until they are almost black. This creates the umami of Viennese and probably also Czech cuisine, especially when it comes to sauces. Many dishes simply gain in flavour from the long cooking time. However, I would not be surprised if this way of cooking disappears from gastronomy.
What makes you think that?
Because it's a lot of work and it costs money. A lot of money. I'll give you the example of kidney and heart pie. The innards alone don't cost you much, but the process is tedious. The price should be several times higher than what we see in restaurants. The problem is that many diners will gladly pay thirty-five euros for a beef fillet, while a 'regular' pâté will sell for fifteen euros at most.
Do you put it on the menu?
Sometimes, yes. For us, it's the pijl that carries on a tradition that makes sense. It is a reminder of the important ability of Austrian cuisine to process a slaughtered animal whole, just like Altwiener Backfleisch, or boiled beef fried in a trivet, and many other recipes. And this is what we are returning to. We don't write it on the doorbell, but for the last few years we have been taking only whole animals.
What are the practical implications of that?
We've learned to think differently about menu composition. We slaughter the animal and then figure out what to cook to make the most of it. That's when we appreciate the old recipe books, because they know the best way to prepare each part. For us, variety lies not in the quantity of ingredients, but in the techniques. So in the final we serve only one type of meat and one fish, currently five courses of lamb and two courses of trout, which definitely does not fit the classic fine dining format.
How did you work with the lamb?
We're preparing Lamm Grillfackel, a German-inspired dish where the lamb flank is threaded onto a skewer and grilled. The shoulder, ribs, neck and chops are trimmed into what we call Lamm Peking Style, the kidneys, heart and liver are made into pork loin and the lean leg is prepared into carpaccio. The larger pieces of the leg or back are fried into steaks. We originally ordered lamb loins and an extra lot or two, but then I started butchering mangalitsa myself. That's when I calculated how many animals have to die when we buy in batches. And we changed our approach. Instead of five or six pigs a week, now we make do with one. We get most of our raw materials from Austria.
What other rules do you follow in the kitchen?
We don't look so much at the visual aspect. First and foremost, guests should eat well. I've cooked in three-star establishments, so I know how much time it takes to serve a beautiful meal. But I think it often takes away from the taste. Temperature also plays a part. You'll notice that most dishes, especially in fine dining, are usually at the same room temperature. Very few places will bring you hot food from the kitchen. And I think that's a shame. That's why with a new course, we always stop to consider how fast the service will be, and reduce the number of components on the plate if possible.
So no extra crispy elements...
I honestly don't care if there's crunch in the food or not. Textures can be handled differently than we're used to. I found that out in Japan. Our culture values the tenderness of meat, so chefs routinely cook it sous-vide to add something crunchy to it. In contrast, the Japanese are aware of the texture of the ingredient and can take full advantage of it. They know, for example, that some fish deserves tenderness, while others are better with a chewy consistency. By using different methods or different lengths of preparation, you can achieve different textures without having to add more and more ingredients. In the end, you do it all for the taste. I remember a dinner at the old Noma, steamed crab with egg yolk sauce. I could eat a bowl of that.
A Michelin restaurant is not a place where diners ask for help.
And I totally get that. Tasting menus are often too complicated. A lot of people will tell you at the end of the night that the food was exceptional, but they wouldn't want to eat something like that every day. Do you know what "Henkersmahlzeit" means?
No idea.
It's what they call the last meal before you die in Austria. How many of us would order a sophisticated composition from a Michelin-starred chef? For me, it's Grammelknödel, dumplings stuffed with pork crackling. Mraz und Sohn may pay for fine dining, but we still want to cook Henkersmahlzeit, which you just can't get your head around after a visit here.
Your concept is quite specific, combining Austria with Asia and setting the tradition in the present so that it can continue to take shape in the context of today. Where do you constantly get your ideas from?
I look around, I write down ideas, but creativity doesn't work on command. We used to focus on storytelling, telling funny stories for probably all our dishes, whereas now we're mainly based on ingredients. Last year, I was surprised by pearl onions, which we grilled in their skins, peeled and warmed in oil from kaffir lime leaves. At the end, we added fresh wild garlic and hollandaise made from cheese water.
Cheese water?
The cheesemongers at the Jumi farm collect the salt water that forms in the holes of the emmental. They get about two tablespoons of the liquid from one loaf, which has an incredibly clean, concentrated cheese flavour.
Looking to Instagram for inspiration?
I am. I don't follow Michelin restaurants or pros, but I'm fascinated by the profiles of amateurs who aren't afraid to experiment. I recently made a vegetarian dish based on a lady who cooked vegan St James' mussels. She wrapped enoki mushrooms in rice paper and roasted them until they mimicked the taste and texture of the mussels. We live in an open world, which of course has huge advantages, but also disadvantages.
What do you see as the downsides for gastronomy?
I feel like Instagram specifically is robbing us a bit of the experience. Maybe it would be stronger if we couldn't see the interior and menu of a restaurant beforehand. Show me a person who chooses which gallery to go to based on photos of artwork! As a teenager, my father used to take me to starred establishments and I'll never forget the excitement with which we stood at the entrance. We had no idea what was waiting for us inside. Anyway, after Noma reopened, I uninstalled Instagram for a few months. I didn't want to see the food until I was at the table.
Your restaurant is quite active on socials.
That's true. But you only get the bare essentials from the website, and we only post photos of dishes that aren't currently on the menu on Instagram. That changes after about five weeks over the summer and six weeks in the winter. And no course is repeated.
You represent a young generation of chefs. Is there something like a new Viennese cuisine developing here?
I've been thinking about it myself lately. New Nordic cuisine came out of the need to define a food culture in a region that didn't have as clear a culinary identity as Viennese gastronomy. I believe that we don't need an outright definition, but a decision on where we want to take our cuisine, how to lighten it up and adapt it to everyday life. That's the direction that, for example, the Reznicek where they offer vegetable dishes and smaller courses to share. Respect for tradition does not preclude progress and fun.
When I first read the menu at Mraz und Sohn, a question came to mind: Fun or responsibility?
Cooking is both. We have fun, but we take our profession seriously. There is no doubt that gastronomy influences culture and positive change in society. In addition, as caterers and chefs, we are responsible for the people in our establishments. And they want to work in an environment where there is humanity, where they can learn and improve. In the gastro business, no one will give you a lot of pie for little work, but our craft is rewarding nonetheless. You can surround yourself with great partners, be creative and make people happy. I wouldn't change it!
