Bachlkoch - Embach's secret festive speciality

Embach at Christmas: guarding the Bachlkoch recipe

Christmas in Embach is a simple and traditional occasion which still has a lot more to do with religion than parties, frenzied shopping and the giving and getting of expensive gifts.

Nothing highlights this contrast more than the menu plan because in this corner of the world, Christmas Eve, the most important day, is a fasting day. The 25^th, is a holiday, but more given to trying out new skis than collapsing in front of the TV after a gargantuan meal.

The morning of Christmas Eve is a normal day and many people will be at work. On their return home to Embach they will probably eat a Bachlkoch – because this is Bachltag (the day when once farmers sharpened all their knives and cutting implements).

The Bachlkoch recipe is hard to pin down because everyone has their own and no-one seems keen to give it away – even the internet is unhelpful. It consists of milk and flour whisked together over the heat with a pinch of salt and a little butter. Some people I have asked also add honey. Apparently everyone eats it and loves it – but only on Bachltag.

Later, once it is dark, most residents will gather in the village centre to hear hymns played by members of the brass band from four different balconies around the square. First one group plays, then the next and the next. Finally they wish us all a happy and peaceful Christmas. People shake hands with friends and neighbours, wish them a frohe Weihnachten and return home. Some will take with them a candle lit from one whose flame has been brought from Jerusalem.

This is the formal start of Christmas but instead of a feast, many families in Embach will eat a soup, often pea soup, with a frankfurter cut up in it. Later, presents, brought by the Christchild (Santa doesn’t come this way) will be opened and songs sung around the Christmas tree.

Many old traditions are maintained – our neighbouring farmer and the family is probably not alone in processing with smoking frankincense around their stall where the cattle, horses, ducks, chickens and sheep spend the winter.

It isn’t just the snow that makes this simple kind of Christmas celebration more attractive than the excesses of Christmas elsewhere. Eating Bachlkoch, made from a recipe handed down through generations, seems more appropriate than the belch from an overloaded stomach.

There's more to this concert than music

The highlight of the year for the Lend village band (Lend is Embach’s „sister village“ 400m below us) is the Cäcilia concert to celebrate music’s patron saint’s day. 

Resplendent in their red uniforms with black capes, reflecting Lend’s industrial heritage, they played music ranging from challenging classical numbers to swing and old favourites to a packed house. The high standard is a credit to the music director.

A report on the concert in the Embach/Lend village magazine, written by the band’s chairman, is headed “Music with much Love and Swing, many Honours and Thank Yous” which is a pretty accurate summary.

The music was great – but the talking must have taken up an equal amount of time. After the first musical piece all the VIPs had to be welcomed: one by one they stood and were applauded. VIP means everyone in the village who is not an ordinary pleb, (even assistants to VIPs get a mention) plus music directors from all the surrounding villages, mayors and other nobs from the world of music. This took quite some time and enough clapping to make our hands tingle.

Back to the music: Before long it was time to award honours to long-standing band members, juniors who have reached a certain standard and others who have had notable successes. By the time these and other award winners each had lined up with the mayor and other dignitaries for photographs, the crowd was getting restless.




Resplendent in their uniforms - members of the Orts- und Werks Musikkapelle Lend together with VIPs - the Mayor and union boss lining up for photographs

 

Added to all this, Austrian tradition says concerts must have a compére who not only has to say what’s coming up, but has  to spice it up with a potted biog of the composer and jokes and poems. However good these may be, and in Lend they are good but delivered in dialect incomprehensible to outsiders, it means more talk, less music.

It is part of life here; one of those things the outsider must observe and accept as it is. I go every year; I know what to expect and enjoy it for what it is – not just a concert, but an annual event with musical accompaniment - something Austrian. It’s an example of why moving to a new country reawakens all your senses – things are different. It’s why I am glad live here.

It is especially pleasing to see so many youngsters playing in the band and getting rewarded for their efforts, this year: François Choukri looking like a born percussionist, particularly with the cymbals, Michael Moser on the tenor horn which is almost larger than him and trumpeter Jenny Viehauser.

Monsters on the rampage

For a teenage girl wishing on a dark winter’s night to be grabbed by a huge hairy monster in a hideous mask, possibly to receive a whack round the legs with a bunch of twigs sounds unlikely. But this, I’m told, is exactly what they wanted last Saturday evening.

For the young lads in the village, in the face of these creatures, it is important to show nonchalance, to be seen not to be afraid – after all, they could soon turn into a Krampus themselves.

Last weekend was the traditional Krampuss Rummel in Embach where these great hairy creatures rampage through the village. The village centre is crowded, glühwein being downed, flares, fireworks and loud music accompany the deafening cacophony of their arrival and the Krampusse begin their “punishment” of those who take their fancy.

They are the bad spirits accompanying St Nicholas who is visiting the houses of children to reward those who have been good with sweets and nuts, and ticking off those who have not. While this good man, with his tall hat, white gloves and golden book is viewed with awe by the children, his “bad” attendants, the Krampusse are the subject of fear and terror.

It’s not surprising. Huge, hairy and loud, Krampusse leap around the village carrying a switch of twigs which is used to punish the unwary with a whack around the legs. The goodness of St Nicholas’ alone is said to outdo the ten or so Krampusse who accompany him.

To be a Krampus you must own the kit which here in Embach includes a huge hideous mask, hand carved from wood with a number of horns, sometimes curled and sometimes long and twisted. This are often passed through generations as new ones cost a small fortune. Hairy animal skins cover the body and on their backs are large metal globes filled with nuts and bolts to make a fearful noise when shaken.

It’s a hard task being a Krampus, leaping around, grabbing and whacking people, continuously jumping up and down to make the din that Krampusses make to confuse their prey. Much beer has to be downed, and probably not a few glasses of schnapps before the night is out. It’ll go on for a few nights to come before they return to their lair and St Nicholas puts his book aside and the children await the arrival of Christmas.

The Oncethmus and the Clappers

Some years ago there was a donkey called Alfredo living in Embach. Day and night his oncethmus* was so loud, so harsh and so frequent that not only tourists were complaining about losing sleep, but residents who were used to Alfredo, were also fed up. Finally Alfredo was dragged into a truck and left us for good – though some did claim he returned as a Mortadella and was to be found in the meat counter in the shop.

* oncethmus: the loud and harsh braying of donkeys

Now Embach has three white donkeys with ice-blue eyes. Their oncethmus is audible but not so disturbing and can be heard day and night.

The other noise which can be heard at all hours is the church clock. Chiming the quarters and marking the hours – there are 100 strikes each day by 6am at which point the big bell comes into action and its clapper responds with a further 100 resounding bongs. This is the village alarm clock, it can be heard all over Embach, and no-one seems to mind as it is the traditional time to get up.

This big bell also rings at midday – originally to bring the farmers in for lunch, at 7pm and on Fridays at 3pm when the week’s work is done and most people settle in at home for the weekend. Then, of course it ensures we know when there is a mass, and it also rings for weddings and funerals. It is a part of village life, marking the passing hours in a
time-honoured way.

So what is the link between the oncethmus and the clappers? I am not sure there is one but it does very often seem that the donkey responds to the ringing of the church clock. Day and night he brays a couple of minutes after the clock chimes the quarters, which for some time now has been marking time two minutes ahead of Central European Time – so maybe the donkey has a better timepiece.

It isn’t always the case and occasionally the oncethmus can be heard just before the chimes – given the erratic performance of the church clock, the donkeys could be right. Fortunately the current braying does not seem quite as hard and harsh as Alfredo’s lonely cry and it seems unlikely that we will be getting another familiar-looking Mortadella in the shop in the near future.

Going off with a bang

Dynamiting the rock face which threatened traffic onthe road below

It seems as if everyone is holding their breath. We’ve enjoyed three months of cloudless skies broken only by two short bursts of snow. Now on the north-facing slopes where the sun no longer reaches, there is deep frost, the rime crunching underfoot, the crystals standing tall and packed together like a micro-Manhattan.

Now, though we are ready for the snow, there is no sign of its arrival: creeping up in the night, laying a sound-deadening blanket over the land or blasting down from the mountain and whipping with the wind into corners and crevices. The first Advent Sunday is just about here – the atmosphere is not the same without the snow when we hunker down cosily with candles and glühwein, coffee and biscuits.

One event went off with a bang this week. The Bogensperger Palfen, a rock face which showered tons of rock across the road between Lend and Embach in August and had not been fully cleared, was dynamited to send a further 1000m³ of shale down into the valley. Care had to be taken not to blast it on to the railway or into the river. Now this has to be cleared before we can drive directly to our sister village down below. The event was seen on TV and watched by many residents.

(For why this is called the Bogensperger Palfen - see Bogenspergers in the News - this blog and for what happens to the spoil, see Moving Mountains)

Meanwhile, the only other road out of Embach has suffered a rock slide which also means a long diversion. It is the same whichever direction we take from here at the moment.

Something else went off with a bang: Sunday was the annual Advent Market organised by the Katolische Frauenschaft (something like the Women’s Institute) with hand-made Christmas decorations, seasonal foods and an amazing number of huge creamy cakes for immediate consumption. A great deal of time, effort and creativity go into putting on such a display and it is enjoyed by whole families who crowd into the Gasthof where it is held .  To mark the 20^th of these markets, there was a free mug of glühwein for all visitors.



TV news reported on the dynamiting of the rock hanging over the road between Embach and Lend



Bean missin' you

Austria has a great tradition of coffee houses. Here among the clatter of china, the chatter of coffee lovers, Verlängertern, Großen Braunen, Espressos, Melange and more are served. Each cup and saucer placed on a small oval tray with a paper doily, sugar, cream, a glass of water and usually a small chocolate or a biscuit.

Then there are the cakes: big, sweet, creamy, gaudy, myocardially infarctful. Walk up to the glass counter and make your choice – it will be brought to the table with your coffee.

There is no rush. Newspapers are provided so that you can linger and browse, gather and gossip. A coffee can last an hour if you wish.

Each coffee house has its own style and many are steeped in tradition with panelled walls, tiny tables and waiting staff with huge wallets containing the takings in their trouser back pockets. Some coffee houses are listed monuments.

However, a coffee house needs more than this. It needs good coffee. There’s no beating the deep, ingrained, sensual aroma of well-ground, properly-brewed coffee, served, sipped and relished over many years.

Sadly, more and more coffee houses are serving half-a-cup of warm brown liquid that drips from an electronic machine at the press of a button – and charging far too much for it. At a time when so many varieties of beans are available from exotic corners of the world, why is there never a choice of coffee bean?

The days of skilled baristas grinding good quality beans, measuring the coffee into the basket, tamping with just right pressure and working the taps and knobs of a steamer machine as big as a church organ are fading fast. In Salzburg they are few and far between.

The coffee house is under threat – for how long will people pay over the odds for something which no longer lives up to the tradition to which it gave birth? Classy presentation without outstanding content is a hollow offering. Indulging in the atmosphere without the sustaining aromas and taste sensations of excellent coffees is an experience no more fulfilling a beautiful picture frame without the masterpiece it is intended to display.

Some Salzburg coffee houses where real coffee is made:

Primadonna – Platzl

220 Grad - Chiemseegasse

Laughs in translation

„Radio Salzburg wünscht Gute Fahrt“.You can hear it day in day out on the radio and see it at petrol stations…and for many an English-speaking visitor it produces a chuckle. But although this little language joke soon wears thin, there are plenty of others to raise a smile.

Gráinne, visiting from Ireland loved this shop name which is so nearly descriptive of the quality of clothing to be found inside.



No flash in the pan!



Sophie, An Australian visitor roared: “Spark Arse” when she saw our bank, the Sparkasse (Spar = save and Kasse = bank and together pronounced Spar-kasser). We’d never thought of that one and can’t take this sober institution quite so seriously any more.

Some place names attract visitors like the ones on this map. The places are disappointing – no t-shirts or postcards, it seems all the excitement takes place behind closed doors.

Then there is Schitter the nearby butcher and Dick the local electrician whose van has DICK in huge letters on the back. I don’t think his name is Richard.

However, in Gasteinertal, the next valley, the local blacksmith and electrician are classics:

What fun it would it be to drive one of these vans around London?