Outside, Vienna swirls in a light flurry of snow, but at cafe Demel things are heating up. In the show kitchen, a baker rolls out silk-smooth strudel dough on a marble worktop, shaking it out like a bed sheet – a master at work. ‘The pastry should be thin enough to read a love letter through. A millimetre, no more,’ he whispers, as he fills the pastry with apples and pops it into the oven.
Of the many strudels I’ve tasted over the years, this wins: caramelised pastry crumbles away to a tart, raisin-studded apple filling. And what a backdrop. In business since 1786, the opulent cafe, dripping with chandeliers and stucco, was once
