I live in Salzburg. I can see the mountains these Nockerln are supposed to represent from my restaurant window: Mönchsberg, Kapuzinerberg, Festungsberg. Three peaks rising over the old city, and three peaks rising from the oven dish. The connection is not subtle. Salzburgers are proud of their city and they put it on the dessert plate.

The first time I made Salzburger Nockerln on my own, I pulled them out too late. Fifteen seconds too late. They had already started to sink in the middle, going from golden and proud to sad and deflated before I got them to the pass. Gretel always said this was a dish that punishes hesitation. She was right. You have to trust the color, trust your instinct, and pull them ten seconds before your brain tells you they're done. They keep cooking from their own heat. That's the whole secret.

What you're making is essentially a sweet soufflé shaped into three tall mounds. Egg whites do all the structural work. There's almost no flour, just a whisper to hold things together. The base of the dish is warm vanilla milk that turns into a thin custard underneath as the Nockerln bake. When you bring this to the table, still trembling and golden, dusted with powdered sugar, people stop talking. It's that kind of dish.

Salzburger Nockerln are not difficult. They ask for good eggs, a hot oven, confidence, and speed. Four ingredients if you don't count the butter and milk in the dish. This is Mehlspeisen at their purest: egg whites, sugar, heat, and a cook who doesn't flinch.