The Cutlet Meets Volcanic Chardonnay
Updated: Aug 4
If aliens landed in Hungary and tried to figure out our national cuisine, they would probably conclude that Hungarians eat breaded pork chops more often than any other food on planet Earth.
And they wouldn't be entirely wrong.
Officially, Hungary's national dish is gulyás (aka goulash), unofficially, however, rántott hús (breaded pork cutlet) is the dish that quietly runs the country.
For many Hungarian families, rántott hús isn't just Sunday lunch; it's a lifestyle. It can appear at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sure, Saturday and Sunday are when it normally thrives, but then it's practically mandatory.
Even when there's enough food on the table to keep every Hungarian grandmother calm for five whole minutes, a platter of breaded pork somehow still makes an appearance. And if it doesn't fit on the table, it quietly waits on the kitchen counter.
You know... just in case.
So, Is This Dish Actually Hungarian?
Ask almost anyone in Hungary and they’ll tell you rántott hús is as Hungarian as paprika.
Then cross the border.
In Austria, you find Wiener Schnitzel. In Slovakia and Czechia, similar breaded cutlets appear. In Northern Italy, there is Cotoletta alla Milanese.
Suddenly, Hungary’s beloved comfort food looks less unique.
But that is where the story becomes interesting.
Recipes do not carry passports. They travel with people: soldiers, merchants, cooks, and families. They cross borders, adapt to local ingredients, and eventually become part of new cultures.
The better question is not always, “Who invented it?”
Sometimes it is: “How did it become ours?”
Řízek at ŠNYCL, Prague / Cotoletta alla Milanese, Osteria Conchetta, Milan
Rántott hús, Buja Disznó(k), Budapest / Wiener Schnitzel, Meissl & Schadn, Vienna
One Dish, Many Borders
Central Europe has always been a crossroads of cultures, and food moved along with people.
For centuries, the Habsburg Empire united half of Europe under one crown, one bureaucracy, and about seventeen languages nobody in Vienna fully understood. The empire may have been complicated politically, but it was remarkably efficient at spreading ideas, including culinary ones.
Both Milan's cotoletta and the classic Wiener Schnitzel are traditionally made with veal, although the Milanese version is distinguished by its bone-in cutlet. In Hungary, Czechia, and Slovakia, however, the recipe gradually evolved to suit everyday family cooking. Pork - and later chicken - became the preferred choice, making the dish more affordable and accessible.
The dish changed because people changed it. It travels, adapts, and eventually becomes something people feel has always belonged to them.
At some point, debating ownership becomes less interesting than appreciating the journey.
Every culture added something. Nobody owns the breadcrumb...
So, Seriously... Who Invented It?
The short answer: probably the Italians - but the story is complicated.
One of the earliest documented examples resembling a breaded cutlet appears in medieval Milanese records. Similar preparations later spread through northern Italy and the Habsburg lands, where cooks adapted them to local traditions.
A famous story claims Austrian Field Marshal Joseph Radetzky brought the recipe from Milan to Vienna in the 19th century. It is a great story, but historians generally consider it more legend than fact. Breaded cutlets were already known in Austria before then.
And the journey continued: Italian immigrants later carried their version to Argentina and Uruguay, where it became milanesa, now a beloved South American comfort food.
Then Japan Entered the Story...
Just when the breaded cutlet seemed destined to remain a European classic, Japan gave it an entirely new identity.
During the Meiji era in the late nineteenth century, Japan enthusiastically embraced yōshoku - Western-inspired dishes reimagined to suit Japanese tastes.
Among them was katsuretsu, Japan's interpretation of the European breaded cutlet.
The real transformation came in 1899 at Tokyo's renowned Rengatei restaurant. Rather than following the European method of shallow-frying, the chefs developed a deeper-fried version that reflected Japanese cooking techniques and preferences.
Another defining change was the introduction of panko. Made from crustless white bread, its light, airy flakes absorb less oil than traditional breadcrumbs, creating the crisp, delicate texture that has become the hallmark of Japanese fried foods.
The meat changed as well. As it had elsewhere, veal gave way to a more practical and affordable choice - pork, or ton in Japanese. The result was tonkatsu: a dish inspired by Europe, yet unmistakably Japanese.
Served with finely shredded cabbage, steamed rice, and a tangy, sweet-savory sauce, tonkatsu quickly became one of Japan's most beloved comfort foods.
From there, the breaded cutlet began another journey, inspiring dishes such as Korea's donkatsu and countless regional variations across Asia. Each culture made it its own, proving once again that great recipes rarely stay where they begin.
One Family, Many Accents
From Milanese kitchens...
to Viennese cafés...
to Hungarian Sunday lunches...
to South American restaurants...
to Tokyo’s tonkatsu counters...
the humble breaded cutlet has traveled farther than most people ever will.
But the most interesting part was never who made it first.
It was how every culture made it their own.
And honestly, that is a much better story.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think there is a forgotten slice of rántott hús sitting on the kitchen counter.
You know...
Just in case.
The Wine Situation
I never thought I would find myself writing about a wine pairing for schnitzel.
Schnitzel, rántott hús, milanesa, tonkatsu - these are comfort foods in the truest sense. Crispy, golden, familiar. They're usually enjoyed with a cold beer, a simple table wine, or whatever happens to be within reach. But then I opened a French Chardonnay, and this bottle made me reconsider.
When someone says French Chardonnay, most people immediately think: Burgundy.
Not this time.
Jura?
No.
Languedoc-Roussillon?
Not there either.
This Chardonnay is produced by Saint-Verny in the heart of France's volcanic Auvergne region, a rugged, mountainous area with a strong identity and a long winemaking tradition. Home to the Côtes d'Auvergne AOP, officially recognized in 2011, the region is known for elegant Gamay and Pinot Noir reds, as well as fresh, mineral-driven Chardonnay.
Although Auvergne lies between Burgundy and the Rhône Valley, it is officially part of the upper Loire Valley, as its vineyards stretch along the Allier River, one of the Loire's main tributaries.
The vineyards are located in the Puy-de-Dôme department of the Massif Central, near Clermont-Ferrand, where vines are planted at elevations of 350 to 540 metres. The combination of volcanic basalt, clay, limestone, and granite soils gives the wines their distinctive freshness, structure, and mineral character.
The region also holds a personal memory for me. It was there that I first tasted French wine as an eighteen-year-old, on my first trip to France as an adult. Was I already infatuated with French wine back then? Not really. I remember those winery visits only vaguely - possibly because I was experiencing the wine rather than documenting it. The bottles, I suspect, were partly responsible for the missing details.
It's a small connection, but it gives this bottle a meaning beyond what's in the glass. It makes it part of my own journey. And perhaps that's why it feels like such a natural companion for a dish that has spent centuries traveling the world and has always had a place at my family's Hungarian Sunday lunch table.
Chardonnay Is Not Just Chardonnay
Just as the breaded cutlet evolved as it travelled from country to country, Chardonnay (and indeed every grape variety) reveals a different personality depending on where it is grown and how it is cultivated. In other words, the same grape variety expresses itself differently depending on its environment and cultivation. Over centuries, natural mutations within Chardonnay vines have produced numerous clones, each with subtle differences in berry size, cluster shape, ripening behavior, acidity, aromatics, and texture. These are not different grape varieties, but distinct genetic selections that represent different expressions of the same variety.
Chardonnay is perhaps the best example of this remarkable diversity. While climate, soil, and the choices made in the vineyard and winery have the greatest influence on a wine's style, clonal selection adds another layer of complexity and nuance.
This is especially evident in North America. Much of the continent's Chardonnay is rooted in a handful of influential selections, most notably the historic Wente selection, introduced from Burgundy to California in 1912. In Canada, growers often combine Wente and Dijon clones, crafting wines that balance vibrant acidity with elegance and depth while expressing the character of their vineyard sites.
The result is a grape capable of extraordinary range. Some Chardonnays are lean, mineral, and restrained, while others are richly textured, floral, and generous, with layers of orchard and tropical fruit. They are all unmistakably Chardonnay, yet each tells a different story.
Chardonnay 809 offers a fascinating example of this clonal diversity. This Burgundian selection is classified as a Musqué clone, a more aromatic expression of Chardonnay resulting from natural mutations within the variety. It shares some floral and aromatic traits associated with the Muscat family while retaining the freshness, acidity, and structure that define Chardonnay.
It still has the elegance, structure, and balance that Chardonnay is known for, but it carries an extra layer: floral notes, brighter aromatics, a slightly exotic character, and so, a more distinctive personality.
It is not a different grape. It is Chardonnay showing a different side of itself.
Chardonnay 809, Saint-Verny, Desprat Saint-Verny
The bottle I picked up at Metrovino in Calgary, comes from Desprat Saint-Verny, a historic family-owned producer in Auvergne founded in 1885.
The vineyards sit among the volcanic landscapes of the Chaîne des Puys, planted on soils shaped by ash, lava, and basalt.
That volcanic origin gives the wines a distinctive sense of place: freshness, minerality, and a subtle character that connects the wine to the landscape where it was born.
Why It Works with Schnitzel
For this pairing, I stepped away from the traditional potato sides and served the schnitzel with braised sauerkraut - cooked with bacon and onion.
It's a simple, rustic accompaniment, but it gives the dish exactly what it needs.
Even after the cabbage is rinsed before cooking, it retains a lively acidity. That gentle tang creates a natural bridge to the wine, while the smoky richness of the bacon is lifted by the Chardonnay's bright acidity, which cuts through the fat and refreshes the palate with every bite.
The citrus notes in Chardonnay 809 echo the squeeze of lemon that traditionally finishes a schnitzel, while its delicate floral aromas and ripe fruit bring freshness to the crisp, savoury crust.
The pairing that feels both comforting and surprisingly elegant.
Crispy Breaded Pork Cutlets with Braised Sauerkraut
Serves 4 | Prep time: 20 minutes | Cooking time: 25 minutes
Traditional sides for breaded pork cutlets vary by region.
Austrian schnitzel is often served with potato salad, cucumber salad, parsley potatoes, or lingonberry jam. Hungarian breaded cutlets are commonly paired with rice, mashed potatoes, fries, or pickled vegetables. Italian cotoletta alla Milanese is frequently accompanied by arugula salad with tomatoes, roasted potatoes, or a simple lemon wedge.
Japanese tonkatsu is traditionally served with shredded cabbage, steamed rice, miso soup, and pickles.
For this recipe, I chose braised sauerkraut. The combination of a crispy, golden breaded cutlet with tender, flavourful sauerkraut is simple, affordable, nutritious, and satisfying. Rich in fibre and probiotics (when made with traditionally fermented sauerkraut), it's a wholesome meal that's both comforting and guaranteed to please a crowd.
While traditional versions are often made with veal or pork, chicken breast is an excellent lighter alternative that works just as well. With just a handful of everyday ingredients, you can create a comforting meal that feels both timeless and a little special.
Braised Sauerkraut
Ingredients:
1 jar of sauerkraut (standard grocery-store jar is usually 650–900 g / 1.4–2 lb before draining)
1 large onion, sliced
Bacon or pancetta (optional)
Rendered bacon fat or olive oil, as needed
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
half of an apple, sliced (optionl)
Instructions:
Rinse the sauerkraut under cold water to soften some of its sharp acidity, then squeeze out the excess liquid.
In a pan, sauté the bacon or pancetta until it releases its fat.
Add the sliced onion and cook until softened and lightly caramelized.
If needed, add a splash of olive oil.
Add the sauerkraut - and the sliced apples, if using - and continue cooking for about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until it develops a little colour and the flavours come together.
Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste.
Crispy Breaded Pork Cutlets
Ingredients:
4 boneless pork loin or leg cutlets (about 150 g / 5 oz each)
½ cup all-purpose flour
2 eggs, beaten
1½ cups fine breadcrumbs or panko
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Lard or avocado oil, for frying
Lemon wedges, for serving (optional)
Instructions:
Prepare the meat:
Place the pork cutlets between sheets of baking paper (I prefer this over plastic wrap, as it avoids any contact with plastic during pounding) and gently pound them with a meat mallet until thin, around 6 mm / ¼ inch thick. Season both sides with salt and pepper.
Set up the breading station:
Prepare three shallow dishes: one with flour, one with beaten eggs - slightly salted, and one with breadcrumbs.
Bread the cutlets:
Coat each piece of pork first in flour, shaking off the excess. Dip into the beaten eggs, making sure it is fully covered, then press into the breadcrumbs until evenly coated.
Fry:
Heat a shallow layer of oil or lard in a large pan over medium heat. Fry the cutlets for about 2–3 minutes per side, until golden brown, crisp, and cooked through.
Serve:
Transfer to a paper towel or wire rack to drain excess oil.
If there happen to be any leftovers - which is always a bold assumption - they make a fantastic next-day sandwich. Tuck a cold cutlet into a crusty roll with mustard, pickles, or a little cabbage and enjoy it the way many Central Europeans have for generations: standing in the kitchen, pretending it was “just a small snack”.
Happy sipping and savouring!
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