SYMPHONY FOR THE TASTE BUDS

By Greg Evans

Call me Furst!
For those with a sweet tooth and those who pretend not to have one, no confectionary creation is as penetrating to the palate, satisfying and down right erotic as Paul Furst's 1890 concoction when it first hit the shelves of his store at 13 Brodgasse in Salzburg. It was a hit then and soon found it's way to the great city of Paris in 1905 where it was awarded a prestigious gold medal. Yes! I have personally tasted the "original" recipe of nougat, pistachio marzipan, and dark chocolate at the little shop with the blue awning and silver lettering located on a tight corner on the Getreidegasse at the base of the Festungsberg Mountain a ninety degree sheer cliffside streaking up into the clouds. It was an exceptional confectionary wonderment. It had a smoothness and richness, creating a euphoria that reminded me of Christmas and it is the kind of treat you nibble on and then allow to melt on your tongue as the flavors engulf your palate. The original Mozartkugel recipe is still made by hand and over a million are made annually "by hand using the original technique." The best analogy I can use to describe the perfection of the taste of the Mozartkugel would be the equivalence of capturing the Golden Snitch.

It is the little things in life that make it special, isn't that an age old adage? Nibbling on a 100-year-old chocolate recipe that was served to you by a lovely girl in a blue Dirndl, while a group of people stand around singing and a small coterie of musicians strum their lutes. What would Shakespeare have said to describe such a moment? Something far more poetic, far more introspective and possibly racy! Ho, ho! Around the corner another young woman stands beneath a tent selling her homemade loaves of bread that I would enjoy every night accompanied by a variety of cheese and wine. The amenity of the confectionary had a likeness to Mozart's piano sonata number 23 2nd movement. It could be a morning stroll along the Salzach to the sounds of chirping birds and kids on their way to school. It is the gentle snow falling over a serene cemetery adorned with fresh flowers and silence. It the sounds and smells of an old mother cooking before a stove she could move around without sight so familiar is she that it has become an art as the chisel in Michelangelo's hand. "If only people knew how hard I worked to master my art, they wouldn't look upon it with such fascination," he had said. That is not a direct quote. I can find assurance in the fact that Mozart grappled with the perfect combination of musical notes and Paul Furst tussled with the perfect combination of flavors and sweetness. Should it be absurd to recommend a few thousand miles of travel for the sole purpose of eating a delectable piece of chocolate? Leave common sense to the accountants, and lucky for you Salzburg has much to offer, but shouldn't be left without devouring at least one Mozartkugel though I don't presume you can only eat one.