Nuremberg Lebkuchen: what it is, what to order, what to avoid

Overview

Nuremberg Lebkuchen is not gingerbread in the sense most English speakers mean. The best of it is closer to a soft, dense nut cake: ground almonds and hazelnuts, honey or sugar, candied orange and lemon peel, and a spice mix in which cinnamon, clove, cardamom and nutmeg do more work than ginger. It is spread on a thin wafer, an Oblate, which stops the sticky dough from clinging to the tray, and it comes out of the oven soft, moist and slightly chewy, not crisp. A good one bends before it breaks.

Its claim to the city is legal. Nürnberger Lebkuchen has been a protected geographical indication in the European Union since 1996, which means that anything sold under that name must be made within Nuremberg’s city limits. The designation covers the place, not a single recipe, so it applies to the plain flour-based kinds as well as the nut-rich ones.

The reasons it grew up here are documented rather than legendary. The city sat on the trade routes that brought spices north, and the forest that surrounds it, the Reichswald, was worked for centuries by beekeepers who supplied the honey. The bakers had their own trade, the Lebküchner, distinct from ordinary bakers, and their craft was organized as a guild in the seventeenth century.

Where the story turns into folklore is the name of the finest kind. Elisenlebkuchen is said to be named after a baker’s daughter called Elise, sometimes ill and cured by it, sometimes simply beloved; other versions make her a nobleman’s child. None of this is supported by anything firmer than repetition, and it is best enjoyed as a story. The word Lebkuchen itself has no settled etymology either.

What to order

The one word worth knowing is Elisen. In German food standards an Elisenlebkuchen must contain at least a quarter nuts and at most a tenth flour, and many contain no flour at all. That rule is what separates it from everything else in the display: it is the reason the texture is soft and rich rather than bready. If you buy one Lebkuchen in the city, make it this.

They are round, roughly palm-sized, and come in three finishes:

• Natur — plain, usually with whole or halved almonds pressed into the top. The best way to taste the nuts and the spice without anything over them.
• mit Zuckerglasur or glasiert — a thin, crackly sugar glaze that sets white and slightly translucent. It keeps the cake moist for longer.
• mit Schokolade — coated in dark chocolate. The most popular finish and the one most likely to hide a mediocre base.

Mixed packs of all three are normal, and are how most people buy them to take home.

Beyond Elisen, the counter will usually hold Braune Lebkuchen, brown Lebkuchen: flour-based, made with honey, darker and firmer, often cut into rectangles and chocolate-coated. They are traditional, cheaper, and a different food rather than a worse copy. You will also see weiße Lebkuchen, white ones, made with egg white and lighter in color and spice. Asking which kind is which is entirely ordinary; the categories are regulated and the staff use them.

What to avoid

The most common confusion in a festive market is the iced heart on a ribbon. The Lebkuchenherzen sold at fairs all over the country, piped with messages in sugar, are hard, decorative and made to be worn or hung on a wall. They are a real tradition and a fine souvenir, but they are not what this city’s name stands for, and they are not pleasant to bite.

Second, the protected name guarantees the city, not the craft. Some of the largest industrial producers are in Nuremberg, so a cellophane bag in a supermarket can carry the words entirely legally. The useful thing to read is not the city but the category: the word Elisen on the pack, and the nut content on the label. A box that says only “Lebkuchen” at a low price is almost certainly the flour-based kind.

Third, check the texture before you buy a quantity. A good Elisenlebkuchen gives under the thumb. One that is dry at the edge and hard across the top has been sitting out, often unwrapped on a market stall in cold air, and it will not recover.

Finally, be wary of chocolate so thick it is the main event. Coating covers a lot, and a generous shell over a pale, crumbly center is the sign of a cheaper base dressed up.

Practicalities

Lebkuchen is sold in the city all year, at the specialist shops at least, but its rhythm still follows the calendar. Production ramps up from late summer, the tins appear in shop windows by autumn, and demand peaks with the Christkindlesmarkt in December. Buying in October or November means a full range and no crowd at the counter; buying in the last week before Christmas means queues and gaps on the shelf.

A single Elisenlebkuchen from a confectioner’s counter costs roughly €1.50 to €3, and a mixed bag or decorated gift tin roughly €10 to €30 depending on size and the tin itself. At the bottom of that range, expect flour-based kinds; a nut-rich round sold very cheaply is a reason to read the label. Much of the cost of an ornate tin is the tin, which is collected in its own right.

They travel well, which is much of their history. Kept in a closed tin they stay soft for weeks, and a slice of apple in the tin is the old household way of slowing the drying. Once a chocolate-coated one has gone hard, it is still good dunked in coffee.

Cards are normal in shops; small market stalls are where cash is still most useful.