Dumpling Philosophy at FinKa Hostel: At the FinKa in Mals, making dumplings is a matter of the heart – and Leo shows how bread and milk can become culture.

We’ve already shared, posted, and sung plenty of praise about our dumplings at the FinKa. But today, we’re diving into the details – right down to the recipe, which we’ll reveal at the end. The preparation of our dumplings is an art in itself – almost a philosophical exercise. Especially Leo – that old dumpling master – has a reputation for preparing authentic Upper Val Venosta dumplings just the way they’re meant to be.

As a little boy, he was allowed to watch his grandmother make dumplings – and she, in turn, had inherited the knowledge from her own mother and grandmother. A knowledge deeply rooted in South Tyrolean cuisine, passed down to this day – from old to young, from one generation to the next.

The Upper Val Venosta dumpling stands apart from all others in the world: it must be rouglig – a bit rough around the edges – not rolled, but shaped by hand. And instead of being boiled, it’s gently steamed. But before we define these differences in detail, let’s first take a look at the history of this cultural dish.

The History of the Dumpling – from Hocheppan to the FinKa

The oldest known depiction of South Tyrol’s most famous dish can be found in a fresco cycle dating back to around 1200 in the small castle chapel of Hocheppan.
Amid biblical scenes such as the Nativity, there’s a woman – the so-called dumpling eater – lifting a dumpling from a large pot over an open fire and tasting it.
And so, the dumpling eater became an iconic figure, a legend, and the unofficial patron saint of all those who shape dumplings with the same devotion as Leo.

What happened to South Tyrolean dumplings after the time of the Dumpling Eater remains largely unknown – historical sources are scarce. What is certain, however, is that the dumpling has always been the epitome of creative leftovers and a staple of the “poor man’s cuisine.”

Especially on the farms, where people lived self-sufficiently, the dumpling played a central role.
Bread, milk, cheese, bacon, and eggs – all of it came from their own farm. The dumpling was the perfect dish to bring these ingredients together and make good use of leftovers. It was especially on Sundays that dumplings were served, usually accompanied by sauerkraut – simple and satisfying.

With the rise of Alpine tourism in the 19th century, the dumpling made its way from the farmhouse kitchen into local inns. Travelers from England, Austria, Germany, and Italy discovered it as the Tyrolean dish. The term “Tyrolean Dumpling” began appearing in old hotel guides and cookbooks as its own category – a piece of rural everyday life that suddenly became part of the culinary identity of an entire region.

And so, the dumpling has made its way through the centuries – from a religious symbol in a 13th-century fresco, to a practical way of using leftovers in farmhouse kitchens, to becoming South Tyrol’s culinary calling card in the 20th century.

Dumpling Philosophy at FinKa Hostel – and the Subtle Differences.

As a trained philosopher, I find it – unlike the historical account – much easier to write about the Dumpling Philosophy. And to do so, I’m bringing in one of the greats: Pierre Bourdieu and his seminal work Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste.

According to Bourdieu, a person’s taste reveals more about their background and social position than any family record ever could. Even eating habits, he argues, mark social boundaries: those who eat oysters seek to distinguish themselves – those who eat dumplings wish to belong, to be equals among equals.

In this sense, the dumpling is a democratic dish. It knows no vanity, no excess, no pretense. It was born where scarcity was great – and where people had to make do with what they had to live on. The dumpling stands for what we now like to call sustainable. In earlier times, it was simply common sense – making do with what one had. It expresses a way of relating to the world that focuses on the essentials: nothing is wasted, everything is used.

That’s not poverty – that’s culture: the art of creating something valuable from very little.
The dumpling is the perfect example that goodness doesn’t come from abundance, but from the creativity to make use of what’s already there.

Diversity in Unity – The Unique Character of Upper Val Venosta Dumplings

Of course, there are also differences among dumplings – between soup dumplings and cheese dumplings, liver dumplings and spinach dumplings, and many more. Yet in all their variety, they share one thing in common: they’re round. Then there are the regional variations – or rather, the peculiarities – that can differ from valley to valley. Here in Upper Val Venosta, we’re just a bit more particular: our dumplings must be rouglig – a little rough around the edges – and they’re not boiled in soup but gently steamed. That’s something we take seriously here, especially at the FinKa. Leo is meticulous about it, because to him it’s clear: a dumpling that’s too smooth, and worse, bubbling away in soup, has no place in Upper Val Venosta.

On top of that, we at the FinKa are purist traditionalists – only cheese and bacon dumplings make it onto our plates. That said, this traditionalism shouldn’t be taken too seriously. And what I’m about to say doesn’t need to be shouted from the rooftops: our so-called traditionalism is, in truth, also a matter of workload – or, depending on how you look at it, work ethic. Leo and I both like to keep things within reason. Adding more varieties, like spinach or beetroot dumplings, would probably just overcomplicate the whole affair.

So much for work ethic and dumpling philosophy – now the time has come: Leo should finally spill his recipe!

The Dumpling Recipe – Straight from the FinKa Kitchen

Me: So, Leo – time to share your recipe. We’ve been waiting long enough.

Leo: I’d be glad to, Schascha!
(Note: Leo likes to call me “Schascha” – with a double “sch,” of course.)

Me: In the FinKa, you make two kinds of dumplings – bacon and cheese. How do you prepare them?

Leo: For both, you need the same basics – dumpling bread, eggs, chives, and a bit of milk.
For the cheese dumplings, of course, you need good cheese – and for the bacon ones, good bacon.
I’ll show you the recipe based on half a kilo of dumpling bread. Half a kilo is a good measure.
It’s hard to say, “This is a recipe for four people,” because it really depends on how big you make the dumplings.
For example, when I’m hungry, mine tend to get a bit bigger – and when I’m not, well, a bit smaller.
With half a kilo of dumpling bread, you’ll feed maybe five people – definitely four.

Me: Okay, I see. So now you’ve set the exact amount of dumpling bread. What’s the next step?

Leo: That’s a good question, Schascha. The next step is to put the dumpling bread into a large bowl. Then I chop the chives – not too much and not too little – and add them right in.

Depending on whether you’re making cheese or bacon dumplings, you now cut the cheese or bacon into small pieces. And the same principle applies here too: not too much, not too little.

Me: Leo, I have to say, I admire how precisely you specify the quantities.

Leo: Yes, that’s true – it just comes from years of experience. At some point, you simply develop a feel for it.

But let’s move on: lightly sauté (or fry) the bacon in butter, then add it to the dumpling bread.
If you’re making cheese dumplings, the cheese of course goes straight into the bread mixture without sautéing.

And now for the Goggelen – the eggs. For half a kilo of dumpling bread, I use a good six to eight eggs, depending on their size. The best ones are from the farmer, where the yolk is still that deep, golden yellow.

I crack the eggs into a bowl, whisk them well, and then pour them over the dumpling bread. Then comes a splash of milk – but not too much! Because this is where the wheat separates from the chaff: whether the dumpling turns out rouglig or too smooth. “It’s the same with dumplings as with people – if they’re too smooth, they lack character.”

So the dumpling shouldn’t be too wet, but not too dry either. If it’s too dry, just add a bit more milk.
If it’s too wet – well, then you’d better hope you still have some dumpling bread left. Otherwise, you’ve got a problem.

Me: Let’s assume the mixture is perfect. But could you maybe keep it a bit shorter? Otherwise, this will turn into a whole book instead of a recipe.

Leo: Yes, Schascha, that’s true – but most of it’s been said already anyway. Now the dumplings just need to be shaped properly. A real Upper Val Venosta dumpling is round, but with edges and corners – because it’s rouglig, not too smooth. It might sound odd, but the moment you shape your first dumpling, you’ll know exactly what I mean.

When shaping them, they shouldn’t be too big – a good handful is enough. You take the mixture, press it together lightly, pass it once from your left hand to your right and back again. Then give it a quick roll – done. If you do it right, you’ll get about eight to ten dumplings from the batch. That’s easily two per person for four people – and if everyone’s really hungry, two people can happily eat three each.

Once everything is shaped, bring a pot of water to a simmer. Then place the steamer insert inside and lay the dumplings on top. A good dumpling needs about 15 to 20 minutes – then it’s perfect.

For the cheese dumplings, I like to sprinkle a bit of Parmesan on top and pour over some melted butter.
Finally, add a bit of chives – or a small sprig of rosemary for the looks. A cabbage salad is, of course, a must – well seasoned with vinegar, oil, salt, pepper, and, most importantly, a touch of caraway. Especially the bacon dumplings must be eaten with cabbage salad. So, Schascha – now I’ve explained everything. I’ll be happy to hear how your dumplings turned out!

Sascha: Thanks, Leo. We’ll enjoy them! And to all of you: thanks for your patience.

Come by the FinKa – then you can taste Leo’s dumplings yourself and see just how close you’ve come to the great dumpling master.

See you soon – and greetings from the FinKa!

In Short:

From the Dumpling Eater in Hocheppan Castle to Leo in the FinKa stretches a long arc – almost a full millennium of South Tyrolean culinary culture. What was once painted as an everyday scene on a Romanesque chapel wall has today become a piece of identity. The dumpling has endured – as a symbol of ingenuity, humility, and the very essence of South Tyrol’s humble cuisine.

Dumpling Philosophy at FinKa Hostel: Here, tradition and delight come together.

At the FinKa, we see it the same way. A dumpling isn’t just food – it’s an attitude: simple, easygoing, and with edges and corners – rouglig, as we say in Upper Val Venosta. Here in Upper Val Venosta and at the FinKa, the dumpling isn’t drowned in soup – it’s gently steamed. It’s not rolled to perfection, but shaped by hand. A dumpling doesn’t need exact measurements – it needs intuition. And anyone who’s ever tasted Leo’s dumplings understands that subtle difference.

The dumpling has traveled through the centuries – from a religious symbol in a 13th-century fresco, to a practical way of reusing leftovers in farmhouse kitchens, to becoming South Tyrol’s culinary hallmark in the 20th century.

If all this talk has made you crave dumplings, better book your stay at the FinKa right away!

📩 Bookings & Reservations: info@finka.it
📞 Phone: +39 0473 427040
🌐 www.finka.it

Sources:

Hocheppan Castle – The Dumpling Eater
https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burgkapelle_Hocheppan
https://hocheppan.it/
Further Reading:
Pierre Bourdieu: Distinction – A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. Suhrkamp Verlag, Frankfurt am Main, 1982.

Further Reading:
Pierre Bourdieu: Distinction – A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. Suhrkamp Verlag, Frankfurt am Main, 1982.