Franzl

Beef tatar in the imperial Viennese manner at 1,900 metres, with thirty three-thousanders staring through the glass.

The review

Franzl is what happens when a lift company decides the summit deserves the Habsburgs: a panorama restaurant at the trassXpress station, open fire, hunting motifs, Vienna's imperial classics — and Lake Zell a kilometre below. Eating beef tatar here, a dish Vienna has claimed for a century, while ski boots clack past the glass, is gloriously incongruous. The kitchen works with certified regional Salzburg produce and treats the beef with Viennese restraint: dignified, measured, no fireworks — the tatar equivalent of a waltz, not a mosh pit. It never chases Stockholm's contrasts and doesn't need to; the room supplies the drama, with a wall of three-thousanders through the windows. Deductions for peak-hour chaos and the altitude tax on the bill. Still: the finest tartare I have eaten wearing ski socks.

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