It’s possible that, like me, your first encounter with the Grande Dame of the Austrian pastry world, the apfelstrudel, was not in fact in one of the famed Viennese grand cafés, but rather from the freezer aisle at the supermarket. If it was anything like mine, it was probably a latticed, puffed version; the one I remember from childhood had blackberries mixed into the apple, which peeked through the holes in the pastry. I have no interest in denigrating our Sunday lunch pudding staple. In fact I loved it, served with thick, cold custard, straight from the carton. But it is fair to say that a true apple strudel is a little different.

Strudels – meaning a filled, enclosed layered pastry – can be sweet or savoury, but the apple version is by far the most famous. Although it dates back at least as far as the 17th century, it is probably best known as a mainstay of those glamorous grand cafés popular at the turn of the 20th, sitting on pretty counters of Viennoiserie, alongside glossy Sachertorte and powder-dusted Kugelhopf. The name derives from the Middle High German word meaning swirl or whirlpool, which probably refers to the way in which the pastry eddies around the filling to create a spiral inside the pudding. A proper apple strudel is made with a particularly thin pastry, which is filled with spiced apple, sultanas or raisins, and sweetened breadcrumbs.

Strudel pastry sits somewhere between filo and puff pastry: it is more robust than filo but lacks the cold butter between the layers of puff, so doesn’t expand skywards in the same way. It is worked until very elastic, then stretched and stretched across a clean tablecloth, ever so gently, until (or so the traditional test goes) you can read newsprint through it. One origin story – as unsubstantiated as it is charming – tells us that the strudel chef required that the pastry be thin enough to read a love letter. The filling is then rolled up inside, using the tablecloth to take the weight of the pastry and help you roll the fragile pudding, then baked until firm and golden.

Now, listen, you can absolutely use shop-bought filo pastry to make your strudel. The worst thing would be if my strudel pastry evangelism puts you off making this pudding entirely. It is a delightful dessert, and one to be proud of, when made with filo pastry. But strudel pastry really is its own thing, and if you have a stand mixer to do the heavy lifting for you, it’s not as difficult as you might think. Once made and rested, it’s also tolerant to the newcomer, as it requires slow, imprecise stretching. I find using the backs of my hands to gently stretch it the most effective way of easing the pastry to paper-like thinness; just make sure you remove any jewellery first. As always with these things, if you’re on the fence, I’d urge you to have a go. It’s just a bit of flour and water, what’s the worst that can happen? And if you do tear the pastry in the process, no one will ever know.

Whether you choose to make your own pastry or not, tart apples are best here, to sit against the sweet crumbs and unsweetened pastry, and I prefer to use eating apples rather than cooking apples, so that even after an hour in a hot oven, they retain a little texture. A generous hand with the spicing, lots of butter, a little lemon zest, and crunchy demerara sugar bring the whole thing together.

Whole, an apple strudel can, I’m afraid, look a bit nondescript: a big, bulky, beige log. But dusted with icing sugar and sliced through to reveal its whirlpool-like cross-section, packed with apple slices, buttery crumbs and fat raisins, it is a thing of beauty. It should have enough structural integrity to slice cleanly and stand up on its own. Strudel is best warm, rather than very hot, straight from the oven, and will sit happily alongside custard, cream or ice cream. It might not be big or clever, but I prefer it with a generous splodge of squirty cream from a can.

For the pastry

– 2 tbsp vegetable oil

– pinch salt

– ½ tsp vinegar

– 2 egg yolks

– 300g white bread flour (or 6 sheets filo pastry)

For the filling

– 80g white breadcrumbs

– 40g salted butter

– 40ml rum

– 65g demerara sugar

– 1 lemon

– 50g sultanas

– 900g sharp, green apples

– 2 tsp ground cinnamon

For assembly

– 50g butter, melted

– icing sugar

1. If you’re making your pastry, combine the dough ingredients with 170ml water. Mix at a low-medium speed for ten minutes, then medium-high for another ten. Rub the dough with extra oil, place in a bowl, cover, and leave for at least four hours in the fridge.
2. Preheat the oven to 180°C. Melt the butter in a frying pan over a medium heat and add the breadcrumbs, stirring until golden brown. Stir the demerara sugar and lemon zest through them.
3. Put the sultanas in a bowl, cover with the rum and leave to soak.
4. Peel, core and quarter the apples, then cut each quarter into eight thin slices. Sprinkle the cinnamon over and combine with the breadcrumbs.
5. If you’ve made your pastry, flour a work surface, and roll out until it is 10in long. Place it on a clean tablecloth and stretch it using the back of your hands until it is a large, thin rectangle. If you’re using filo pastry, lay two sheets end-to-end, just overlapping. Paint with melted butter, put another two sheets on top, butter and place the last two sheets on top.
6. Paint one third of the pastry with melted butter. Drain and add the sultanas to the apple mix. Pile the filling across the buttered area, leaving a 1½in border on each side, and fold the two sides in on the filling. Roll the pastry up to enclose the filling, using the tablecloth to lift the filled pastry and help you roll. Roll on to baking paper and transfer to a baking tray.
7. Brush the dough with melted butter and cook for one hour. Dust with icing sugar, and serve warm.