Christmas Eve. The julbord.
The table. Let me describe the table. Pickled herring — three kinds: mustard, dill, matjes — in glass bowls. Gravlax, pink and glistening, sliced thin, with mustard-dill sauce. The julskinka — Christmas ham — golden-crusted, sliced, fanned on the platter. Jansson's temptation — potatoes and anchovies in cream, bubbling from the oven. Mamma's meatballs — three hundred, in cream gravy, with lingonberry jam in a crystal dish. My meatballs — two hundred, beside Mamma's, because two kinds of meatballs are better than one and this is a hill I will die on. Smoked salmon. Beet salad. Limpa bread. Rye crispbread. Butter. Pickled cucumbers. The red cabbage. The brown beans.
The candles — tall, white, twenty of them, lining the center of the table, their light soft and warm and making the glasses glow and the silver shine and the food look like something from a painting.
Paul was at the table. In his wheelchair. At the head. His spot. He couldn't eat the herring (too difficult to manage), but he could smell the ham, and he could taste the meatballs (I pureed them — yes, I pureed them, blended them with the cream gravy into a smooth paste that tasted like meatballs and could be eaten with a spoon), and he could drink the aquavit (one sip, from a glass I held to his lips).
He gave the toast. His voice was clear. His voice is still the strongest part of him. He said: "To this table. To this food. To this family. To Linda, who made everything. To Ingrid, who made the meatballs. To the lake outside, which has been here longer than any of us and will be here after all of us. To the people who aren't at this table tonight — my father, my mother, Lars, Gunnar — who are here in the food, in the recipes, in the taste of things we learned from them. To another Christmas. To this Christmas."
The table was silent. Then Mamma raised her glass and said, "Skål." And everyone said, "Skål." And we drank. And we ate.
The rice pudding came last. The almond was found by Peter. Peter, who is divorced and lonely and sober (I noticed — no drinking at dinner, not a sip of wine, only the aquavit toast). Peter found the almond and held it up and looked confused, the way a man looks confused when luck arrives after a long drought. "Good luck for the year," I said. He looked at Paul. Paul nodded. "Good luck, Pete."
We sang. "Jul, jul, strålande jul" and "Stilla natt" and "Nu tändas tusen juleljus." Paul mouthed the words. His voice was strong enough to sing but his breath wasn't, and the mouthing was enough, the lips moving, the words known, the songs alive in a body that's failing.
I did the dishes at midnight. Alone. As always. The same dishes, the same sink, the same water. My hands in the soap. The meatball platters. The herring bowls. The glasses that held the aquavit.
But this year I cried while I washed. Not in the car. In the kitchen. At the sink. Where the water was warm and the tears were warm and the julbord was done and Paul was asleep and the house was full of sleeping people and the candles were out and the star was still in the window and I cried because it was perfect and I cried because I don't know if we'll do this again.
The julbord. The full julbord. For Paul. As promised.
God jul. Merry Christmas. The candles are out. The dishes are done. The family is here. Paul is here.
He's still here.
The meatballs were never optional — they were the point. I made two hundred of them this year, and I would make two hundred again without hesitation, because Paul could taste them and that was everything. If you’re making these for a julbord, double the batch and don’t apologize; if you’re making them for someone who needs them soft, blend a portion with warm cream gravy until smooth — they taste exactly like themselves, only gentler. This is the recipe I come back to every year: simple, reliable, and good enough to put beside anyone’s mamma’s.
Easy Meatballs
Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 6 (about 24 meatballs)
Ingredients
- 1 lb ground beef (80/20)
- 1/2 lb ground pork
- 1/2 cup plain breadcrumbs
- 1/3 cup whole milk
- 1 large egg
- 1 small yellow onion, finely grated
- 1 tsp kosher salt
- 1/2 tsp white pepper
- 1/4 tsp ground allspice
- 1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
- 2 tbsp butter (for frying)
- 1 tbsp neutral oil (for frying)
- For the cream gravy:
- 2 tbsp butter
- 2 tbsp all-purpose flour
- 1 1/2 cups beef broth
- 1/2 cup heavy cream
- 1 tsp soy sauce
- Salt and white pepper to taste
Instructions
- Soak the breadcrumbs. In a large bowl, combine the breadcrumbs and milk. Let sit for 5 minutes until the breadcrumbs have absorbed the milk and softened.
- Mix the meat. Add the ground beef, ground pork, egg, grated onion, salt, white pepper, allspice, and nutmeg to the breadcrumb mixture. Mix gently with your hands until just combined — do not overwork or the meatballs will be dense.
- Shape. Roll the mixture into balls about 1 inch in diameter (roughly 1 heaping tablespoon each). Set on a lined baking sheet as you go. Wet your hands lightly between rolls for smoother shaping.
- Brown in batches. Heat butter and oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Working in batches, add meatballs in a single layer without crowding. Cook, turning occasionally, until browned on all sides and cooked through, about 8–10 minutes per batch. Transfer to a plate and keep warm.
- Make the cream gravy. In the same skillet over medium heat, melt 2 tbsp butter. Whisk in the flour and cook 1 minute. Gradually whisk in beef broth, then heavy cream and soy sauce. Simmer, whisking, until the gravy thickens, about 4–5 minutes. Season with salt and white pepper.
- Finish and serve. Return the meatballs to the skillet and turn to coat in the gravy. Serve warm, with lingonberry jam alongside. To serve to someone who needs a softer texture, blend a portion of meatballs with warm gravy until completely smooth — the flavor is identical.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 410 | Protein: 26g | Fat: 29g | Carbs: 11g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 520mg
About the cook who shared this
Linda Johansson
Week 143 of Linda’s 30-year story
· Duluth, Minnesota
Linda is a sixty-three-year-old retired nurse from Duluth, Minnesota, living alone in the house where she raised her children and said goodbye to her husband. She lost Paul to ALS in 2020 after two years of watching the kindest man she'd ever known lose everything but his dignity. She cooks Scandinavian comfort food and Minnesota hotdish and the pot roast Paul loved, and she sets two places at the table out of habit because it makes her feel less alone. Every recipe she writes is a person she's loved.