Lefse -- The Recipe That Carries the Line Forward

Lucia morning. December 13. Sophie woke me up at 6 AM with a tray of saffron buns and coffee, wearing a white robe and the electric candle crown that has been in the basement since 1998. She sang "Sankta Lucia" in Swedish (she had to read it off her phone; the pronunciation was approximate; I did not care). Marcus stood behind her holding the baby, wearing a star boy hat (he is six foot two; the hat looked ridiculous; he wore it without complaint). Mira was awake and gurgling and wearing a tiny knit star hat that Sophie had made out of yarn over the past month. I cried. Of course I cried. I cried into the coffee and onto a saffron bun and Sven, who had been confused by the entire 6 AM commotion, came over and put his head on my knee and that made me cry harder. Sophie sang. Marcus stood. Mira gurgled. I was in my bed at sixty-eight, with my granddaughter performing the ritual that I had performed for my parents at twelve, and the bed was the bed I had shared with Paul for thirty-two years, and the room was the same room, and the song was the same song, and the light from the electric crown was steady and yellow and it caught in Sophie's hair and in Mira's eyes and in the blank space beside me where Paul was not. The saffron buns were perfect. Sophie had made them herself, from my recipe, on Saturday in Minneapolis, at her own kitchen counter. She told me later: "I had to text you four times during the kneading. The dough was sticky. You said add flour. Then you said don't add too much. I cried." I said: "Bread will do that. The first batch is always a battle." She said: "I won." She did. The buns proved it. We ate them in the kitchen. All four of us, plus the baby in her bouncy seat, plus Sven under the table. Marcus made bacon and eggs (he is, it turns out, an excellent breakfast cook; another point in his favor). I made more coffee. The kitchen filled with people. The kitchen had not been this full since Paul's last Thanksgiving in 2019. Mira slept after breakfast. Sophie nursed her on the couch. Marcus went outside to clear the steps (it had snowed again overnight; another three inches). I sat at the kitchen table with my cooling coffee and I looked at my granddaughter nursing her great-granddaughter and I thought: I was twelve and Mamma was thirty-eight and now I am sixty-eight and Sophie is twenty-four and Mira is two months and the line continues, the line continues, the line continues. The line continues. The line continues. The line continues. Sophie and Marcus and Mira stayed through Tuesday. They left Wednesday morning to drive back to Minneapolis. Sophie hugged me at the door for a long time. She said: "Grandma, I'm bringing the family up for Christmas Eve. The whole family. We'll be here on the 23rd." I said: "Sophie, you don't have to." She said: "Grandma, I want to." I watched their car pull out of the driveway and I went back to the kitchen and Sven was there and the saffron bun crumbs were still on the table and the electric candle crown was on the counter and I sat down and I cried for ten more minutes and then I made another pot of coffee and I started the meatball prep for julbord because there was work to do and the work would not do itself. Thursday at the Damiano Center: wild rice soup, plus the leftover saffron buns and another thermos of glögg. Gerald asked how Lucia was. I said, "My granddaughter sang to me at 6 AM." He said, "How did that feel?" I said, "Gerald, I cannot describe it." He said, "You don't have to. Your face is doing it for you." Friday: I made the meatballs in advance. Sixteen pounds of ground beef and pork, the precise mix of breadcrumbs, milk, egg, onion, ginger, allspice, salt, pepper. The kitchen smelled like every Christmas of my life. The meatballs are in the freezer. The buns are gone. The crown is back in the basement. The Christmas tree is up (Erik came Saturday to help me; we cut a small tree from his property; we strung the lights together; I did not cry until after he left). Lucia is over. Christmas is coming. The line continues. Mira is two months old. Sophie is twenty-four. I am sixty-eight. Mamma is ninety. It is enough. It is more than enough. It is the line.

Sophie made the saffron buns herself this year, and watching her carry that recipe forward — sticky dough, four panicked texts, and all — reminded me that the food is never really just the food. It is the thread. When I sat down to think about what else belongs on a Scandinavian holiday table, lefse came to mind immediately: my mother made it, her mother made it, and it is the kind of recipe that asks for patience and rewards it. If you are building a julbord, or just want something warm and familiar and rooted in the north, this is the place to start.

Lefse

Prep Time: 45 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 1 hr 15 min | Servings: 12

Ingredients

• 2 cups riced potatoes (from about 2 large russet potatoes, boiled and riced while hot)
• 1/4 cup unsalted butter, cut into pieces
• 1/3 cup heavy cream
• 1 teaspoon sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for rolling

Instructions

1. Rice the potatoes. Boil peeled russet potatoes until fork-tender. Drain thoroughly, then rice them immediately into a large bowl. Do not mash — ricing keeps the texture light.
2. Add the butter and cream. While the riced potatoes are still hot, stir in the butter pieces until melted. Add the heavy cream, sugar, and salt and stir to combine. Spread the mixture on a baking sheet and refrigerate uncovered until completely cold, at least 1 hour or overnight.
3. Mix in the flour. Transfer the chilled potato mixture to a large bowl. Add the flour in two additions, folding gently until a soft dough forms. Do not overwork it — the dough will be delicate.
4. Divide and roll. Divide the dough into 12 equal portions. On a well-floured surface (or a lefse board), roll each portion out as thin as possible — roughly 1/8 inch or thinner. Work quickly and use a grooved rolling pin if you have one.
5. Cook on a dry griddle. Heat a cast iron griddle or large flat skillet over medium-high heat. Do not grease it. Using a lefse stick or a thin spatula, carefully transfer one round to the dry griddle. Cook 1 to 2 minutes per side until light brown spots appear. The lefse should look dry, not wet, when it is ready to flip.
6. Keep warm and stack. Transfer finished lefse to a clean kitchen towel and fold the towel over to keep them soft and pliable. Stack as you go. Serve warm or at room temperature.
7. To serve. Spread with softened butter and a sprinkle of sugar, or with butter and cinnamon sugar. Roll up and eat by hand. Lefse can also be served savory alongside soup or a holiday meal.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 140 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 5g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 105mg