Swedish Tea Ring — The Dead Are in the Kitchen

I read Paul's books in the evening. The shipwreck books, of course. The same chapters I have read forty times now. The repetition is the comfort. I am not reading for new information. I am reading because the act of opening Paul's books and turning Paul's pages is a form of sitting in the room with him. He is not in the room. The book was in his hand. The book is in my hand. The hands are connected through the book. Peter called from Chicago. He sounded thinner than last week. He said work was fine. I do not believe him. He said his apartment was fine. I do not believe him either. He asked about the dog. He asked about the lake. He told me he loved me. I told him I loved him too. I told him about the bread I was baking. He said he could almost smell it through the phone. We hung up. I stood at the sink for a long minute. I did not know what else to do. Sophie texted a photo of Mira eating cereal. Mira's face was covered in milk. The photo was lit from the side by morning light and the smile in it was uninhibited and full and I could not stop looking at it. I printed the photo. I taped it to the fridge. I have a system on the fridge now: a column for each grandchild, a column for each great-grandchild, photos rotated weekly. The fridge is the gallery. The gallery is the proof. I cooked Roasted butternut squash soup this week. Butternut squash roasted until caramelized, blended with onion, garlic, ginger, vegetable stock, a splash of cream. Topped with brown butter and toasted seeds. The soup of October. Thursday at the Damiano Center: I made an extra pot of pea soup, the way Mamma taught me — yellow split peas, ham hock, onion, the whole of Sunday afternoon dedicated to its slow simmer. Gerald said, "Variety. We approve." The regulars approved too. One older woman ate three bowls and asked if she could take some home. I sent her home with a quart in a glass jar. She is bringing the jar back next Thursday. We have an arrangement. I walked to the lake on Saturday. I stood at the spot where Paul and I used to walk — the bench at the end of the lakefront trail, the one with the brass plaque about a different Paul who died in 1972. I told my Paul about the week. About the kids. About the dog. About the soup. I do not feel foolish doing this. The lake is patient. The lake has, in some real sense, become my husband by proxy. I would not have predicted this in 1988. It has turned out to be true anyway. It is enough. Paul is not here. Mamma is not here. Pappa is not here. Erik is not here. They are all here in the kitchen, in the smell, in the taste, in the wooden spoon and the bread pans and the marble slab. The dead are not where the body went. The dead are in the kitchen. I have come to think that grief is not a problem to be solved. Grief is a country. You move into it. You learn its language. You make a life there. You do not leave the country, but you also do not spend every minute thinking about the fact that you live in it. You make breakfast. You walk the dog. You write a blog post. The country is the country. You live there now. It is enough.

None of the recipes I made this week felt as close to Mamma as the Swedish Tea Ring I baked on Sunday morning. The soup was good — the soup is always good in October — but it was the tea ring that brought the kitchen back to the kitchen I grew up in, the one where Mamma’s hands shaped dough while the rest of us sat at the table and waited. I told Peter about it on the phone. I did not tell him I cried a little while it was rising. Some things you keep between yourself and the dough.

Swedish Tea Ring

Prep Time: 30 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 30 minutes (includes rising) | Servings: 12

Ingredients

• 3/4 cup whole milk, warmed to 110°F
• 1 packet (2-1/4 teaspoons) active dry yeast
• 1/4 cup granulated sugar, plus 1 teaspoon for proofing
• 1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
• 1 large egg
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
• 3 to 3-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• Filling:
• 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
• 1/3 cup packed brown sugar
• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 1/2 cup raisins or chopped dried cranberries
• 1/4 cup chopped pecans or walnuts
• Glaze:
• 1 cup powdered sugar
• 1 to 2 tablespoons milk
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
• Maraschino cherries and additional nuts for garnish (optional)

Instructions

1. Proof the yeast. Stir 1 teaspoon sugar into warm milk in a large bowl. Sprinkle yeast over the surface and let stand until foamy, about 5 minutes.
2. Make the dough. Add 1/4 cup sugar, 1/4 cup softened butter, the egg, salt, and cardamom to the yeast mixture. Stir in flour one cup at a time until a soft dough forms. Turn onto a floured surface and knead 6 to 8 minutes until smooth and elastic.
3. First rise. Place dough in a greased bowl, turn to coat, and cover with a clean towel. Let rise in a warm place until doubled, about 1 hour.
4. Roll and fill. Punch down dough and roll out on a floured surface into a 15 x 10-inch rectangle. Spread with 3 tablespoons softened butter. Mix brown sugar and cinnamon together and sprinkle evenly over the butter. Scatter raisins and chopped nuts over the top.
5. Shape the ring. Starting from the long side, roll up the dough tightly, jelly-roll style. Pinch the seam to seal. Place seam-side down on a parchment-lined baking sheet and form into a ring, pinching the ends together. Using scissors or a sharp knife, make cuts from the outer edge toward the center at 1-inch intervals, cutting about two-thirds of the way through. Gently turn each slice on its side so the filling faces upward. Cover and let rise until puffy, about 30 minutes.
6. Bake. Preheat oven to 375°F. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until golden brown. Transfer to a wire rack to cool slightly.
7. Glaze and garnish. Whisk powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla until smooth. Drizzle over the warm tea ring. Decorate with cherries and nuts if desired.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 285 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 9g | Carbs: 47g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 125mg