Would you like us to clean your room tomorrow? No problem!
Dear guest,
We have established a new routine in regards of cleaning our hotel rooms. If you stay with us for more than one night, your room will be automatically cleaned every 4th day. However, if you would like us to clean your room more often, please let us know before 11PM the evening before, and we will happily provide it for you free of charge. This initiative is part of our work in creating a more sustainable hotel for the future, thank you for helping us!
Dear Karlskoga Hotell,
First of all, let me express my sincere joy knowing cleaning my hotel room is not causing you a problem, as it is part of what I pay for. At home I clean my room myself, also without any extra charge. Is this move a preamble to charging for cleaning your hotel rooms? If so, I do think you’re heading down the wrong path. I’m convinced a poll amongst your customers would yield that a clean hotel room is part of the deal.
And what is next? Cheaper rates if I chose a room that has not been cleaned? Charging for cleaning equipment when I opt for cleaning the room myself?
Second, I suggest you hire a professional translator or transcreator for your signs, or at least have someone who spent a vacation in South Hampton have a glance at it before it goes to print.
The joy of having the room automatically cleaned, as opposed to non-automatically, is hampered only by the fact that I now have to remember to alert you about cleaning my room every evening, at no extra charge.
Do let me know when the day comes when cleaning your rooms is a problem, and I’ll be happy to not cause you that.
Cut fillet in half. Grate the lemon zest. Crush the pepper corns coarsely in a mortar.
Rub the salmon pieces with salt.
Place one half in a baking dish. Sprinkle pepper, lemon zest and thyme on that half. Drizzle honey over the spices.
Place the other half on top, and place thick ends on opposite sides. Put some weight, like a plate, on top, cover and store cold for two days.
Drain accumulated liquid and flip the fillets the next day.
When the gravlax is ready, carefully scrape off the spices and cut in very, very thin slices across the fillet. Enjoy with “gravlaxssås” and maybe a small boiled yellow potato.
If you have a larger fillet, or smaller, adjust spices accordingly. Or did you figure that out by yourself?
Pour honey into large pitcher. Add lime juice and stir well until honey is dissolved. Add the water and stir until combined. Add ice cubes, stir and pour into tall, ice-filled glasses.
This is a tangy and very refreshing drink that goes well with Mexican meals!
Distribute the butter, softened and cut in small pieces, over flour. Combine all the ingredients and work it until smooth. This can be kept covered in the fridge until ready to use. Roll out on a lightly floured counter and use to line a 12 inch shallow round cake pan.
Peel and cut the apples into wedges. Peel and grate the ginger. Combine the apples, lingonberries, ginger, and honey and place in pie form.
Mix the ingredients for the topping until crumbly and spread on top of the apples.
Bake at 425 F for 10 minutes. Then lower the heat to 350 F and bake for another 30 minutes.
Serve with whipped cream, vanilla sauce, or ice cream.
If you poor sod suffer without lingonberries, cranberries will do just fine!
Rumor has it that the crumb pie was popularized during WW II, without the pie crust, as many ingredients for the crust were rationed.
Dissolve the yeast in the water, along with the honey and the salt. Mix in the flour a little at a time and work the dough until smooth. Cover and let rise for 20 – 30 minutes.
Form balls of dough the size of golf balls. Roll out, sprinkle some seeds on top and roll into the dough.
Bake on baking paper covered baking trays at 475 F for 10 – 12 minutes. Let cool on grill rack.
Always nice with home-baked bread! You may use slightly more rye four, and less of the other kinds, to vary the taste a bit.
She worked three jobs and he was a Laz-y-Boy armchair quarterback ready to compete with the world’s cab drivers and barbers in solving local problems as well as international conflicts.
“If you weren’t so lazy, we’d be much better off”, he stated angrily.
Dissolve the yeast in lukewarm water, in a bowl. Grind the rosemary in a mortar.
Add rosemary, salt, honey, bran and all the flour. Work the dough until smooth and elastic. Let rise for 15 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 450 F.
Divide the dough into 30 pieces and roll out each piece to thin rounds. Prick the top of the dough all over with a fork.
Place the rounds on cookie sheets covered in parchment baking paper. Brush with water and sprinkle with sunflower seeds and rosemary – press into the dough with, for instance, a silicone spatula, so the dough or the seeds do not stick to it.
Bake one sheet at a time, as they get filled by rolled out breads.
Bake 5-7 minutes.
Transfer to wire racks to cool. Store in dry place.
Maybe not much to look at, but has a great personality
Sometimes it’s tempting to exclude parts of a recipe, like “of the radishes” in the sentence above. Do my readers really need that part, or would they otherwise stay confused, frying pan in hand? Or maybe sprinkle it on the floor, or over the dog?
Mix the eggs and half of the milk. Add the flour a little bit at a time. Add the rest of the milk.
Use a flat hot ‘pannkakslagg’ (griddle) and a thin spatula. Use grease that can take heat.
Svante recommendes mixing this batter in a blender, but that is because he’s become soft from living in CA for many years. In Sweden we still whisk the batter by hand!
They whiskey was waiting, hidden in the shoe basket in the closet. A new, unopened bottle, waiting, just in case… The bottle of nice perfume from the tax-free shop stood at the very back of the low cabinet next to the bookcase; one had to get down on one’s knees and still reach far to be able to get it.
The still unopened wrappings around the fancy shirts from the Gentleman’s shop – not made to order, but still… were piling up in the cabinet where comforters and sheets would be.
Her Rococo chairs were moved up into the attic, for further transport to some antiques dealer who could transform the value of them into sheer tax money at the state-owned liquor store. Ah, well, a small percentage did also benefit the distillery.
Now she was admitted to the South side hospital and longed for the Teddy bear. The one she was given by her daughter. The Teddy bear who already had been providing comfort in a hospital once before, a long time ago when the grief was inconsolable.
But the Teddy was stored away. At the very back of the top shelf in the bedroom closet. Where she would not be able to get it without a tall step-stool, good balance, foolish courage and free from age related ailments and fibrillation.
He was so kind and helped her take out cash from the automatic teller machine, but every time also gave himself a bonus. And a visit to the Gentleman’s store, since he was in town anyways, sort of.
The helpful pensioner; an old friend who just is really so helpful and kind. He took take to remove all the unnecessary jewels and antique furniture for free, of course. More money into the state tax fund, and a small back-up in the hall closet.
And fine perfume from her daughter was not to be squandered. Or even used. Or even enjoyed by smelling it. She remembered it’s fragrance.
Debone the chicken and put the pieces in a greased, oven-proof dish. Sprinkle with salt and pepper according to taste. Sprinkle the salad spice mix on top.
Peel and cut the bananas lengthwise and across to get four pieces of each. Place on top of the chicken.
Whip the cream and mix in the chili sauce. Spread the mix on top of the chicken and the banana.
Bake in the oven for 20 minutes at 437 degrees.
In the meantime, cut the bacon into small pieces and fry until crisp.
Sprinkle peanuts and bacon bits over the finished dish.
This is a dish from the 1980’s, that was very popular in Sweden. It is a translation of a classic recipe and I’m still curious why it was necessary to mention that the chicken should be baked ‘in the oven’.
It is not a recipe entirely in my tradition of cooking as it uses already grilled chickens. But if you don’t want to feel totally lazy, and a tad more genuine, you can of course behead, pluck, and grill the chickens yourself.
It’s the summer of 1973. After a long, hot day in a black Peugeot 403 from 1957, a cold beer felt earned. The main road from Ceuta to Alger meandered along stretches edging the Sahara, and sometimes disappeared under the wind-drifted sand. The scalding air in the car was not air-conditioned and we had already been on the road for a couple of weeks. In the last two days we had covered almost 700 miles, subsisting on watermelon, bread and Evian bottled water. Conveniently, there was a rust hole in the floor on the front passenger’s side, through which one could spit the watermelon seeds. In the back seat were our back-packs and a tent.
Before we found the town square with many outdoor restaurants and cafés, we had driven around lost in Alger, capital of Algeria. Night was falling, but we had finally reached our day’s goal, and tomorrow we would cross the border to Tunisia. We bloody well deserved a cold beer!
A shaggy looking young man with long, red, hair – this was in the 1970’s, remember? – and an uncovered girl in tight jeans and a spaghetti-strapped pink top and a blond mane down to her waist, made huge eyes around the square. Some struggled not to stare, other patrons didn’t bother to hide their curiosity as we walked from the car and plunked down at an empty table, rather beat from the journey.
The server was so obviously happy to have us land at his restaurant, courteous and polite and how nice to have you here and all smiles, fully well knowing how hundreds of eyes were watching him from the tables at his and nearby restaurants.
My French was good enough to discuss the menu, and then, finally: ‘may we please have two beers, very cold, thank you?’
In a split second, the smile was gone, his posture changed, his napkin-covered forearm retracted and very slowly he sort of spitted out, with obvious disgust that ‘alcohol is served at that restaurant’, pointing a long ways away down the avenue.
We were too tired, and too nervous to leave our car out of our sight. Ah, well, a cold Coke ain’t nothing to sneeze at, either!
Pick (or buy) dandelion leaves and rinse them very well.
Boil in salted water for 15 minutes.
Change to fresh, salted water and allow the leaves to boil until they feel soft.
Serve them warm or cold with a little oil, lemon and salt, according to taste.
This version of dandelion salad is from Hará Vlachaki-Ljunggren’s book ’We cook greek food’ (Vi lagar grekiskt’, 1997), and her comment is: The salad is preferably eaten by itself as a small dish. It also goes well with fried fish.
In a pot, dissolve the bouillon cube in the water, on low heat. Add butter and whisk in crème fraiche and thickening. Add salt and pepper to taste and let the mixture simmer for a few minutes, then cool.
Super-finely chop the ramson leaves and mix in.
Serve with the egg halves. Or serve with Vodka and leave the egg-halves to be chopped into an egg salad tomorrow.
The ramson is a a broad-leaved garlic (Allium ursinum) common in European gardens. It’s also called wild garlic, wild cowleek, cowlic, buckrams, broad-leaved garlic, wood garlic, bear leek, Eurasian wild garlic or bear’s garlic,
It is sensitive to heat and should not be heated if you want the taste and nutritional benefits. It has a strong anti-bacterial effect and may also be preventing arteriosclerosis, flatulence and thrombosis.
The day dawned bleak and chill, a moving wall of grey light out of the north-east which, instead of dissolving into moisture, seemed to disintegrate into minute and venomous particles, like dust that, when Dilsey opened the door of the cabin and emerged, needled laterally into her flesh, precipitating not so much a moisture as a substance partaking of the quality of thin, not quite congealed oil.
This wonderful sentence is fromWilliam Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury. If I could write like this I’d be so lucky!
Grease an 8 inch round cake pan with butter and “bread” with the coconut flakes.
In a large bowl, whisk eggs and sugar until fluffy.
Mix the flours with the baking powder and turn into the egg and sugar mix.
Pour batter into form and bake at 350 F for about 30 minutes.
Let cool.
FILLING and TOPPING
Dry-roast the hazelnuts in a frying pan until the skin is about to loosen. Dump them into a colander and shake off the skin, or tip them into teatowel and rub it off. Return the nuts to the pan, drizzle the honey over them and continue roasting until they are golden. Let cool, spread out on baking-paper.
Assemble by taking a long serrated knife and gently splitting the cake in half horizontally. Set aside 2 tablespoons of the lemoncurd, and spread half of the rest on one of the cut surfaces. Place bottom half on a nice cake plate. Cover with the strawberry slices. Spread some of the cream evenly over bottom layer. Place remaining half of cake on top of filling.
Mix the other half of the lemon curd with the remaining cream and smooth a layer of the lemoncurd cream over the top layer, so it covers the top and the sides.
Finish by adding the strawberries and the nuts. Melt the lemoncurd over a double boiler and drizzle over the berries.
No gluten here! But it is surely containing three of the other most common allergens instead. If you have managed not to know which ones they are – Congrats! Then just go ahead and enjoy your wonderful creation.
Peel and finely chop the garlic. Mix all ingredients in a small pot over low heat. Bring to a boil while stirring, and cook for a few minutes
Dissolve ½ tablespoon of cornstarch in 1 tablespoon water. Add the cornstarch mix. Simmer until the glaze has thickened, about 2 minutes. Use as bbq-sauce.
½ pound turnip (Swede), peeled and thinly sliced with a mandoline
4 carrots, about 1 pound, peeled and shredded with a grater or a potato peeler
1 small fennel bulb, ¼ – ½ pound, trimmed and finely sliced with a mandoline
2 limes, juice and grated zest
1 small piece of ginger, about 1 tablespoon peeled and grated
1 – 2 tablespoons honey
1 tablespoon EVOO
½ teaspoon salt
White pepper
A happy Swede
Shred the turnip slices.
Mix the lime juice, the lime zest, ginger, honey and a little oil. Toss the vegetables with the dressing and let sit for at least 15 minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste.
Everybody loves fennel! Photo by Blue Orchid Creations
The colorful ribbons in this tasty mix sparkles like a bowl of jewels on your table!
When I was in Singapore, I ate Durian ice cream at least once a week. It is based on a fruit with a scent like if someone let on rip – kind of like Limburger cheese. Since many years, Singapore Airlines, prohibits Durian to be transported in the carry on luggage, on their flights.
You may not buy fresh Durian outside where it’s grown, so I have not included a recipe on how to make the ice cream. Lucky thing, too, you may think, but still a pity, as the ice cream is really tasty.
Oh, for sure, sometimes you hear stuff like ”Well, sugar is sugar. Doesn’t matter if it’s from sugar beets or honey”. But no-siree, you’re wrong, you honey deniers! If you want to look at the health aspect – and you do, right? – honey is better hands down.
Came across a recipe that called for putting roasted hazelnuts in a clean tea towel, in order to rub the skins off.
Really? Why would it be necessary to point out the great idea of using a clean towel, as in:
“If you use the rag recently utilized during an oil change, instead of a clean towel, please be advised the hazelnuts may adopt a slight flavor of SAE10-40.”
In a medium bowl, mix the all ingredients, except the mushrooms, then fold them in.
Put in fridge, or somewhere cold, like San Francisco in the summer, and allow to marinate for at least one hour. Turn the mix a few times during the pickling process.
Mix all the chopped ingredients together. Leave at room temperature for 20 minutes. Add the honey, and salt to taste.
One way to prepare bell peppers is to place them, quartered, in an oiled pyrex dish, skin side up. Bake at 400 degrees until they begin to soften, then turn and bake until skin loosens. Transfer to a plate, cover with a plastic bag for 10 minutes, and then remove the skin.
In a bowl, combine the pumpkin with the oil and the cinnamon. Coat an oven pan with butter or oil. Spread out the pumpkin and roast in 425 degrees for 18 – 20 minutes.
Mix the pumpkin with the feta cheese and the honey. Add salt and pepper to taste and serve with the basil.
This is sooo tasty and easily replaces rice or potatoes as part of the meal. And it’s more colorful!
Instead of coating the baking pan with oil, or covering with a parchment paper, I use a silicone cover, which is good for 200 uses and is easy to wash; goes in the dishwasher, too.
This is my favorite whenever a warm salad is needed! A tad sweet, a tad acidulous, soft and crunchy & just right! Goes splendidly with Swedish meatballs, ham, falafel, or lamb.
Mix the first seven ingredients and roast in the oven on a baking sheet at 350 degrees for 15 minutes. Stir a few times during roasting, so the roasting will be even.
Remove from oven and mix well with the honey. Roast for another 10 minutes.
Let cool. Store in closed container in a dry place.
Pour enough wine in a pot to cover the bottom about ½ inch deep. Allow to slowly simmer, with occasional stirring, until the liquid has reduced to about half.
Stir in about ½ cup of honey, and mix well.
Salt and pepper the meat and braise in butter for several minutes. Place meat in an oven-proof dish and ladle, or spoon, the marinade and finish baking in the oven. Spoon the marinade over the meat several times during the cooking time.
If you are having lamb chops, they will taste great if you brush them with the marinade and allow to rest in the fridge for one hour. Dry off the lamb chops well before you sauté them for 1 to 2 minutes per side, for medium-rare. Save the remaining marinade and spoon over the lamb chops when serving.
A lamb steak of about 3 to 4 pounds is baked in the oven at 350 degrees. Use an oven thermometer, to measure the meat’s inner temperature: 162 degrees for a rare steak, 171 degrees for medium, and 180 degrees for well-done.
In a separate bowl, whisk together the honey, egg and egg yolks over a double boiler. Make sure the water does not reach the bottom of the bowl.
Continue whisking until the mixture becomes evenly light yellow, is foaming and almost bubbling. It should get warm, but not so hot as to turn into scrambled eggs.
Gently fold in the honey mixture into the whipping cream and mix until smooth.
Cover a loaf pan, with plastic wrap and pour in the mixture. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and place in the freezer at least two hours before serving.
You may prepare the semifreddo up until this point, and store in the freezer for up to two days.
Remove the pan from the freezer and tip onto a beautiful plate. Drizzle honey back and forth over the semifreddo, and sprinkle the nuts on top. Buon appetito!
This recipe is so elegant and the semifreddo will likewise elegantly slide into your mouth. It is totally lovely by itself, or as a dessert. It is an Italian icecream-like dish that came to me by way of Great Britain through an American Facebook group on Quarantine cooking
In a bowl, dissolve the yeast in water, and mix in the honey, oil and salt.
Add the flour a little at a time, and knead the dough until all the flour has been incorporated and the dough is soft to the touch.
Cover and let the dough rise for 30 minutes.
Tip the dough out of the bowl onto a lightly floured counter and divide into two pieces.
Form each piece into a round, then with a roller form two rectangular breads – or make a big piece fitting a baking sheet.
Line a baking sheet. Place bread on baking sheet and top with rosemary, basil, and salt flakes.
Let rest for 20 minutes.
Bake in 350 degrees for about 20 minutes.
Let cool on wire rack.
The scent of rosemary that envelopes the kitchen! Like you want to turn off the kitchen fan entirely, close your eyes and pretend you’re in Italy. Unless, of course, you are in Italy.
In the recipes I find in books and magazines, it often states to cook the spaghetti (or whatever shape the pasta has) “according to the instructions on the package”.
Oh, really? So what would happen if that part of the recipe fell off? Would all good Americans cook their pasta without looking at the cooking instructions? Don’t think so.
Most likely scenario is that the chef in charge of your local kitchen pot will be able to figure out how long the fusilli needs to spend in the water. With or without the help of the persistent little egg timer chiming.
Humans have been able to figure out when the macaroni is done, since the beginning of pasta – even before the egg timer was invented.
Checked with my buddy in Italy. Ingela never reads the instructions on the package, but is taste testing for when it’s done. She used capital letters for NEVER in her response to my email.
My entire life I have yearned to be able to buy a jar of Finnish honey, Hunajaa, from the excellent market Gamla Marknadshallen (the Old Market Hall) in Helsinki, capitol of Finland!
Not really, but when it happened it was a true delight. It was in connection with visiting Chinese-Finnish-American friends from Berkeley, CA, in their island right outside Helsinki.
The Finnish capital sits right by the edge of the Baltic Sea, and the Gamla Maknadshallen is on the South Key, about a stone’s throw from where the ferries to Sweden docks. It was completed in 1889. The architect, Gustaf Nyström, had according to ledgend been inspired by the market buildings on the continent of Europe, where it was trendy to move the markets indoors. Besides many delis and specialty shops, there are also restaurants where you can enjoy the wast variety of products.
The honey I bought during this visit is from the local company Mesila. They also deliver honey to Hotel Lilla Roberts, where I spent the night in great comfort!
“Now our bees are twitching below the warm snow cover in complete peace” is posted on the manufacurer’s web page, in translation from Finnish. Sounds a bit like national romanticism, right? Like one may feel with great honey in the pantry!
This was long ago, before everybody simply asked Uncle Google about everything. As usual, I was listening to the radio while cooking; I think it must have been NPR (National Public Radio, in the US).
The program featured an interview with two female authors of a cookbook. They had recently published an updated version of their book.
The interviewer asked if it was easier to write cookbooks nowadays, maybe with the thought that more people cook from scratch, rather than buying bake-off items or TV dinners.
“No”, answered to cookbook authors, ” it’s the other way around. We have to be more specific, since the basic knowledge often is lacking. Before, it could say in a cookbook: Make a brown sauce, and then add …whatever. Now, we have to explain how to make a brown sauce.” They provided an example:
” In the previous edition we wrote, in a recipe, ’grease bottom of pan’. We actually got sued by a man who’s kitchen had gone up in flames. He claimed he had followed our recipe; greased the bottom of the frying pan, put it over the gas range of his stove, and wavoom! Ended up the entire kitchen went up in flames. So, in the new edition we specify ‘grease inside bottom of pan with oil or butter’.”
All natural honey will crystalize sooner or later. Crystallized honey is spreadable and will melt in hot tea or coffee. If you prefer liquid honey you may heat it up in a double boiler. In order to make the crystalized honey liquid by the help of a microwave oven, you remove the lid from the glass jar and heat at medium for 30 seconds. If you heat up the honey too much, it will lose its wonderful taste and natural enzymes.
Clean and pick over the berries. If the berries have not been harvested after the first frost, freeze them for a day or so. The freezing eliminates some of the astringent taste.
In a pot bring water and sugar to boil. Add the berries and simmer uncovered for about 20 minutes, until the berries look clear. Shake the pot now and then.
Remove the pot from the heat and skim off the foam.
Fill warm jars with the jam and tighten the lid immediately. Invert for five minutes. Store in a dark and cool place.
A slightly tart and fresh flavor, this jam will be the talk of the town! A tad on a buttered cracker, or as a relish. Try it with whipped cream on your pancakes!
Tremendously popular in my kitchen! Of course, it may also be made with large tomatoes, cut into smaller pieces – preferably with seeds removed – and larger mozzarella cheese, sliced or cut into smaller pieces. To add some zip, I exchange the regular vinegar for some balsamic vinegar and finely chop a bit of onion, and press some garlic. Was first introduced to this dish by a little señor living near Malaga, in Southern Spain.
Break the bulb apart in cloves, place in boiling water and boil for 5 minutes. Drain and rinse with cold water. When the cloves are cool enough to handle, peel them and roast them in the butter until golden.
Drizzle the Golden honey and sprinkle the salt over the Golden cloves.
Sweden is a small country that aims to be a big country. Most real Swedes have at least one pair of Levis’, some wear them all year round.
Instead of the American institution Taco Tuesday, Swedes have Taco Friday, and throw in chopped cucumber and radishes in the mix. There are coke and popcorn in the movie theatres, HBO and Netflix at home and the US made smartphone is gaining market shares over the Korean one. There are drive-in burger joints and Washingtonian coffee places.
Teenage girls wear T-shirts named after a NorCal town and basically Swedes may pretend they live in a US colony, sorta. But however American the Swede may feel, there is a sure way you can tell if you’re in a Swedish restaurant or one stateside: In restaurants, real restaurants, not fast-food places with golden arches like, hamburgers are eaten with a knife and a fork. The fries, too.
Finally I could find crème fraiche in my local California food store! Maybe Smetana on a good day, but the true acidophilus is a tougher nut to crack.
Buttermilk is, to a Swede, a weak substitute for the stuff Vikings are made of. Or at least what their common breakfasts are made of. Goes splendidly with my Granola (see separate post)!
Buttermilk is a soured milk that thickens a bit, the true “Fil” (short for the Swedish word for acidophilus) is full of good bacteria.
Acidophilus (Lactobacillus acidophilus), a bacterium found in the mouth, intestine and vagina, is used as a probiotic. Probiotics are good bacteria that are either the same as or very similar to the bacteria that are already in your body. Each type of probiotic supplement — and each strain of each type — can work in different ways. As a supplement, acidophilus is available as capsules, tablets, wafers, powders and a vaginal suppository. In addition to use as a supplement, acidophilus is found in some dairy products, such as yogurt, and is commercially added to many foods.
People commonly take acidophilus to treat a type of vaginal inflammation (bacterial vaginosis) and digestive disorders, as well as to promote the growth of good bacteria.
Research on acidophilus use for specific conditions shows:
Bacterial vaginosis. Oral use of acidophilus and use of vaginal acidophilus suppositories or application of yogurt containing acidophilus to the vagina has been shown to be effective in treating this type of vaginal inflammation.
Lung infections. Acidophilus might play a role in reducing the number and severity of respiratory infections children experience.
Certain types of diarrhea. When taken with antibiotics, a combination of acidophilus and other specific forms of lactobacillus might reduce diarrhea, bloating and cramps caused by a bacterium that can cause symptoms ranging from diarrhea to life-threatening inflammation of the colon (C. difficile infection). The probiotic formulation might also reduce the occurrence of antibiotic-associated diarrhea and C. difficile infection in people who are hospitalized.
Eczema. Oral use of acidophilus during pregnancy, by breast-feeding mothers and by infants appears to reduce the occurrence of eczema (atopic dermatitis) in infants and young children.
Acidophilus products might contain significant differences in composition, which could cause varying results.
There’s growing interest in probiotics such as acidophilus. A balanced diet, including fermented foods such as kefir, might provide you with sufficient “good” bacteria.
If not in Sweden, where entire walls at the grocers display varieties of yoghurts, kefir, and many other acidophilus products, a starter-kit can be bought on-line, to make your own at home.
I brought some Fil with me to San Francisco, replenished it and cared for it like my newborn. These were the days when only buttermilk was the closest I could come to finding soured milk at the time.
It works like sourdough. You save a starter from the old batch, like ½ cup, and pour it into a container with fresh whole milk. Leave it out on the counter for a couple of days – depending on how warm your kitchen is – until all milk is converted to Fil. Store in fridge.
At the time small starters were shared in the Swedish community, and given as gifts instead of a bottle of wine at dinner gatherings. The problem occurred around the time for the annual trek to the old country. Who would care for the Fil? A network of Swedish women around the San Francisco Bay Area organized to babysit each other’s Fil during vacation times. True story!
Mix flour and salt. Whisk in – a little at a time – beer and water into the flour. Mix well.
Heat enough oil in a pot, so that the flowers float freely while being fried.
Drag one flower at a time through the batter, until it is completely covered. Allow excess batter to drip back into the bowl, then place in the frying pot. Turn the flower over a few times so that it is evenly fried all around. When nice and golden, place on a paper towel covered plate to dry off, before serving.
Old man Giuseppe in Calvo, north of Ventimiglia in northern Italy, taught me this recipe for deep fried zucchini flowers. Anyone who has had even a slight success of growing zucchinis, is well aware that you still get a good harvest, even though you grab a bunch of flowers to go with your aperitif!
The Italians prefer this delicacy as is, while the people on the other side of the border, in French Menton and beyond, happily add dips and sauces.
In a large pot, place rice, cinnamon, lemon zest, cloves and water. Let soak for 1 hour.
Bring to a boil, uncovered. When it starts to boil, lower the heat and simmer for 10 – 12 minutes, or until almost all the water has been absorbed.
In a separate bowl, beat the egg and add the milk. Mix well.
Add the egg mixture, vanilla and the condensed milk to the rice. Stir continuously and let simmer on low heat until the rice thickens slightly, or until it has reached the desired consistency, maybe as long as 25 – 35 minutes, depending on whether the rice is parboiled or not.
Fold in the raisins.
Let the rice cool uncovered. Remember that the rice will swell as it cools off. The rice should be somewhat less dense than traditional rice pudding.
In April it is already shorts and Birkenstocks in Davis, California. That is when University of California at Davis arranges its annual Picnic Day; a kind of Open House event for prospective and current students, alumni and the public. Davis is a big university town and more than 50 000 visitors usually show up for this day of parades, music, exhibits, games and Open House visits and demonstrations at several of its schools.
I am one of those who has enjoyed this tradition, that got started on May 22, 1909. My morning tea is greatly enhanced by some Orange Blossom Honey from UC Davis! It is a honey that resembles traditional Swedish honey, creamy and spreadable. It has carefully been warmed and filtered in order to keep the local pollen.
Students at UC Davis, current and alumni, are called Aggies, from the word ”agriculture”, since the school traditionally has offered classes in that field. Those who study or do research at UC Davis Honey and Pollination Center at the Robert Mondavi Institute of Wine and Food Science are selling honey, pass out free samples of olive oil and ice cream, as well as donating small grapevine plants to 2000 people annually. The money goes to support research.
The Orange Blossom Honey is celebrating a long tradition in California. The first orange trees were planted in the at the time Mexican town of Los Angeles in 1835, by William Wolfskill. Shortly thereafter Will and his brother, John, planted citrus and grapevine close to the little town of Winters, not far from Davis, on a farm called Rancho de los Putos. It was later re-named the Wolfskill Experimental Orchard.
In 1934 the University received more than 100 acres of the farm’s land. Today the USDA Germplasm Repository is situated at Wolfskill Ranch. It is called a living library for fruit and has become a part of UC Davis.
Before I had a steam convection oven with 76 pre-programmed settings, a digital kitchen scale, and an auto-timer on the kitchen fan there were recipes where the measurements were coffee cups, pinch, dollop, and a splash. That was a time when real coffee cups were used; the ones with a thin edge and a slender ear, sitting on a saucer. Not mugs.
An acquaintance with knowledge of the car sales trade in California, tells me that a lot of European cars are deselected in the US because they lack holders for the giant thermo mugs, which are as obligatory as safety belts in the Golden State. I admit to also owning one of the huge thermo mugs, bought in support of the Sacramento Youth Symphony.
When my dad was a temporarily baching it and longed for pancakes, he called his sister-in-law and asked for the recipe (this is before one could ask Uncle Google). His culinary abilities hitherto had almost included boiling water.
“You take a couple of eggs and a splash of milk, a pinch of salt and then you whisk in a dollop of melted butter and mix in flour until you get a suitably thick batter”, said auntie Ebba.
He ended up with enough pancakes for the entire neighborhood!
Peel and grate a bit of ginger, according to taste.
In a small pot, put the spices and the juices and carefully warm the glühwein thoroughly. Stir in honey; amount according to taste.
This is a rather fake Glühwein, as wine goes, but it has the traditional flavors, except red wine, and is warm, cozy and a great non-alcohol alternative!
Food recipes often call for spices, indicating whether they should be fresh, dried, or ground. Sometimes the choice is obvious and does not have to be spelled out. The basil should in most instances be fresh. At least not old and moldy.
Some flavorings we mostly use fresh, although sometimes as dried and ground, so recipe writers need to specify. But if it says at the end of the recipe to add salt and pepper to taste, you can bet your cojones it means dried and ground pepper. Do try with pepper corns and let me know how it goes!
And if it says ‘sprinkle a teaspoon cinnamon’ the reader will have to figure out all by herself that it’s not a cinnamon stick the author had in mind.
Dissolve the yeast in lukewarm water, in a bowl. Grind the rosemary in a mortar.
Add rosemary, salt, honey, bran and all the flour. Work the dough until smooth and elastic. Let rise for 15 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 450 F.
Divide the dough into 30 pieces and roll out each piece to thin rounds. Prick the top of the dough all over with a fork.
Place the rounds on cookie sheets covered in parchment baking paper. Brush with water and sprinkle with sunflower seeds and rosemary – press into the dough with, for instance, a silicone spatula, so the dough or the seeds do not stick to it.
Bake one sheet at a time, as they get filled by rolled out breads.
Bake 5-7 minutes.
Transfer to wire racks to cool. Store in dry place.
Rosemary scented crackers loved by all who get aquainted with it!
In a small pot, mix all ingredients and let simmer for a minimum of 5 minutes.
When preparing the Fillet of Beef, you start by adding salt and pepper and brown the meat all around. Brush on the glaze before roasting it in the oven. Brush twice more while the meat is roasting.
After searing the meat, put in oven at 250 degrees until inner temperature reaches 122 – 140 degrees. For 3 pounds of meat this will take about 40 minutes.
Similarily, if tossing meat on the “barbie”, brush with the glaze prior to, and during, grilling.
This glaze is also great for spicing up chicken. Or Halloumi cheese!
Peel the parsnips and cut into pieces. Boil in water until soft.
Mix the boiled parsnips together with pressed garlic and the dairy ingredients. Add honey to taste.
This is a favorite dip among all my friends! The most common question is “What is this made of?”It is smooth as silk, and nobody ever guesses it’s based on parsnips. Goes equally well with cut up veggies as tortilla chips
Rör ihop vatten, honung och ättika tills honungen löst sig.
Skala och finstrimla rödlöken.
Lägg den i lagen och låt dra minst 15 minuter.
Det här är min absoluta favoritinläggning som passar till allt! Möjligtvis inte till chokladglass, men kanske? Testa gärna och låt mig veta hur det gick.
I hela mitt liv har jag längtat efter att få köpa en burk finsk honung, hunajaa, i den fin-fina saluhallen Gamla Marknadshallen i Helsingfors!
Inte exakt, men det var alldeles utomordentligt trevligt när det råkade bli så. Det var i samband med ett besök hos kinesisk-finsk-amerikanska vänner från Berkeley, på deras ö alldeles utanför huvudstaden.
Den Gamla Marknadshallen ligger på Södra kajen i Helsingfors, ett stenkast eller två från där färjorna från Sverige lägger till. Det stod färdigbyggt 1889. Arkitekten Gustaf Nyström hade, enligt uppgift, inspirerats av saluhallar runt om i Europa där man flyttat in torghandeln under tak. Förutom massor av specialbutiker finns även restauranger där man kan njuta av det stora varu-utbudet.
Honungen jag köpte vid detta besök kommer från Mesila. De levererar honung även till HotelLilla Roberts, där jag övernattade med hög komfortfaktor.
”Nu rycker våra bin under det varma snöskyddet i fullständig fred.” står det att läsa på odlarens hemsida, i översättning från finska. Och det låter lite nationalromantiskt, tycker jag. Som man kan bli med god honung i skafferiet!
Blanda övriga ingredienser till en sås och vänd ner champinjonskivorna i såsen. Låt stå kallt och marinera i minst 1 timme och vänd runt svampen ett par gånger under tiden.
Sedan kan man vända på receptet, byta ut olivoljan mot smör och vips får man smörfrästa champinjoner med en underbar marinad!…alltså om man sauterar svampen i smör först.
On 24th Street in San Francisco’s Noe Valley neighborhood, there are many small shops and restaurants catering to the area’s affluent clientele. There also used to be a Bell Markets grocery store on 24th.
Bell Markets was founded in the 1940s when Dominick Bell and his two brothers opened a supermarket in San Francisco. Alas, it is no more.
This was where, when I as newly arrived in San Francisco first discovered that it was not a breeze finding the foodstuff I was used to.
Ground beef, I thought, must be the same, right? Nope, here were packages of ground beef with various fat content displayed and I had no idea which one to pick for my homemade Swedish meatballs. If you say Muskot, with a Englishish pronounciation, sound like Muscat, sorta Muscrat without the c, it still does not make sense to the clerk, as it’s called Nutmeg on this side of the pond. And, surprisingly, Koriander is not a green herb with thin leaves, but the seeds yielding Cilantro.
After failing to get ground meat, nutmeg and cilantro I decided on a new tack, and went looking for shrimp. Cooked shrimp in its shell, fresh or frozen. The kind Swedes pour in a nice bowl and gather around on Friday evenings, along with a French Baguette and White Wine. You peel the shrimp while sipping the wine. When you have a nice pile, you butter a piece of bread, add the shrimp, a dollop of mayo or a squeeze of lemon, or both, then indulge with more wine. It’s a nice, slow process and gives your hands something to fiddle with while giving room for conversations to flow.
Had to ask the store manager where to find the shrimp. Described what I was looking for. “Do you have any shrimp like that?”
“No, ma’m, this is the country of convenience; all our shrimp is already peeled”.
I Noe Valley i San Francisco ligger en gata med många små affärer och en livsmedelsbutik som är inriktad mot de välbeställda invånarna i det populära området. Det var där jag som helt nyanländ först upptäckte att det inte var så lätt att hitta de matvaror jag var van vid hemifrån, i Sverige.
Köttfärs, världens enklaste tänkte jag, visade sig finnas i flera olika fetthalter. Muskot heter inte alls så, inte ens med engelskt uttal och koriander är inte en grön växt med tunna blad. Till slut måste jag fråga var jag kunde hitta räkor, alltså sådana man skalar till baguette och vitt vin en fredagkväll. Har ni sådana? undrade jag.
– No, ma’m, this is the country of convenience; all our shrimp is already peeled.
On Freeport Boulevard there is a popular Chinese restaurant, featuring a giant lunch buffet with a number of different ethnic foods. It’s an all-you-can-eat place still in business probably because it hasn’t been discovered by body builders, yet.
In front and center, there is the section with Chinese food; Spring Rolls, Dumplings, Bao Buns, Chow Mein, Lo Mein , Egg Foo Yong, Peking Duck, Sweet and Sour Pork, Kung Pao Chicken, Fried Rice, Wonton Soup, White Rice, Fried shrimp with cashew nuts, and Ma Po Tofu.
Along the right wall, as you enter the food display area of the restaurant, there are the containers and platters with your more typical American food like Mac’n Cheese, Burgers & Fries, Jello Pudding in various neon colors, Pancakes with maple flavored Syrup, Boston Clam Showder, Coleslaw, Pizza, Pasta Salad, Buffalo Wings, Meatloaf, Potato Salad, Meatballs, Baby back ribs, and Corn Dogs.
Immediately to the left is the Japanese section offering Sushi Nigiri and Maki Rolls with Salmon, Tuna Fish, Crab, Avocado, or Giant Shrimp. There’s Miso Soup, Chicken Teriyaki, Sashimi, Shrimp or Vegetable Tempura, Tonkatsu with a pile of Shredded Cabbage served with a bowl of Rice, and sides like Pickled Ginger, Seaweed Salad, Marinated Octopus Salad, Kimchi, and Wasabi.
Beyond and next to the Japanese section are the Mexican dishes laid out in a colorful display of Guacamole, Salsa, Tacos, Chimichanga, Enchiladas, Black Beans, Chile Rellenos, Gazpacho Soup, Refried Bean Dip, Quesadillas, Nachos, Tortilla Chips, Chili Con Carne and Burritos.
There are information signs posted on the wall of each section. In a beautiful kind of Chinese calligraphy writing, they spell out the kind of foods offered in each section of the buffet.
I was sweeping through the Mexican section, heaping it on as I had missed breakfast that day and was famished. On my way back to our table, as an afterthought, or actually without any thought at all, except looking forward to digging into my fully laden plate, I decided to scoop up another, generous serving of guacamole.
Finally seated at the table, and while chatting with my new colleagues during our lunch break from the office across town, I grabbed a tortilla chip, dipped it deep into the guacamole. More dip than chip in that mouthful.
Gently heat sugar, honey and water in a pot while stirring, until the sugar has dissolved.
Let cool.
Fill up a large pitcher with the syrup, lemon juice, carbonated water, lemon slices and the mint leaves.
Serve with ice cubes as needed
In this recipe, the honey is not the sweetener, but a taster. Pick a honey where the bees have collected the nectar from plants with your favorite flavor.
Skopa ut små kulor av melon, skär äpple i små bitar. Halvera hälften av vindruvorna, spar andra hälften hela, om de är små. Blanda ihop med limejuice.
Lägg yoghurten i mitten av serveringsfat, med fruktsalladen i en ring runt yoghurthen. Toppa med honung försiktigt spritsad fram och tillbaka över hela billevitten!
Eftersom storleken varierar kan en ananas räcka till fyra portioner, eller om den är stor räcker en halv till fyra portioner. Nedan är beräknat på en ganska liten ekologisk ananas.
Skär ananasen i fyra delar på längden. Kapa bort blasten och ta bort mittstocken. Befria från skalet. Skär ananasen i ganska tunna skivor och stek i smöret, med kanelen i ca 5 minuter.
Vispa grädden. Pressa limen.
Tillsätt honung och limesaft till ananasen och fortsätt steka tills honungen karamelliserats och limejuicen kokat in.
Skålla och skala mandeln. Rosta den i torr stekpanna. Låt svalna. Hacka den fint och vänd ner i grädden. Om du istället använder mandelflarn: krossa dem i handen och lägg ner i grädden.
Innan jag hade en ång-varmluftsugn med 76 program, digital köksvåg och automat-timer på köksfläkten så fanns recept där måtten var kaffekopp, nypa och skvätt. Det var då man använde riktiga kaffekoppar med tunn kant och sirligt handtag, med fat till, och inte muggar.
En bekant med insyn i bilhandeln i Kalifornien berättar att många europeiska bilar väljs bort för att de saknar hållare för jätte-termos-muggen som är lika obligatorisk som bilbälte i the Golden State. Jag erkänner att även jag har en sådan, köpt till stöd för the Sacramento Youth Symphony Orchestra.
När min pappa var gräsänkling och längtade efter pannkakor, ringde han sin svägerska och bad om receptet. Hans kulinariska förmåga stäckte sig sedan tidigare till att hjälpligt koka vatten. ”Du tar ett par ägg och lite mjölk, en nypa salt och så vispar du i en klick smält smör och blandar i vetemjöl tills du får en lagom tjock smet,” sa moster Ebba. Det blev pannkakor så det räckte till hela kvarteret!
Photo by u041eu043bu044cu0433u0430 u0412u043eu043bu043au043eu0432u0438u0446u043au0430u044f on Pexels.com
Cut butter into small pieces and put in the flour with the salt, sugar and water. Work into a smooth dough. At this point it can be covered and stored in the refrigerator until it is time to bake.
Roll or press out the dough into the pie pan.
Mix the apple wedges, lingonberries, ginger and honey, and dump into the pie pan.
Mix the ingredients for the topping to a crumble and strew over the apples.
Bake in the middle of the oven at 425 F for 10 minutes. Lower the heat to 350 F and bake for another 30 minutes.
Dela löken i klyftor, lägg i kokande vatten och koka 5 minuter. Häll av vattnet, spola av med kallt vatten. När de svalnat, skala klyftorna och rosta dem i smöret tills guldgula.
The Formal Dinner or Luncheon served by the houshold staff will be found thoroughly discussed on pages 64 to 82. (From the American Woman’s cookbook, 1947).
Yup, those were the days. 18 pages in all with half a page dedicated to five different kinds of tumblers. Further including how to measure for monogramming, how to spread the table cloth, and noting that hot food should be served hot on heated dishes. I knew that!
The very first evening in Sardinia, in the still summer like warmth in October, we had dinner at a pizza place. As one should in Italy. As one should in Alghero.
Right then and there it felt like they served the world’s best tasting pizza! And, of course, the world’s best tasting spaghetti!
The spaghetti with mussels, cooked with white wine, garlic, olive oil, parsley, shallots and tomatos, topped off with – not with what you’re thinking the grated Parmigiano-Reggiano – but with grated Bottarga. Completely new experience for me!
Bottarga is a Sardinian specialty; a kind of roe powder that works like a salty spice.
It is not exactly the way the locals describe it…Rather like “one of the best known Sardinian gastronomic excellences” and “the taste is natural and genuine and give your dishes a Mediterranean feeling.”
In Sardinia the Bottarga is made with roe from flathead grey mullet (Mugil Cephalus): Bottarga di Muggine macinata. It has a very intense flavor. The fish roe is salted and dried, pressed to a paste and aged for at least 90 days – a process making this product unique in the world. It is only produced in a few areas in Italy, like Alghero and Stintino in Sardinia, Trapani in Sicily and the island Favignana near Sicily, as well as in a few coastal towns in Calabria at the tip of the Boot, and in Toscana further north.
You can buy Bottarga in this compact form, it looks a bit like a salami sausage, or you can buy the golden colored Bottarga already grated.
The most common way to consume Bottarga is to grate it directly onto food, as is regularly done with cheese, or it can be enjoyed sliced very thin with EVOO along a piece of toast.
It may not be cooked, so just add a pinch right before the food is served.
Research by Basima Tewfik of the MIT Sloan School of Management found that people who worry about being an impostor are regarded by others as having better interpersonal skill than those sho are untroubled by self-doubt. It may be that a concern about lacking competence leads people to compensate by developing stronger relationships with others. In a world that increasingly prizes collaboration and soft skills, that is not to be sniffed at. The Economist, March 11th, 2023.
…And what about the time we had dinner with Steward & Tracy at Vanessi’s. And you made a slick move to get us a table fast by pretending to have called earlier, before the evening crew got on, & made reservations. Fascinating, but made me nervous. Always made me nervous when you moved too fast; the experience being it usually ended up in some kind of disaster. And it was a nice Friday summer evening, even though I could feel you were uneasy being on “our” turf downtown, where pinstripes talk louder than muscles. I of course should have been alarmed hearing you’d taken a beer at the bar at the Holding Company (or was it Enzo’s?). Not until this writing moment does it occur to me it was probably not just one & most likely not the first one that day either. Anyhow, “Jazz Live at the Embarcadero” soothed my nerves; nice to see Terry & Steward and not too many bad things can happen when they’re around. Ha! “Come fly with me, oh, you space cadet of my dreams.”
In our booth at Vanessi’s we order our food. We order some wine. And I turn to you to complete the order with what you want to drink. Almost without vibration, no hesitation and in a matter-of-facty way; like I had only asked out of politeness, completely without recognition of my what must have been absolutely stunning amazement, plus maybe a slight chock, you said “Oh, I’ll just have wine too.” To my stuttering “But you don’t drink wine” you provided me with the quite obvious, unbelievable fact that tonight you indeed were. Indeed so.
Somewhere half way through the whatever “a la carbonara” you were vividly arguing your favorite piece (to my immediate knowledge your only piece) of politics. The one parade passage on how the U.S. should handle foreign immigration. Already before you connected your viewpoints on that, with the simple but to the Senate still undiscovered solution to unemployment, taxes & general linguistic welfare I was ready to slide down from my corner seat. Down under the table & pray that you’d keep talking long enough so I could crawl away. So great was my embarrassment that if all else failed I was ready to put the dangling mass of pasta over my head & hide like under a wig. At least that would most certainly have shifted the attention of our company, that now instead sat with open mouths & widened eyes with a curious look of disbelief that they were actually hearing this. A fork lifted halfway & never getting any closer to the end of the journey, slowly sinking back to the plate, a nice piece of veal now cold back to where it came from.
To the marketing manager of PacTel, a multiple times world traveler with working experience from a number of countries & a hard earned MBA, and to his wife with dual citizenship of Great Britain and Australia & to your own Resident Alien wife you’re fearlessly moving on with your exclusive thoughts on how immigration should be limited, how stupid people are that do not communicate in English & a lot of rednecked arguments that I due to extreme effort have blocked out of my available memory. By the time you had worked your single-handed (minded) argument up to El Grand Finale all other activity at our table had ceased and at the brilliant conclusion: “Nobody should be allowed in to the country before they’d not only learned English, but gotten rid of their accent” I dared to peek and literally saw my friends’ chins drop. You smiled and at that point you could just as well had eaten the whole meal with your knife only. The immediate uneasiness was interrupted by a waiter. Nothing to add, nothing to say. The Zabaglione dessert was a formality. I thought: never again.
…And do you remember the crayfish party in the garden? When I had 23 friends for an outdoors sit-down dinner. With long, decorated tables, colored lanterns in the trees, party hats, color coordinated tablecloths, plates, glasses in red & green, bibs… Specially ordered crayfish that I cooked (even found some crown dill) and arranged on those huge plates. Specially found cheese that almost tasted like the real Swedish stuff. All the songs printed up. The juggler I hired to perform before we ate. Some of my Swedish friends came from L. A. & Saratoga. Your “buddy” that brought crack (or whatever). And you got so drunk you spent half the time throwing up. If I hadn’t been so busy being a hostess & not so used to being hosting parties myself, I might have thrown up too. Of mere disgust of your conduct. Only my drive to have the party kept me from too much missing your participation & the lack of having somebody to help me. I thought: next time I’ll know I can’t count on you.
… And how I made sure both our names where on the lease for the apartment, so I could dismiss your outbursts on how you wanted things to be in “your house.” I. e. “get out of my house”.
… And how you hoovered over me while I was (trying) to finish a chicken dish. Ending up yelling at me how it “should” be done. Not recognizing the fact that I’ve kept household for more people during many years, compared to your frugal bachelor cooking & the fact that all your cooking experience derives from a few months as a kitchen aid in a small restaurant many years ago, from which you got fired. And that your lecturing, constantly, on how “we do it at the restaurant” hardly applies any which way you look at it. You’re no longer “we” with a restaurant. You’re not in a restaurant. You can’t follow recipes & who cares what anybody did way back when in a restaurant anyhow? Not me. Just leave me alone & I’ll fix the bird all right. It’s not exactly the first time. And I thought: never again. I’d rather starve. And I never did do it again as long as I was there.
… And how you ridiculed me every time I didn’t know a word of your slang. Tree-topper slang. Never heard of outside the group. How I never, never got a straight answer. Always, with an angry kind of irritated ridicule in the voice, the rhetoric question “You mean you don’t know what x means?” Usually followed by my confirmation: “Right, that’s’ why I asked what it means.” Usually followed by another round of the same: “Are you saying you have never heard the word x?” And as morning follows night: “Right, if I knew the word I wouldn’t ask. When I ask what it means it’s because I do not already know. Quite correct.” Then it depends, it could be a poor try of further ridiculing; a veak try to explain the word (using the word instead of synonyms, analogies etc; or a short but rude end of discussion type: look it up!, or, as usually it was not a look-upable word, “though shit/you’ll figure it out.”
So I extended my vocabulary without your help. I survived pretty well without your help with the linguistics. Having four languages in my baggage I guess I couldn’t understand why you couldn’t explain your pig-latin to me. But the ridicule was out of place and uncalled for. And it was boring having you stall with the same 2you mean you don’t understand” jargon time & time again. Particularly embarrassing is it to remember that this superiority attitude is displayed by somebody born in this country & with English as first language & still not capable to help me – a foreigner. And there were “ain’ts” and “it don’t matter.” And as Marina said. “I wouldn’t think that your communication problem would be that you don’t know any of the words he might use.” Little did she know. Most names you called me when angry, for instance, were words I didn’t even know existed. So I guess in some way you did extend my vocabulary. Only not the way I would have liked.
… “And He loved the world so much He gave his only son to die, so that we can live forever.” Well, who wants to live forever without love. So the divine love of our Father is not “enough”! Sure it’s enough! Enough, but not a replacement of an earthly family.
After 40’n’some relationships you were the first one I thought of getting old together with. Somehow that seemed to solve my problems. It was to last my lifetime. And as I’ve always been convinced that will not be a very long life, somehow my worries seemed to be over.
That was before I realized how much worry there can be put into even a short life.
I dreamed of our children. I feel that you fooled me into imagining those wonderful children that would never be.
Did you ever realize my suffering from my one-on-one talk with Father Felize; when he condemned me to eternally burn in hell & at the same time talking about children. How I would raise them. What came to my mind, but luckily never made it to my “outbound sound system” was your scattered stories of a humiliating upbringing with nuns & a superficial mother. I couldn’t quite take all that for truth at first. But slowly I realized that you have no right to call me by your hated mother’s name. I have never, to this day (even though I have to admit there are some hard feelings) done anything to, on purpose, hurt you. DAMNED YOU BE, FOR NOT BEING A TRUE HUSBAND!
Fooled me into almost being the little taken cared of wife. Ha! You were N E V E R there to take care of me. So alone you don’t even have a clue. The role of the big provider & caretaker & head of household you never did live up to very well. I don’t think I put you in those roles, but you loved to play them, mastering the attitude for minutes at a time, stipulated there was no pressure involved. Whenever the “moment of truth” emerged you’d disappear into a hopeful obliviance. And before too long I learnt how to forget your pathetic scenes only a short time after you played them to me.
I do not believe in the indulgences, but I still maintain my promise to bring up any child to be a good Christian. If somebody else in good faith care to teach them about relics & indulgencies, they may do so after the age the children would be grown up enough to understand arguments for & against an idea. But I cannot truthfully teach them some things in which I find no support in the Bible. Swedish stubborn sulking, as well as Norwegian & Danish is a natural extension of the original Lutheranism. Stubbornness! As a form of art.
I will not bend. Not bother to threaten me; I will not let threats budge me. I’m prepared to meet you at any level, so just “come on” & see, if you can move me an inch!
… Running through the Park. As close as before. Only ½ a block farther away. The smell is the same; still bringing nice associations of late warm summer to me. With warm, dried up grass and pineneedles. Smelled safety to me. Now smells also falsety. All your broken promises. As I run I recollect the two (now, could I have been so slow as to have done it three times, before giving up?) times we ran together. Disaster; what else can I say. I used to run 3 – 4 miles every, every other day. I got to know my park as well as you yours. Inviting you to a run, only a 20 minutes one, for the fun of it. For the company. Without realizing you could never do me company! You had to run a step ahead of me, the whole time. Not, not, not, being able to pace yourself. To another person. Not to me. And proved to me that running was not something we could do together.
One thing after another. I thought we could share. Bitter laugh.
You always claimed that one thing you liked in me was that I’m athletic. What a joke! Maybe not. Maybe you did really like that fact, but it sure had nothing to do with your lifestyle. You could never chase down the N-Judah three stops in high heels. I did. Frequently. You couldn’t chase a rotten fly out of the apartment even.
When I ran the Bay-to-Breakers you couldn’t even meet me at the end! You had promised to drive me down to the starting point, but because of something I said (or whatever) the day before the race you took a revenge and told me right before leaving in the morning you wouldn’t drive me. Another promise not kept. More fun to go biking with your stoned friend Kelly & watch the race. And way before I arrived to the final line you had returned to the couch.
… And our wedding day and night. You sure kept your promise not to smoke that day. “A face full of cocaine” was a good substitute. Alienate yourself as you said in front of priest & people that you were uniting with somebody. When we got to the bridal suite at The Ramada Renaissance you embarrassed me by behaving just like those jerks that have never set foot in such a place. You probably never had. I felt like I was on a big mistake date with a tourist. And I knew at that moment we would not be travelling together.
Karlskoga Hotell: Vill du att vi städar ditt rum imorgon?
Jag: Ja, tack. Jag vill gärna att ni städar mitt rum. Det är liksom en av de positiva sakerna med att sova på hotell – att det kommer någon och städar.
Karlskoga Hotell: Inga problem!
Jag: Tryggt att höra. Om ni skulle ha problem med att städa rummen kanske det är dags att byta bransch.
Karlskoga Hotell: Kära gäst, Vi har infört nya rutiner när det kommer till städning av våra hotellrum. Det innebär att du som bor hos oss mer än en natt får ditt rum städat per automatik var fjärde dag.
Jag: Var fjärde dag låter som en försämring av servicen. Trodde att företag idag konkurrerar med förbättrad service. Automatiken kanske är någon slags förbättring? Automatik i stället för manuell städning.
Karlskoga Hotell: Vill du ha rummet städat oftare, så gör vi det gärna, självklart utan kostnad.
Jag: Härligt. Så städning ingår fortfarande i priset. Strålande. Eller, vänta nu…
Karlskoga Hotell: Meddela bara receptionen innan kl. 23 kvällen före du önskar få rummet städat.
Jag: Ansvaret för rumsstädning på hotell ligger alltså nu på gästen. Trodde det bara gällde på vandrarhem eller AirB&B. Är ni säkra på att det fortfarande ska heta Karlskoga Hotell?
Karlskoga Hotell: Denna rutin är en del i vårt arbete att skapa ett mer hållbart hotell inför framtiden, tack för att du hjälper oss med det!
Jag: Känns mer som att ni skapar en mer hållbar personalkostnad. Färre städningar men samma pris mot kund. Väntar på nästa steg – ”Kära gäst, var god ta med er egna lakan och handdukar, för vår hållbara framtid”.
Kavla ut degen till fem lika stora plattor, lagom till en eldfast form. Smörj formen och smält smöret. Lägg i tre plattor – pensla varje skikt med det smälta smöret.
Krossa mandeln och valnötterna i en mortel. Blanda dem med kanel och socker och sprid ut blandningen i formen. Lägg på två degplattor, penslade med smält smör.
Om du använder phylloark, skilj dem åt och pensla med olja. Lägg hälften av dem i botten på den eldfasta formen, sedan nötmassan och sedan resterande phylloark.
Med en vass kniv, skär ut fyrkantiga bitar igenom alla lagren. Grädda kakan i 175 grader i 1½ timme.
Blanda till sockerlagen. Låt kakan kallna och häll sedan över sockerlagen.
As a Swedish mom in the US, I wanted to expose my children to the“old country’’s” customs. One of those is to celebrate your birthday with a special cake. In the kingdom of Sweden we might not all be loyal royalists, but we do love our Princess Cake.
It’s a round, layered pound cake with a vanilla pudding like filling, whipped cream, sometimes a layer of raspberry jam and a green marzipan cover, sprinkled lightly with powdered sugar and decorated on top center with a pink rose, also made of marzipan.
Sometimes the cake is also decorated with, in Swedish, writings like “Happy Birthday, Klara!”
Newfangled cake bakers also produce Princess Cakes with a pink, or even a horrid pale purple colored marzipan cover.
The birthday “baby” usually gets the rose. By your 37th birthday most Swedes are willing to forgo the rose to a child at the table. Or even split it between arguing siblings.
My children grew up with my mentor Pippi Longstocking; with chickens at Easter, and a living Santa visiting irl on Christmas Eve. One who brought a sack with gifts, sometimes bore a suspicious resemblance to Uncle Alfred, accepted a taste of the mulled wine and who did not keep reindeers. The Swedish Santa comes from the deep forests, on foot, and would not ever contemplate going through a chimney!
I baked special Swedish buns for Fat Tuesday, sang the old lullabies and played the songs by the most famous troubadours, world wide known in all of Sweden!
Imagine my delight when I discovered an “International” bakery on Freeport Boulevard selling Princess Cakes. Green ones. Little Gustav was about to turn five, this was in late April, and so I contentedly ordered one for the party.
“It doesn’t taste organic”, said his friend Seth, quickly hushed by his mother.
Turned out the cake was only slightly Americanized, with a string of chocolate in the middle, so the party was a success as all the little boys without hesitation ate the cake.
Six months later it was time for the younger sister’s birthday. I’m again off to the International Bakery, ready to order the most Swedish birthday cake possible.
“Sorry, it’s out of season”, says the friendly clerk and tilts her head just so, and you can really see how sorry she is and immediately understand that there is no room for exceptions to this sad fact. No baker in this establishment may be bribed to put together some pound cake, whipped cream and marzipan this time of year.
“It’s out of season? There’s a season for Princess Cake? In California?”, I can’t believe my ears. “Yes,ma’m, Princess Cake is a spring cake”, assures me the clerk who probably can’t even pin-point Sweden on the world map.
So Klara and her friends got a cake looking like a pumpkin – in season – and were all very happy as they all wore Princess dress-up dresses. And that goes a long way when you’re three!
That uncomfortable, awkward, and embarrassing second of silence when someone with complete certainty exclaims that this is the way it is, period , in a voice called ”if you argue against, you’re an idiot”, and everybody around the table have at the tip of their tongues to say that well, it’s not actually confirmed, or straight out, we don’t think that is accurate, but it feels too embarrassing to point that out.
But looks are exchanged and flicker like electrical signals – who will be brave enough to point out that the emperor has no clothes? Or better not say anything. And she choses to look down at her note pad to not reveal that she belongs to the group of doubters.
It only lasts for a breath, then somebody’s chair leg scrapes against the floor, and the room collectively exhales. Let it be. Let reality speak up, so we don’t have to cut him down a peg.
