Lefse get this party started

Yesterday I learned how to make lefse, which is a traditional Norwegian flatbread that my grandmother used to make every Thanksgiving and Christmas. I grew up on the stuff and the sight of it reminds me of home. I’ve always wanted to learn how to make it, so I could not resist when I heard there was going to be a lefse-making workshop in the basement of a nearby Lutheran church. I signed up immediately.

I grew up in Minnesota and my family is made up of lefse-eating Lutherans. Learning to make lefse in a church basement feels like a rite of passage. I was excited at the prospect, but I got downright giddy when the event organizer sent out a lefse recipe, and it repeatedly used the word “ladies” in the instructions:

  • “Some ladies put the potatoes through a ricer twice.”
  • “Some ladies cover their rolling board with canvas.”

That’s a legit lefse recipe right there.

So of course I brought along my best gal pal and ‘lady’ baker – my husband. He is much more of a natural in the kitchen, and I knew it would be essential to bring him along if I ever hoped to replicate the recipe at home. (However I must confess that we used potato buds instead of real ones, which probably saved us a bunch of time and caused my grandma to call me a “drittuna” from beyond the grave.)

The lefse-making crowd was a fairly quiet, kind and mild-mannered bunch. I’m pretty sure my husband and I were the only ones giving each other high-fives and yelling “BOOM!” when we’d flip a pretty patty on our lefse grill. We don’t get out much.

But I am so glad we went, because it was a fun, albeit random, outing for us, we discovered that we make a pretty wicked lefse team (it’s a competitive sport, yes?) and now we have a lifetime of lefse-filled holidays ahead.

When I sent my mom this photo she said, "You even put it on an embroidered towel like a good Norwegian girl."

When I sent my mom this photo she said, “You even put it on the obligatory embroidered towel like a good Norwegian would.” Nailed it.

*******

I can’t find an actual Norwegian spelling for “drittuna” so I don’t know if that’s right, but she always said it affectionately meant “little shit.”

In defense of my NaBloPoMo progress, I posted this on November 11 despite the November 12 dateline. WordPress, you are a drittuna.

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