A few days ago I read an article in the New York Times about the “new” thing Danes are going crazy for. Bolle med ost is literally bun with cheese. I sent it to my kids because I knew that it would elicit the same response in them as it had in me. A warmth touched with bittersweet nostalgia as I thought of my Mom and Dad, long since gone from our lives. Yet always a part of who we are and what we are.
The article mentioned that the sandwiches are often served open-faced, which always reminds me of my Dad. The joke is “what do Danes call an open faced sandwich? A sandwich” You see Danes typically eat all sandwiches open face. One slice of bread. And they don’t usually eat them with their hands. I remember so many times taking relatives from Denmark to a favourite hamburger joint when they came to visit. They would remove the top half of the bun and proceed to eat the burger with a fork and knife. Last weekend I was at a church fundraiser at the Danish Club. I am assigned tasks I can’t screw up, like clearing away dishes from tables. It is interesting though that when we line up to eat and then chose our sandwiches, the volunteers point to where we can get our forks and knives.
My daughter texted me after I sent her the article. “We ate that all the time” she said. I can still hear my Mom’s voice. “should we have a cup of tea and a sandwich?” We would sit at the table as she cut the bread and proceeded to make the sandwiches as we ate. Ours were usually on home made rye bread. For us the bread was slathered with butter and then cheese. Or she might thinly slice cold frikkediller (Danish meatballs) to top the bread. My Dad though used bacon grease instead of butter. Mom saved it in a jar and he would slather the bread, add some salt and pepper and eat it like that. People think it is gross but the bacon fat has seriously more flavour than butter. Hard to believe the man lived to be 89 years old, still in his own home, driving like a fool. As my husband pointed out, Dad had one pedal full depressed at all ties. Either the gas as he sped down the road, or the brake as he slammed to a stop. No in between for my Dad. In driving or in life.
After reading the article I smiled and went to the fridge where I pulled out the big hunk of havarti cheese. I buy it from a cheese stand at the local farmers market. As the gal asks me how much, I hold up a thumb and finger about an inch or more apart. She returns with a lovely slab that costs me about $35. I pull our my meat slicer to cut a few slices of bread. The neat little sandwich of bread, butter and cheese is truly a simple perfect snack. I slice the sandwich in half and head to my chair by the window to read my book with a hot coffee and my rugbrod med ost. My Mom could slice the perfect thin slices but I do not have that ability. So I bought a meat slicer. Works perfect. I make my own rye bread with a recipe from my Mom. I vary it depending on what I have on hand. Because I love to add pumpkin seeds or sunflower seed. Maybe some flax or even poppy seeds. If I can get rye grain I add that too. The rye bread we grew up on was typically without the seeds. I imagine way back when it was harder to find those things and probably pretty expensive. So Mom made do with the basics. Last week while baking for the bake sale I experimented with sour dough and I must say the rye bread was lovely.
There is nothing that stirs up memories of my parents as the food we ate when we were young. I made a cabbage soup the other day with orzo and chicken broth. A little parm on top and a slice of sour dough bread… Nothing better. That wasn’t my Moms go to. Rather, she fried the cabbage a bit and then steamed it in order to soften the tough parts. Then she added a roux to thicken it up a bit and it was a luscious creamy delight. I made some danish meatballs for a potluck a few weeks ago and so apparently there weren’t enough. Lots of non Danes who were there have been asking about the recipe. I remember coming home from college with some friends and the first thing they looked for were the meatballs which were ever present in Moms fridge. Being poor kids living in dorms, we brought food from home. Mom always sent frikkediller. They were gone in minutes. There was a guy in the next dorm whose Dad owned an IGA. We did lots of trades as he was stocked with everything. Some things I love are influenced more from trips to Denmark. I stayed with cousins who made tea so strong that I had to load it up with sugar. Now when I eat rye bread with liverposteg (liver pate) I always want sugar in my tea. But at no other time do I take sugar. The two just go together.
We have had relatives come and stay many times over the years. When they ask what they can bring, I always ask for flodeboller. It is a wafer/marshmallow cookie covered in chocolate. There is something similar here but it just doesn’t compare. It is such a decadent beautiful treat. In fact when you buy an isvaffal (waffle cone ice cream) I love a flodeboller in the middle or bottom of the cone. A little raspberry jam on top and life is good. You know it is amazing how slender and fit the Danes are what with all of the lovely treats they have. Might be the massive amount of bikes on the streets. Those bike lanes are a real danger to a pedestrian.
I wasn’t a fish lover as a child but when I was 16 my aunt in Denmark had a big dinner party when we were visiting. She served rodspaette, a flatfish that Danes love. Typically Plaice, it isn’t just the fish, rather how it is prepared and served. The bread it or dip in flour and pan fry in butter, It is served with boiled potatoes and a parsly white sauce which believe me is the best thing my mom ever made. The butter drippings are served in a dish to pour over top. Again, how are the Danes so svelte. After that any restaurant visit always had me ordering this incredible fish. I never ate pork as a child but I ate it Denmark. Frankly, I didn’t care for most meat as a kid. But Denmark is big on fish and pork. The country is made up of many islands and tha mainland is surrounded by water on three sides. So fish it is. As a tiny country their cow population is mainly for dairy and pigs require less space. You do what you have to do with the resources you have available and through time, even as other cultures are experienced, the basics remain.
Every year one lady makes my favourite buns as her contribution to this fundraiser. Rundstykker. They are a sweet bun and the tops are loaded with poppy seeds. I love them but frankly this ladies just don’t do it for me. The problem is she makes them the day before the fundraiser. It isn’t the same. The first time I ate them I was 16 years old. I was staying with some distant cousins on my grandfathers family farm and we were on our way home from a discoteque. A massive dance/party in the neighbouring town. It was around 4 a.m. and we stopped at the local bakery for a bag of freshly baked rundstykker. Once home, we spread thick smears of butter and downed them with some lovely hot coffee. My brother will have a similar memory. Fast forward a few years and we are staying with yet another cousin in Copenhagen. We brought some people home with us from the night club and stopped at a bakery on the way. We needed a ride and my cousin had made little ID cards out of card board that she hung around our necks before her husband drove us to the club. It gave her name, number and address for anyone who found us. You know, if found, please return to… Anyways, neither my cousin nor her hubby were bothered by being woken so early and finding two strange girls in their kitchen making coffee. They had a drink, said hello and went back to bed. Back to the point, I have tried a few times to make these buns. The are like a mini sourdough bread. Crispy on the outside and pillowy soft on the inside. I have come close to perfecting sourdough bread but the perfect rundstykker still eludes me. Rest assured I will prevail. Or maybe just take a trip to Denmark
My son made some doughnuts awhile back and did a little Danish twist on his creation. They were lovely fluffy doughnuts with strawberry, almond and havarti cheese incorporated. It was a beautiful treat and had all of the elements that remind me of my parents homeland. Today I am searching out some of the recipes my Mom used to make. I don’t make her treats as often as I should. Mainly for the Danish bake sales. But he wants to try more of her recipes. And one treat is Kransekage. It wasn’t something Mom made. But it was my wedding cake and my girls as well. It is a simple pastry made into rings of descending size which are stacked to make a tower. Almond paste, sugar, egg whites. Very simple in theory. Not execution. However I have the baking pans needed and soon my son and I will attempt this beautiful thing. It is a traditional cake for many occasions and my son and his fiance’ will continue the tradition for their wedding. Who knows, maybe he will make his own wedding cake. But it we can’t master it, it’s okay. I now a guy. I’ve learned that its important to remember your roots. To be grateful to those who came before you. And it is good to know someone who can bake like your Momma did!
