Nothing says midsummer to me like creamy, cold, Swedish rice pudding with raspberry sauce on top, so I knew this had to be one of the desserts I made for my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party, as it's one of my favorite desserts. Rice pudding is very typically a Scandinavian Christmas dish, but I grew up eating it much more often at midsummer than any other time of year. Our local Swedish Society would always make vats of it (and still does!) for the Scandinavian Festival in my hometown every year. Although I've been offered it in the past, I sadly don't have that original recipe! So I did the best I could doctoring up my favorite recipe for rice pudding, and it turned out better than I imagined, so I'm not sure I'll ever go back. Scandinavia has a long history of porridge - grains cooked in water or milk - and the stick-to-your-ribs-ness of porridge spills over into holiday traditions. Christmas was an especially important time to consume a lot of calories, not only to celebrate, but to keep warm. But rice is not native to Scandinavia, so what gives? This article gives a great overview of the history of Christmas rice pudding in Scandinavia in general, but suffice to say that, like most European Christmas traditions, it all goes back to the Medieval period and expensive imports from the Far East. Rice replaced locally grown grains like barley and its relative expense and scarcity joined other imported goods like cinnamon (and ginger, black pepper, and cardamom), sugar, raisins, and almonds supplemented by butter, cream, and milk to make up the bulk of holiday ingredients for what are now traditional Scandinavian treats. As Swedes got wealthier and rice and sugar got cheaper and more widely available, rice pudding became more of a year-round treat. In the Midwest, you're more likely to find people with memories of eating "glorified rice" (basically a rice and cool whip "salad" with canned fruit, especially maraschino cherries) outside of the holidays than cold rice pudding. But although I also loved glorified rice growing up, it is the taste of creamy, cold, eggless rice pudding topped with sweet-tart raspberry sauce that brings back so many fond memories. It doesn't hurt that it's absolutely delicious. Swedish Rice Pudding with Raspberry SauceThis is a very straightforward recipe, with just a few changes from my original version. I also did 1.5 times the original recipe, as I knew I was serving a crowd. We still had quite a bit leftover, but I didn't mind in the least, and the leftovers disappeared after just a few days. 1 1/2 cups arborio rice (also known as "pudding rice" or "risotto rice") 9 cups whole milk 3/4 cup sugar 1 cup golden raisins 1 cinnamon stick 1+ cups heavy cream 1 bag frozen raspberries, thawed sugar In a large, heavy-bottomed pot, combine the rice, sugar, raisins, cinnamon stick, and milk, and give it a stir to make the rice separate. Bring the pot to a near-boil (the milk goes from flat to boiling over in an instant, so keep an eye on it!), stirring occasionally to keep it from sticking/burning, then reduce the heat to a low simmer and continue to cook, stirring occasionally at first and more frequently later on until most of the milk is absorbed and the remaining liquid has thickened into a sauce. Because you want to serve this chilled, leave it to be fairly soupy, as the rice will continue to absorb liquid as it cools. Once the pudding is cool and you are ready to serve it, add the now very-thick rice pudding to a very large bowl (I used one closer in size to a punch bowl than a mixing bowl) and with a wooden spoon stir in heavy cream until the rice pudding is soft and creamy again. Open the bag of raspberries and add a few tablespoons of sugar and stir to combine. You can do this before you add the heavy cream to the rice pudding so that the thawed raspberries have time to macerate in the sugar. When ready to serve, top the extra-creamy rice pudding with the raspberries and devour. You probably won't have the same memories I do, but your tastebuds will thank you. The Food Historian blog is supported by patrons on Patreon! Patrons help keep blog posts like this one free and available to the public. Join us for awesome members-only content like free digitized cookbooks from my personal collection, e-newsletter, and even snail mail from time to time! Don't like Patreon? Leave a tip!
0 Comments
For a lot of Norwegian-Americans, sandbakkels (the plural in Norwegian is actually sandbakkelse, but we can Americanize) remind them of Christmas. The crisp, buttery cookies are essentially dense tart shells, similar to shortbread, but more crumbly. Meaning "sand pastry," sandbakkels are baked in special fluted tins and contain either ground almonds or more commonly in the U.S., almond extract. Despite the fact that they are usually served plain here in the states, those little tart shells just begged to be filled. So when I was planning my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party, I thought they would make the perfect little dessert. The problem was, what recipe to use? One of my best-loved talks is on the history of Christmas cookies, and I've got a whole section on Scandinavian ones. So I turned to my former research and remembered the PAGES of sandbakkel recipes from Recipes from Many Lands, a little cookbook of recipes submitted by North Dakota housewives and home economists around the state and published in July, 1927 as Circular 77 of the Agricultural Extension Division of North Dakota State University. I've clipped all the Sandbakkelse recipes (also Americanized to "Sand Tarts") and posted them below. The vast majority of these recipes are very similar - almost all call for a mixture of butter and lard, sugar, an egg or two, almond extract, and flour. The instructions are usually quite vague. Some don't even include amounts of flour. Some just say to press into tins and bake. So I decided to take the best advice from all the recipes and the Swedish Sandbakkelse recipe (which actually had measurements for everything) and go from there. But first, I had to find my sandbakkel tins! At some point I either stole them from my mother (she always had too many and never used them), but I had a little original box of vintage sandbakkel tins in mint condition hiding in the bottom of a kitchen drawer. Alas, I only had a dozen of them, so I had to make due with the recipe in other ways, which you'll see below. But how cute is this box? With the original hardware store price tag! Scandinavian Sandbakkelse Recipe (1927)The recipe is pretty straightforward, and if you don't have sandbakkel tins, never fear! There's a hack suggested in the historic recipes that I'll outline below. 1 cup softened butter (2 sticks) 1 cup granulated sugar 1 egg 1 teaspoon almond extract 2 cups flour (plus more to knead) Preheat the oven to 350 F. In a large bowl, cream the butter and the sugar together, then add the egg and extract and mix until smooth. Add the flour, a little at a time, until the dough starts to come together, then knead with the hands until smooth. Take half dollar sized pieces of dough and press into the tart tin, pressing the dough all the way out to the edge of the tin, but not over the edges. Make sure to press well to ensure good fluting. The dough is buttery enough that you won't need to grease the tins. Place tins on a sheet pan and bake 12-15 minutes or until golden brown. Let cool in the tins. Uhoh - you've still got a ton of dough left, and your sandbakkel tin set only came with 12 tins! What do you do? Well dear reader, you follow the advice of those sage 1920s North Dakota farm wives, who maybe didn't have sandbakkel tins either, and you press the dough into a pie plate, and bake it that way. And instead of filling the adorable individual tarts with jam and whipped cream, you fill a whole pie worth and cut it into slices to serve. Easy peasy! You could probably also use muffin tins, in a pinch. But the fluting is the pretty part, so if you can find sandbakkel tins, use them! I actually took a fair number of photos this time, so enjoy the process via the power of film: In all, the sandbakkelse were among the easiest of the Scandinavian cookies to make. Which is probably why in Norway they are traditionally the first Christmas cookie that kids help make. But they're not just for Christmas! They were delightful as a summer treat. You could also fill them with pastry cream, fresh fruit, chocolate, or whatever you like! But berry jam and whipped cream felt the most appropriate for Midsummer. If you'd like to buy your own sandbakkelse tins, Bethany Housewares makes the round kind, and you can get the fancy shapes from Norpro. And if you are a whipped cream fiend like my husband (and to a lesser extent me), and you admired the pretty piping, I can't recommend enough getting a professional, reusable whipped cream dispenser. We love this one. When you factor in buying the heavy cream and the nitrous oxide cartridges, they're not much cheaper than buying the disposable cans, but the whipped cream is some of the best you'll ever taste and you waste a lot less packaging. Plus the cream, once charged, keeps in the fridge for as long as the heavy cream was good. A little shake and it restores to fluffy deliciousness. Happy baking, happy eating! If you purchase anything from the links, The Food Historian gets a small commission! The Food Historian blog is supported by patrons on Patreon! Patrons help keep blog posts like this one free and available to the public. Join us for awesome members-only content like free digitized cookbooks from my personal collection, e-newsletter, and even snail mail from time to time! Don't like Patreon? Leave a tip! These were, shockingly, the runaway smash hit of my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party. And here I thought no one would like them! But they were the first to go of the open-faced sandwiches on offer and the only ones to have every last sandwich devoured. I probably should have made more... You may be asking yourself, what the heck is a "Ski Queen Brunost Open-Faced Sandwich?" Dear reader, Ski Queen is a brand of brunost widely available here in the United States. And what exactly is brunost? And how is it different from gjetost? Did you even know you needed the answers to these questions? Brunost is literally Norwegian for "brown cheese," and it is a very special, very specific style of cheese that is not really a cheese at all. Made from caramelized whey, this super-smooth, sweet and salty cheese can be made from either cow's milk whey (brunost) or goat's milk whey (gjetost). Whey-based cheeses, or mysost, date back over 2,000 years in Scandinavia, with the earliest evidence found on Jutland, Denmark. Going back hundreds of years, Norwegian dairy farmers perfected the use of whey, the milky yellow liquid leftover from processing butter. The original brown cheese, mysost, was literally just whey boiled until all the water evaporated and it caramelized into a sweet, grainy, fudge-like substance. But brunost is cow's milk whey that has cream and milk added in, which makes it creamy, smooth, and addictive. This addition is attributed to dairywoman Anne Hov, who helped revive the failing dairy industry in Gudbrandsdalen, Norway, in the 1860s. Later variations included goat's milk (gjetost) and "ekte gjetost" or "real goat cheese" is a brown whey cheese made from only goat's milk whey and goat's milk - it has a much stronger flavor than brunost and a sweet-salty tang. Brunost was typically served with open-faced sandwiches, on Norwegian heart-shaped waffles, or eaten plain as a snack. Modern cooks have used it in all sorts of ways, but one of my favorites is a creamy gjetost sauce for chicken. Today, most commericial brunost is produced by Tine - a Norwegian dairy cooperative that started in the 1850s and is named after the special bentwood boxes Norwegians used to store butter in the days before refrigeration. Tine also produces Jarlsberg. In the United States, you can get the cow's milk brunost and goat's milk ekte gjetost under the Ski Queen brand, so named because of the association in Norway of brunost with skiing, since brunost holds its shape under a wide range of temperatures, and its sweetness and fat helped replenish energy after a long day of skiing. Brunost Open-Faced SandwichesThis really will win converts. If you want to be bold, have a tasting of both the milder, sweeter brunost and bolder gjetost. thinly sliced buttered rye sliced brunost a dollop of strawberry jam You'll need your ostehøvel to get appropriately thin slices - a knife will be too thick. Make sure to get high quality strawberry jam - not too sweet, not too thick (my favorite is Welch's natural strawberry). These little sandwiches are basically like grownup candy. You can see why they are so popular in Norway and why almost everyone who tries it loves brunost. Have you ever tried it? The Food Historian blog is supported by patrons on Patreon! Patrons help keep blog posts like this one free and available to the public. Join us for awesome members-only content like free digitized cookbooks from my personal collection, e-newsletter, and even snail mail from time to time! Don't like Patreon? Leave a tip! When planning the menu for my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party, I wanted to make sure to have some sandwiches hearty enough to stand in for dinner. We can't all subsist on salads and dessert! But while these sandwiches are decidedly NOT friendly to folks who don't eat pork or meat (always make sure all guests can eat!), they are delicious and worth a try for those of you who do eat pork. Although many people don't realize it, ham is quintessentially Scandinavian. It is a popular Christmas and Easter dish, and the Danish pork industry supplies most of Continental Europe. We always had ham for Easter growing up, and sometimes for Christmas, too (along with Swedish meatballs). It's also a popular sandwich meat in the United States, where deli-style hams are very similar to those produced in Denmark. Jarlsberg is also a popular Scandinavian cheese here in the U.S. A Swiss-style cheese introduced to the dairy farms of Jarlsberg, Norway in the 1850s, it had disappeared by the 20th century. In the 1950s, scientists at the Agricultural University of Norway were intrigued by a graduate student's paper on the historic cheeses of Vestfold, Norway (where Jarlsberg is located) and set about to recreate the historic Swiss-style cheese. Rich and very butter, with extra-large holes, Jarlsberg is coated in red wax and the details of its production are a trade secret. Combining the two on pumpernickel rye with a dollop of lingonberry jam seemed like a match made in heaven, and I was right. Lingonberries, also sometimes known as partridgeberries or cow berries, are a relative of the cranberry. Lingonberries are native to the boreal forests of Scandinavia and the rest of Northern Europe, Russia, Alaska, Canada, etc. Tiny and tart, they feature heavily in Scandinavian cuisine, especially with game meats and in desserts and drinks. If you can't find lingonberry jam, you can substitute cranberry sauce, but it won't be the same. Ham and Jarlsberg Open-Faced Sandwiches with Lingonberry Jamthinly sliced sturdy pumpernickel bread butter shaved natural ham Jarlsberg cheese lingonberry jam or preserves Butter a slice of pumpernickel or rye bread thinly, edge-to-edge, and top with a slice or two of natural (I prefer bone-in) ham. Add a slice or two of Jarlsberg on top (use a Norwegian osthovel for best results!) and top with a small spoonful of lingonberry jam. The salty, fattiness of the ham, the buttery taste of the Jarlsberg, and the acid sweetness of the lingonberry jam work just wonderfully together. Plus they're pretty, too! You can serve these as part of a smorgasbord, like I did, or alone for a fancy lunch. The bread tends to dry out if left out too long, so if you have any party leftovers, be sure to seal and refrigerate to ensure freshness. I like to make the leftover open-faced sandwiches (if there are any!) closed by simply placing to of them together, open faces in! The Food Historian blog is supported by patrons on Patreon! Patrons help keep blog posts like this one free and available to the public. Join us for awesome members-only content like free digitized cookbooks from my personal collection, e-newsletter, and even snail mail from time to time! Don't like Patreon? Leave a tip! Salmon is a classic Scandinavian dish. Spring salmon runs up the fjords and rivers of Scandinavia from late May/early June through most of the summer. Salmon is eaten fresh, but it is also made into gravlax, a mild cold-cured dish made by burying whole salmon filets in a mixture of salt, sugar, and herbs. Salmon also features in many New England summer traditions, including Fourth of July menus, which consisted largely of salmon, new potatoes, and fresh peas. Historically, as with many springtime fish runs, salmon was inexpensive and easy to obtain, both in the United States and Scandinavia. Not so anymore. I wanted to serve salmon at my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party, but I was also short on time and feeding a crowd. I decided against the more intensive prep of a poached or grilled salmon filet and settled on the easier and more wallet-friendly canned salmon instead. I use the smaller tins of sustainably harvested wild-caught salmon that don't contain any skin or bones. The inspiration for this recipe came from a historic one I saw a while ago. Linda Hull Larned's One Hundred Picnic Suggestions cookbook, published in 1915, had a recipe for Salmon Salad which called for the use of rice, but offered an alternative of hard boiled eggs and cucumber. Since I was already making deviled eggs, I decided to go a little lighter and use just cucumber. Salmon Cucumber Salad Open-Faced SandwichesThis recipe makes a lot of sandwiches (enough for all of the ones pictured above), so feel free to cut the recipe in half if you're serving fewer people. 2 cans (5 oz. each) salmon 1 cup finely chopped English cucumber 2 scallions, sliced fresh dill, minced lemon juice or white wine vinegar salt pepper 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard mayonnaise Drain and flake the salmon, then stir in the cucumber, scallions, and fresh dill. Add salt and pepper and a splash or two of lemon juice or white wine vinegar and toss to coat. Stir in Dijon mustard and mayonnaise to coat. Serve on thin slices of fine-grained but sturdy white bread (I used semolina batard). You should probably butter your bread slices - I didn't, thinking the mayonnaise was moist enough, but they got a little soggy! You could also serve on toast or with water crackers. If you can't find or don't like salmon, you could certainly substitute tuna. But if you don't generally like tuna salad, give salmon salad a try! It is milder-tasting and the cucumbers give a refreshing crunch. If you wanted to be extra-fancy, you could certainly also use leftover grilled, poached, or roasted salmon, flaked, although be aware that most modern salmon filets are going to be fattier than canned salmon, so keep that in mind, flavor-wise. The Food Historian blog is supported by patrons on Patreon! Patrons help keep blog posts like this one free and available to the public. Join us for awesome members-only content like free digitized cookbooks from my personal collection, e-newsletter, and even snail mail from time to time! Don't like Patreon? Leave a tip! Cucumber salad with dill and sour cream just screams summer and Scandinavia. So when I planned my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party, I knew it had to be included. Agurksalat is the Norwegian name of cucumber salad, but funnily enough, most cucumber "salads" in Scandinavia are more like quick cucumber pickles - thinly sliced cucumbers are covered with a brine of vinegar, salt, and sugar, with fresh dill. This salad is often used to accompany fish, or as a topping for rye bread and liver pate. But where I was growing up in the Red River Valley of North Dakota, cucumber salad was made with sour cream. I wonder if these salads weren't invented to use up the bumper crops of cucumbers that often result. Certainly in Scandinavia they were historically celebrated as a herald of spring, and were eaten only for the short months they were available in outdoor gardens, mostly June and July. In the US, especially the Upper Midwest, the cucumbers are often peeled, but I'm a big fan of English/burpless/seedless/Persian cucumbers, which are thinner skinned, less bitter, and more crisp than their larger counterparts. These cucumbers are perfect for salads as they're crisp enough to hold up under dressings but tender enough to taste more like garden-grown. I am not particularly a fan of the sweet-sour brine (which seems to also be used to pickle herring!), and dislike bread and butter pickles for this reason, so my cucumber salad recipe doesn't include any sugar. This last-minute addition ended up being one of the surprise smash hits of the afternoon, and I sent the little bit that was left home with a friend and her kids, who kept going back for seconds. Scandinavian Cucumber SaladIf you want a more traditional salad, google "agurksalat," but if you want something traditionally Midwestern Scandinavian-American, and surprisingly refreshing on a hot day, stay with me. 6 mini Persian cucumbers, or 1 large English cucumber 1 teaspoon salt 2 scallions white wine vinegar full fat sour cream Wash and thinly slice the cucumber - not paper-thin, but thinner than a quarter inch. Add salt to the bowl and toss the cucumber slices to coat. Let rest for 15 minutes, then drain off the juice. If you're avoiding salt, feel free to give them a little rinse and drain again. Slice the scallions paper-thin, and add to the cucumbers with a splash of vinegar and a dollop of sour cream. Toss everything together until the cucumbers are coated with the vinegar-sour cream mixture. Serve cold or cool. The cucumbers will be salty and crisp and the creamy-sour dressing will be very addictive. Great as an accompaniment to sandwiches, grilled fish or meats, or as one of a variety of cold salads served for a light supper. The Food Historian blog is supported by patrons on Patreon! Patrons help keep blog posts like this one free and available to the public. Join us for awesome members-only content like free digitized cookbooks from my personal collection, e-newsletter, and even snail mail from time to time! Don't like Patreon? Leave a tip! In our continuing Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party menu exploration, this mushroom pâté is relatively simple to make and a favorite of vegetarian guests. Although they're not often the first thing people consider when thinking of Scandinavian food, wild mushrooms are extremely popular in all the Nordic countries. Foraging is something of a national pastime, and while berries are easier to identify, mushrooms rank high on the list as well. Although in Scandinavia they are normally served in gratins, soups, and as an accompaniment to game meats, mushrooms in summer called for something a little different. Traditionally pâté is made of finely ground meat and fat - goose liver (a.k.a. fois gras) is the most famous of the pâtés, which of course originate in France (hence the French word), but are common throughout northern Europe. Substituting mushrooms for meat is a common swap, but the same smooth texture is replicated, albeit in a lighter format. There are lots of mushroom pâté recipes out there, but this is one of the simpler ones. It's based on a skillet dish I invented for a vegetarian friend. The lemon flavor doesn't fade as it often does in dishes, but adds an indefineable tang to the creamy richness. I recommend a food processor or chopper for this to work well, but with some time and knife skills, you can make due without one. Mushroom Pâté RecipeFor a more complex flavor, feel free to substitute your favorite wild mushrooms, or a combination of mushrooms. This recipe would also scale up easily if you're feeding a crowd. 1 pint white button mushrooms 1 tablespoon butter 1-2 tablespoons lemon juice 1/4 teaspoon wild garlic salt (or regular sea salt) 1/4 cup heavy cream Clean and coarsely chop the mushrooms, then add to a food processor or chopper. Pulse until the raw mushrooms start to form a paste. Be sure to ensure any large chunks are also finely chopped. If using a knife, just keep chopping until you can get them as fine as possible. In a saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter and add the mushroom paste all at once. Stir well to combine and let cook until the liquid of the mushrooms cooks out and evaporates. Add the lemon juice and salt and cook until the juice is absorbed by the mushroom paste. Add the heavy cream and cook until absorbed. Serve warm, room temperature, or cold with rye crisps, crackers, or toast. The Food Historian blog is supported by patrons on Patreon! Patrons help keep blog posts like this one free and available to the public. Join us for awesome members-only content like free digitized cookbooks from my personal collection, e-newsletter, and even snail mail from time to time! Don't like Patreon? Leave a tip! When it comes to freshness, there's nothing like a freshly picked garden pea. But most of us aren't growing them ourselves, and "fresh" peas in grocery stores are generally old enough that the sugars that make peas so delicious are converted to tasteless starch. Canned peas are generally overcooked and mushy. Fine for eating alongside mashed potatoes and meatloaf, but not so fresh-tasting. What's the solution? Frozen peas. Ironic, I know, but frozen peas are often so much better than "fresh" unless you've picked them yourself or get them the same day. To me, peas signal not only spring but also early summer - when mornings and evenings are still cool, even when midday is hot. In the Northeastern U.S., peas were historically on the menu as late as July 4th! They're popular in Scandinavia, too. I wanted some nice, bright color for my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party, and this fresh pea spread hit the spot. I've made Spring Pea Hummus before - and that's equally delicious. But I wanted something vegan this time. Fresh Pea Spread RecipeThis recipe definitely needs a food chopper or processor! You could use a food mill in a pinch, but you'll need to finely mince the onion, first. 1 bag frozen organic peas 1/4 sweet onion (I used Vidalia) 1 tablespoon lemon juice 1 tablespoon olive oil salt pepper Cook the peas in a little water on the stove or in the microwave until no longer frozen and just barely cooked. They'll be soft after thawing anyway. Add the peas and onions to the food chopper and pulse until well-mixed. Add a tablespoon of lemon juice and a tablespoon or two of olive oil and pulse again until as smooth as possible. If you're using a food mill, mince the onion as fine as you can before sending through the food mill with the peas, then mix in the lemon juice and olive oil by hand. Sample and add salt and pepper to taste. Serve on rye crisps or other crackers, or use as a sandwich spread. The Food Historian blog is supported by patrons on Patreon! Patrons help keep blog posts like this one free and available to the public. Join us for awesome members-only content like free digitized cookbooks from my personal collection, e-newsletter, and even snail mail from time to time! Don't like Patreon? Leave a tip! I'm not sure why deviled eggs are so popular. At least, mine are! They're always the first thing to go at every party, and no matter how many I make, even leftovers get devoured quickly. Historically, deviled eggs were "deviled" by mixing the yolks with soft butter and mustard. Later, the deviling became associated with cayenne pepper or paprika. The popularity of prepared mayonnaise meant that condiment soon supplanted butter as the primary ingredient. Deviled eggs are perfect for just about any party, but they seem especially lovely tea party, picnic, and summertime fare, so I just had to make them for my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party. As you can see in the photo, they were half-gone almost instantly, and totally gone by the end of the night. Despite their relative simplicity, they always seem so festive! They're not difficult or expensive to make, but a few tips will make things a bit easier than you might expect. Deviled Eggs RecipeI like to use free range local eggs for my deviled eggs, which makes for super delicious and bright yellow yolks. Slightly older eggs are better for peeling as the albumen of the egg starts to pull away from the shell. So if you've got a dozen eggs that need eating, there's no better way to use them up than deviled eggs. Deviled eggs are best when you boil the eggs the same day you devil them. 1 dozen eggs mayonnaise Dijon or spicy brown mustard sour cream (optional) In a stock pot large enough to accommodate all the eggs in a single layer without touching, cover the eggs with cold water. Cover the pot and place over high heat, bringing it to a full rolling boil. Turn off the heat and leave the eggs, covered, for 15 minutes. Then fish them out (a slotted spoon works nicely) and deposit them in a large bowl of ice water to stop the cooking process and cool them down. Let them rest at least 10 minutes. Now for the hard part - peeling them. I find the water method easiest. One at a time, place each egg in a glass, fill a third of the way with water, cover the top with your hand, and shake vigorously. Alternatively, crack the egg all over, peel up a small part, and then place under running water. In both instances, the water gets between the shell and the cooked egg, making peeling easier. Although a perfectly peeled egg is a joy, no one ever complains about a slightly battered one - they all taste the same! Slice the peeled eggs in half lengthwise and pop the yolks out into a small bowl. Mash the yolks thoroughly with a fork, until no large chunks remain. Then add about a half cup of mayonnaise and 1-2 tablespoons of prepared mustard. Add some sour cream if you like. The yolk mixture should be extra-creamy, but bright yellow from the yolks. Taste and add more mustard or salt as you like. Remember, the whites are bland. Using a spoon, plop the yolk mixture evenly into the egg halves (use a plastic bag with the tip cut off if you want cleaner piping - also good for transporting the eggs and filling on site for picnics and such), making sure to cover most of the white, not just the hollow left by the yolk. A good deviled egg should be just a bit messy to eat. Deviled eggs contain egg and mayonnaise, so they should not be left at room temperature for too long. Luckily they're not likely to last long, anyway! The Food Historian blog is supported by patrons on Patreon! Patrons help keep blog posts like this one free and available to the public. Join us for awesome members-only content like free digitized cookbooks from my personal collection, e-newsletter, and even snail mail from time to time! Don't like Patreon? Leave a tip! Today is Midsummer! The summer solstice is a big deal in Scandinavian countries, and I grew up celebrating it with my local Swedish Society. We'd have a big potluck, replete with Scandinavian goodies, in a local park, raise a giant maypole, and then sing and dance Swedish songs around it. My florist parents and I would do all the decorations for the maypole - a local guy would bring a huge harvest of poplar and cottonwood branches to serve as the greenery, and my dad would wire it all onto feet and feet of garland. The morning of, we'd wire leftover fresh flowers onto the garland and then deck the maypole, which had to have been at least 20 feet tall. Then it would get raised up at the park and everything felt festive! The picnic would be held in a big covered park pavilion, and we'd often have live music or visiting Scandinavian bands, but the food was the main attraction. Midsummer has long roots in Scandinavia. Celebrated since pagan Viking times, the festival emphasized the importance of the sun and fire. Sankthansaften - or St. John's Eve - is the night before midsummer, and in Norway is often celebrated with huge bonfires, including the one in Ålesund, Norway, which features the largest bonfire in the world! In Sweden, where midsommar is the biggest deal in all of the Nordic countries, the maypole is generally the center of midsummer celebrations. Salmon, shrimp, herring, sour cream, dill, cucumbers, strawberries, almond-flavored desserts, and whipped cream feature prominently in most Midsummer menus, along with copious amounts of aquavit (which, sadly, I could not find in my local liquor stores). Spring fish runs, woodland strawberries, and early vegetables like new potatoes all reflect the arrival of the summer season in Scandinavia, which is later than in most of Europe. Midsummer also heralds the season of midnight sun. As the longest day of the year for the Northern hemisphere, the summer solstice near the Arctic circle means just a few hours of twilight, and no actual nighttime, for weeks. Here in the northern United States, it just means the sun sets a little later than normal. Ever since my mom died, I've been feeling the need to reconnect with my Scandinavian roots. There are far fewer of us out East than back home, so I decided to introduce my friends to a real Scandinavian party. The midsummer porch picnic was born and now I want to do one every year! Scandinavian Midsummer MenuI wanted the menu to be relatively straightforward and easy to prepare. I had a few extras on my list, but didn't quite get there due to time constraints (as per usual). I did the desserts ahead of time, but everything else was prepared the morning of. I was running behind, so the sandwiches were assembled with help from the guests! Here's the full menu: Appetizers: Deviled eggs Fresh Pea Spread Mushroom Pâté Goat cheese* Creamed Pickled Herring* Wasa Rye Crackers* Sides: Dilled Potato Salad Scandinavian Cucumber Salad Pickled Beets* Open Faced Sandwiches: Salmon Cucumber Salad on White Dill Havarti and Summer Sausage with Cucumber on Rye Ham and Jarlsberg on Pumpernickel with Lingonberry Jam Ski Queen Brunost on Rye with Strawberry Jam Dessert: Sandbakkels Small and Large with Jam and Whipped Cream Midsummer Rice Pudding with Raspberry Sauce Rommegrot Ice Cream Drinks: Rhubarb Gin & Tonics Elderflower Punch *you can buy these things - no need to make yourself! I'll be posting one recipe a day for the next several days, so keep your eyes peeled. No need to bookmark your favorites, I'll link them all back to this menu. We are lucky enough that our little house has a very large screen porch, and one larger than our living room! This is always the perfect place for summer parties, although the fireplace is no longer useable. The uneven stone floor makes for some interesting seating and table arrangements sometimes, but it's worth it for the space to spread out all at tables together. I got to use some of my vintage dishes, including newly acquired Block Optic green Depression glass, some little pink depression glass dessert plates, and my favorite lace-edged milk glass plates for those who were too nervous to eat off of the green uranium glass. Rice pudding with raspberry sauce, a pitcher of rhubarb gin and tonic, and sandbakkels large and small with strawberry, blackberry, and homemade (not by me) raspberry-rose wine jam and topped with homemade whipped cream. The blue pitcher just out of sight in the upper right hand corner contained the elderflower punch. Although the party was a smash success (the first guest arrived at 2 pm - the last left at 10:30 pm), and we did get our bonfire outdoors, we were having too much fun to make the flower crowns I had planned! And the unseasonably chilly weather (a high of just 63 F after the previous day's high of 90 F was a bit of a shock) did put the kibosh on some of our plans. But we still had a great time. I tried pickled herring for the first time. It was my Swedish grandpa's favorite, but although it was nowhere near as bad as I feared as a child, the creamy sweet-and-sour flavor was not my favorite. I sent the jar home with a friend who fell in love. The pickled beets went home with another friend who loves them, and the last bits of the extremely good creamy cucumber salad went home with another friend's kids, who couldn't stop eating it. The rhubarb gin turned out divine, and everyone was curiously addicted to the elderflower punch. The extra creamy rice pudding with raspberries was my take on the Swedish rice pudding the society made by the gallons for the big Scandinavian festival I grew up attending every year. The raspberry sauce topping is a must. But the runaway surprise hit of the afternoon was the brunost with strawberry jam. To a person the 15+ people who attended loved it. That was the only platter of sandwiches to be totally gone by the end of the evening. In all, a delightful party, despite the weather, and one I'm definitely going to repeat. Next year I'll make sure to have the flower crown activity ready to go, I'll decorate more with some Scandinavian flags and a mini maypole or two (I don't think I could swing a giant one), and aquavit is definitely going on the menu for next year. And I will try to take more photos! If you'd like to try your hand at your own midsummer party, feel free to steal liberally from the menu above. Just don't forget to make things festive with flowers, candles, pretty table linens and dishes, and, if you can swing it, a real fire! Glad midsommar, alle! Learn more about Scandinavian midsummer traditions. The Food Historian blog is supported by patrons on Patreon! Patrons help keep blog posts like this one free and available to the public. Join us for awesome members-only content like free digitized cookbooks from my personal collection, e-newsletter, and even snail mail from time to time! Don't like Patreon? Leave a tip! |
AuthorSarah Wassberg Johnson has an MA in Public History from the University at Albany and studies early 20th century food history. Archives
September 2023
Categories
All
|