A countertop is sacrificed to save the lefse tradition – PostBulletin.com

Making lefse is a relatively new holiday tradition for us. The first time we tried our hands at it was 2014. It was Christmas Eve when my dad dug out my grandma Haugens old lefse griddle a heavy, round, formidable contraption that had been gathering dust since my grandma passed away in 2003.

Lefse, for the uninitiated, is a traditional Norwegian flatbread made largely from potatoes. Generations of Scandinavian Americans have rolled and grilled lefse in solidarity with the traditions of their forefathers or, in my grandmas case, their forefathers-in-law. My grandma was only Norwegian by marriage, but integrated so fully in her 65 years with my grandpa that she was our resident expert.

Grandma made it look easy. We knew better. Making lefse not only requires some fairly intimidating tools grooved rolling pins and long, wooden turning sticks but, also, a skill level that we didnt possess.

And, so, my grandmas grill had been relegated to a box in the garage for more than a decade. But with all of us gathered for the holidays, it was time for action.

My sister, Angie, had mixed the ingredients real mashed potatoes, cream, salt, flour the night before. So while we waited for the griddle to heat to the requisite 510 degrees F, she began rolling the dough. We made the newbie mistake of forgetting to get a pastry cloth, so instead Ang threw a few handfuls of flour on my parents' counter and got to work. And then she threw a few more handfuls on. And then a few more.

For the next hour, a rotating group of family members rolled, grilled, and turned lefse to choruses of More flour! and Dont touch the grill! and It looks like real lefse! At more than one point, one of us could be heard saying, Oh, I wish we wouldve watched Grandma when she did this.

We had a few defeats pieces that stuck to the counter before we could lift them to the grill, pieces we didnt grill long enough, pieces that tore when we turned them. Still, I like to think Grandma Haugen would be proud. Because, in the end, we had a successful first run at a resurrected Christmas tradition: A plate full of lefse, buttered and sugared and devoured while still warm.

We were, in fact, feeling a little smug as we cleaned up our workspace and started putting things away. Wed done it! Maybe making lefse wasnt that hard, after all.

But then, as we slid the griddle over to wipe the counter below, we realized how much we had to learn. In our innocence, in our sheer lefse naivet, wed underestimated the heat of that grill. The edge of my parents Formica countertop, which had survived 30 years of children, grandchildren, and pretend the floor is lava! games, had separated from the wood below it. A foot-long section of the counter had bubbled up from the heat, revealing a wide gap.

It was irreversible damage. There was no pushing, pressing, or forcing that Formica in its wood-toned, butcher-block design back onto that counter.

And thus began another of our holiday traditions: Telling the story of the lefse-ruined counter while sitting around its replacement.

Jennifer Koski is associate editor at Rochester Magazine. Her column appears Tuesdays. Send comments to jkoski@rochestermagazine.com.

Read this article:
A countertop is sacrificed to save the lefse tradition - PostBulletin.com