The inpouring of memories that keep coming this time of year—keep it up! I was listening to some friends talking about the various things their families shared, that only seemed to come at Christmas. My mom was half Swedish. Her father was raised on a farm near Essex, Iowa, by immigrant parents who came to the US to farm. She would often tell stories of a wooden Christmas tree that would be decorated with candles that were lit on Christmas Eve. My kid mind wondered how they never burned the house down. Occasionally, she would share a song in Swedish that her family would sing at the holidays. But the very best thing she brought from the Motherland, was her Swedish Tea Rings.
I will try to describe this masterpiece of pastry perfection in a manner that does it justice. The dough was rolled out in a large square. Then it was covered with sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, currants, and chopped pecans. It was carefully rolled into what could best be called a log. Then, Mom would carefully connect the ends to make it into a 14–inch doughnut. It was then placed in a pan designed to hold it. Somehow, you could not tell where the “seam” was. She would then carefully cut diagonal lines around the beauty. She would make two of these, which in our house meant they might last two days. The smell of both fresh bread and spices would fill the house.
Next came the big wait…cooling. She put the white icing generously on it. Finally the eating. One of the things I learned over the years, is that as perfectly as the circle was completed, there was always about a three—inch section which had an abundance of all the good stuff. Let’s just say there was a drier side and a wetter side. I did my best to score the most luscious piece. In a family of six, self preservation was an art form.
My last piece of this Nordic tradition came in 2008. Mom said, “This is just too much work for me anymore”. She saved me a piece from the “heart of the ring”.
“I know that was your favorite part, Mark.”
Onward and Upward,
Mark.
Lyfting Me Up 