Of the many things in Swedish culture that I embrace (and there are many -- sandwiches for breakfast, equality, 16 months PAID parental leave per child), perhaps my favorite is the cookie culture. Lots of people know about fika, the Swedish coffee break, but part of fika is enjoying your strong cup of coffee with kakor, or cookies.
This book's title, Sju sorters kakor, means "Seven Kinds of Cookies", and it's my co-worker's wife's favorite cookbook. Back in the day, if you had someone over for fika, it was bad form to have less than seven cookies for your guest to choose from. The cookbook is fab, and I plan to pick one up before I leave. Apparently, it's very popular and old school -- like The Joy of Cooking for kakor.
You may have heard of pepparkakor, the spicy, thin gingery cookies, sometimes shot through with slivers of almond. There are also drömkakor, or dream cookies, which are pale, airy vanilla cookies with crinkly, brittle tops. I still have to try mazarin, the almond paste-filled tartlet cookies filled in with smooth, white icing. There's much to explore.
It seems to me that the Swedes like their cookies crunchy -- I don't think chewy oatmeal would fly here. It makes sense in the context of the fika. What's nicer than a crunchy, sweet bite washed down with strong coffee when it's cold? Now if only I could get used to drinking coffee in the afternoon and still sleep at night.
A useful Swedish word to use in this context is smulig -- smulor is the word for "crumbs", and smulig is the adjective form. So after stuffing my face with sju sorters kakor at Mormor's house, I was totes smulig. My co-worker Linnéa is teaching me all the fun language flotsam.
LINNÉA: [After we've eaten breakfast sandwiches] Smulor, it's like this, crumbs.
ME: Ah, yes.
LINNÉA: And smulig, you say, "Jag är smulig." [I am smulig.]
ME: Oh yeah, like crumby.
LINNÉA: Yeah, crumby. [She writes down "smulig = crummy" on a Post-it for me.]
ME: Oh, no, not like crummy. Like full of crumbs. Crummy is something different. But maybe it isn't?
LINNÉA: Oh yeah, but you know what I mean.
From left: Italian cantuccino (which I see everywhere here), singoalla, pepparkaka
In an effort to assimilate and truly understand the people of this land, I have stocked my larder with three kinds of cookies. My new favorite is the little bullseye one, called Singoalla. It's like a linzer cookie and a Vienna finger rolled into one. Which is just what I had hoped "Mördegskex, creme med vaniljsmak och hallonfyllning" meant. I have been regularly eating a second dinner of cookies as I wait for the internets to load. If I come back fat, I'll blame the mobile dial-up.
This book's title, Sju sorters kakor, means "Seven Kinds of Cookies", and it's my co-worker's wife's favorite cookbook. Back in the day, if you had someone over for fika, it was bad form to have less than seven cookies for your guest to choose from. The cookbook is fab, and I plan to pick one up before I leave. Apparently, it's very popular and old school -- like The Joy of Cooking for kakor.
You may have heard of pepparkakor, the spicy, thin gingery cookies, sometimes shot through with slivers of almond. There are also drömkakor, or dream cookies, which are pale, airy vanilla cookies with crinkly, brittle tops. I still have to try mazarin, the almond paste-filled tartlet cookies filled in with smooth, white icing. There's much to explore.
It seems to me that the Swedes like their cookies crunchy -- I don't think chewy oatmeal would fly here. It makes sense in the context of the fika. What's nicer than a crunchy, sweet bite washed down with strong coffee when it's cold? Now if only I could get used to drinking coffee in the afternoon and still sleep at night.
A useful Swedish word to use in this context is smulig -- smulor is the word for "crumbs", and smulig is the adjective form. So after stuffing my face with sju sorters kakor at Mormor's house, I was totes smulig. My co-worker Linnéa is teaching me all the fun language flotsam.
LINNÉA: [After we've eaten breakfast sandwiches] Smulor, it's like this, crumbs.
ME: Ah, yes.
LINNÉA: And smulig, you say, "Jag är smulig." [I am smulig.]
ME: Oh yeah, like crumby.
LINNÉA: Yeah, crumby. [She writes down "smulig = crummy" on a Post-it for me.]
ME: Oh, no, not like crummy. Like full of crumbs. Crummy is something different. But maybe it isn't?
LINNÉA: Oh yeah, but you know what I mean.
From left: Italian cantuccino (which I see everywhere here), singoalla, pepparkaka
In an effort to assimilate and truly understand the people of this land, I have stocked my larder with three kinds of cookies. My new favorite is the little bullseye one, called Singoalla. It's like a linzer cookie and a Vienna finger rolled into one. Which is just what I had hoped "Mördegskex, creme med vaniljsmak och hallonfyllning" meant. I have been regularly eating a second dinner of cookies as I wait for the internets to load. If I come back fat, I'll blame the mobile dial-up.
Have you tried Ballerina? If you like chocolate I think you'll like that kaka too.
I hope you enjoy your stay in Sweden. Have a nice weekend.
I was looking for the thumb icon, but remembered this isn't Facebook. I "like" this!
we got some that look like the singoalla ones at ikea last week, except they are called "ballerina" ...