Gravad Lax - Raw Spiced Salmon

While I am no fan of raw meat, raw fish is another thing. We eat gravad lax a lot, and it is salmon that is cured in salt, sugar, and dill - although there are lots of variations on the recipe. Many make their own and my sister-in-law has introduced us to one made with gin and elderflower saft. You make it thus:

Take a 900 grams (2 pounds or thereabout) salmon filet with the skin still on. It should have been frozen for a few days. Make sure all bones are removed. Cut the salmon in half. Mix 4 tablespoons sugar, 4 tablespoons salt, 1 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper, and the zest from one lemon. Rub this mixture into the salmon filet. Place one piece on top of the other, thin side on top of thick side. Put them in two plastic bags (to prevent leaking) and pour in 4 tablespoons concentrated elderflower saft (which is a syrup, basically) and 3 tablespoons of gin. If your supermarket doesn´t have saft you can try at an IKEA near you, or look for something called Elderberry flower syrup that is used to mix drinks. Or substitute the gin and saft for any fruity liqueur that you like.

Put this on a plate in the fridge for 2-3 days. Turn the bag once a day.

When it´s done you just wipe off the spices and slice the salmon thinly. We enjoy it with mashed potatoes, a salad, and a mustard sauce (from the store or done the simple way: mix 2 dessert spoons each of mustard, vinegar and oil with 2 teaspoons brown sugar, salt and pepper), but it´s great on bread, or just as a snack. If you don´t cure the fish yourself, it is pretty fast food, actually. And mighty healthy.

The word gravad (same as in grave) comes from when fishermen in the Middle Ages (and no doubt earlier, too) buried salted fish on the shores to let them ferment before they were eaten. Similar methods are used on Greenland with seal and here in Sweden we ferment herring in tin cans.

Fondue - Festive and Lazy at the same time

Start with potatoes, they take the longest.

When I was a child, the traditional meal on Christmas Eve was fondue bourgignon, a meat fondue. It´s a very festive kind of meal, takes a while to eat, and it feels a bit primordial to gather round "the fire", as it were. My siblings and I all still make it, but more or less modified from how my parents made it. For example, my father disliked potatoes, so my mother served rice. The only one who still insists on rice is my middle sister, who is the most conservative of us and maintain family traditions for her little boys. My youngest sister, who moved to Switzerland some years ago, sometime eats it with crisps (chips for Americans), because that´s done there. We have been influenced by having fondue in Paris, and will gladly have potatoes au gratin or chips (French fries for Americans). We usually have it on the 27th, but it´s not a deliberate tradition, it is just that it´s hard to make for more than six people, and it´s a great break from the regular, Swedish Christmas food.

So, this is what we do: We often buy ready-made potatoe wedges (sometimes sold as Pommes Chateau = Palace Potatoes), particularly when I´m all cooked out after the holidays. They just go into a casserole dish and into the oven for 25 minutes. While that bakes, we make a tray with small or wedged onions, fresh mushrooms (champignons), bite-size pepper, and sometimes baby corn. We mix a sauce from mayonnaise and chopped up capers (I use about 100 ml of capers to half a jar of mayo, but use your own judgement) and get out a bottle of barbecue sauce.

We were keen to try my home-pickled onions, but they
 are not a regular constituent of the fondue table.

We heat 750 grams of coconut butter (1½ packet, it´s enough to use one if there are only the two of us) in the fondue pan, on the stove. You know it´s hot enough if you dip a wooden toothpick in it and it bubbles. You can use cooking oil, or stock even, but oil spatters dangerously and stock makes the meat more boiled than fried. Also, the coconut gives the meat a really nice flavour. With the sauces and the salted potatoes I don´t find it necessary to put salt and pepper on every piece of meat, but I know some do. Whatever makes you happy.

Oh yes, almost forgot, we dice up the meat, of course. We use filet of pork and beef, and, if we can find it, horse and reindeer and elk. You can use chicken or turkey as well, but I wouldn´t think fish is particularly suited to this method of cooking. The pieces should be about 2 x 4 centimeters or thereabouts.

We used to use methylated spirits (T-sprit), but now we use a kind that´s special for these kinds of burners - it produces less soot, which makes washing up easier.

Lazy people mix the caper sauce straight in the mayo jar.

Love the blaze! There is reindeer to the left and pork in the forefront. 

It is important to mark all the fondue forks differently, so that each person can recognize their own.

We keep the potatoes warm under a lid - this meal easily take an hour, or more.

The Christmas Buffet

The ham, lovingly and scientifically cooked by the husband. 

This is how the traditional Swedish Christmas buffet is eaten, according to the etiquette guru at Dagens Nyheter, Magdalena Ribbing:

Enligt gammalt sed begås (begå betyder både verkställa och fira) julbordet i en viss ordning. Obs att ingen annan ska notera vad man tar och hur man kombinerar, den som tar prinskorven till Jansons eller fruktsallad till lutfisken ska få göra det utan andras kommentarer.

According to old custums, the Christmas buffet is eaten in a certain order. Observe that no one shall note what anyone else puts on their plates and how they combine dishes, he who prefers sausage with Janson´s Temptation or fruit sallad with boiled ling may eat this without having to endure other people´s comments. 

Did I mention scientifically? It is now
plotted against previous year´s hams
on a computer spreadsheet... 

Sex varv kring bordet brukar anses korrekt av de mycket noggranna.

Six rounds about the buffet is usually considered correct by the very strictly traditional.

Första varvet: Sillarna med en potät. Räkorna som är en modern uppfinning på julbordet (kan man lika gärna vara utan anser jag, obs att det är förkastligt att pilla av räkorna och lämna de tråkiga ägghalvorna nakna.) Gäller även löj- och laxrom.

First round: The pickled herrings with one potatoe. Also the shrimp, which are a modern invention (you can forgo these, in my opinion; observe that it is absolutely reprehensible to pick the shrimps from the boring egg halves and leave those bare). Vendace and salmon roe. 

This year´s Christmas tree. 

Andra varvet: kalla fiskar: gravad lax, ål (nej, knappast i nutid), kallrökt lax, inkokt lax, strömming.

Second round: Cold fishes: gravad (salted, raw) salmon, eel (hardly ever, these days), cold-smoked salmon, poached cold salmon, herring.

Tredje varvet: Varma fiskar, lutfisk, julgäddan. Jansons frestelse, laxfenor.

Third round: Warm fishes: boiled ling, Christmas pike, Janson´s temptation, salmon fins.

Fjärde varvet: Kallskuret, leverpastej, korvar av alla slag, och om det är ett äkta gammaldags julbord också en omelett med kalvbräss som ska vara snäll mot julbordsätarnas vid det här laget lätt stressade inälvor.

Fourth round: Cold cuts, liver paté, all types of sausages (mostly prinskorv), and on an old-fashioned buffet also an omelet with neck sweetbread (a gland from the calf) that is supposed to be kind to the eater´s already rather stressed intestines. 

Traditional, but down-sized.

Femte varvet: Varma kötträtter. Köttbullar, rödkål, förr ofta också njurstuvning, och så skinkan med eller utan dopp. Den är julbordets höjdpunkt, oavsett dess smak och utseende måste den berömmas.

Fifth round: Warm meat dishes: meatballs, red cabbage, in the old days often kidney stew, and the ham with or without dipping bread in the ham stock. The ham is the highlight of the buffet and must be praised, irrespective of its taste and appearance. 

Och sjätte varvet till slut, då kommer desserterna: mandelformar med kompott, fruktsallad, spettkaka, ris à la Malta eller vad man nu har för favorit – en sådan måste det verkligen vara för att den ska få plats ovanpå allt annat.

And finally, the sixth round, when it´s time for desserts: almond cookies with stewed fruit, fruit sallad, pyramid cake, risalamande, or whatever is one´s favourite - there really must be a favourite if you are going to manage squeezing it in on top of everything else you have eaten. 

Ska man uppföra sig gammaldags korrekt är det äldsta gästen som inleder vandringen runt julbordet. Övriga kommer i god artighetsordning, kvinnor före män, äldre före yngre. Barn sist, synd om dem; de flesta av dem vill ändå bara ha köttbullarna och prinskorven. Man kan mycket väl vara nutida och låta barnen börja. Det kan också kallas julfrid.

I have yet to meet anyone who didn´t have room for knäck. 

If you want to behave old-fashionedly correct, the oldest guest starts the rounds. The rest come in order of courtesy: women before men, older before younger. Children last - too bad for them - but most of them only want the meatballs and the prinskorv anyway. You can perfectly well let the children go first. It is called Christmas peace (and quiet). 

(my quick & dirty translation)

Ribbing does not mention cheeses. All buffets I have had, and indeed our own, has a good selection of cheese: Edamer (sold as Christmas cheese), Brie, Wästerbotten, curd, Blue, et cetera.

Palt

There is probably no dish more representative for the northernest parts of Sweden than palt. It is sometimes called Pitepalt, as the townspeople of Piteå has laid claim to the origin of the palt; I think it´s their business culture, they are very industrious. Piteå folk have also been great travellers, and have spread the palt as their gospel. The only palt restaurant I know of is located there, the Palzeria in Öjebyn. They have such novel dishes as salmon palt with white wine sauce and fried curry shrimp. Their palt recipe is a bit more elaborate than mine (they use part boiled potatoes and even egg), but as they say on their website, every household has their own recipe - and everyone swears their palt is the "correct" one.

I have a cousin-in-law who can´t make palt without the lightly salted, rimmat, pork, but is shameless about using a "palt-mix" from the store, with dried potatoe flakes rather than proper raw potatoes. Personally, being grown up within the cultural influence of the Central European knödel/dumpling belt, I feel free to use whatever I have by way of filling (the mum-in-law and I have even made vegetarian ones with an onion-mushroom mix, which was very good), but I am more particular about the dough. If I´m going to call it palt, it´s got to have raw potatoes.

This is my mother-in-law´s recipe, with no deviations. Just like she taught me. According to family tradition, one member (of the lumberjack profession, long gone now) once ate 13 of these. When he had set down his knife and fork, they asked him if he was indeed full now? "No," he said, "but I´m bored."

Start with the pork, about half a kilo, or a pound. Dice it...

...and fry it.

Peel the potatoes, 1½-2 kg. They should be old potatoes, not new.
The starchier the better.

Grate them medium fine. I use the second smallest grater on my machine.

Salt a little and start adding wheat flour. I like to use my hands for this.

For 2 kg potatoes, I use somewhere in the neighbourhood of 1 liter flour. But it all depends on how watery the potatoes are and how firm you want your palt. The husband likes it firm, and as he was in the kitchen (taking the photographs) I let him have his way. 

Done. It should be a bit sticky.

Take a handful of dough (imagine making a snow ball), flatten it slightly. I like to rinse my hands in cold-ish water between every two palts, to keep them from sticking. You can use flour as well, whatever you prefer.

Put a pinch of pork in there. 

Fold the pork into the dough. 

It takes a little practice, but you´ll soon get the hang of it.

Lower the palt into the boiling water. 

Ease it gently off the ladle. 

Stir gently around the bottom of the pan, so they don´t get stuck.

When the last palt has been put in the pan, get out the accompaniments: butter, lingonberry jam (or any slightly acidic jam you have, cranberries or rowanberries perhaps?), golden syrup, and milk to drink. It´s okay to drink beer with it, I think, if you are not into milk.

When the palt has boiled for half an hour, they are ready. 

The husband like to eat his traditionally, with a dollop of butter sliced into the palt, and lingonberry jam. 

Me, I prefer syrup. Tastewise, it´s a bit related to American pancakes
with bacon and maple syrup, actually.

The palt water is good for baking, so I saved one liter in the fridge.
Boiling half of it and mixing with the fridge cool other half
gives the exact right temperature for a bread loaf.

What we didn´t eat (this batch made 20 palts and 2 or 3 is enough to make you quite full!) we cooled and froze. If you want to re-boil them, wrap each palt in tin foil: a 15-20 minute cooking will make them like new. Or, slice them up and fry them in butter - that´s my thing! 

Yellow Pea Soup Delight

So, the mum-in-law had a stroke, and I have had to re-think my 3-week plan. She got off fairly lightly, considering her advanced age (she is a nonagenarian) and generally frail health, but her balance is worse than ever and her right leg is lagging behind a bit. She needs more help, and since she believes that the ready-cooked food provided by the social services is not fit for humans, I have volunteered to make sure she has food in her freezer for the home-help to heat for her during the week.

It is a good thing she approves of my cooking (a lot of it has been taught to me by her, after all), and that we have the same tastes in traditional fare. So this week, I am making yellow pea soup, a dish that has  been around since the Iron Age at least, likely longer. It´s very easy to make, but it requires that you have some time on your hands. Once you get it started, it pretty much takes care of itself, and the rewards are great. There is one good reason this dish has stood the test of time: it is - if properly made - enormously delicious.

You need yellow dried peas, about 500 grams (1 pound), 500 grams or so of salted pork (or any pork: ham is fine, just adjust the added salt or stock to how salty the meat is), 1½ liters of water, a few onions cut into wedges (I used three), a couple of vegetable stock cubes, thyme, marjoram, some salt if necessary and tabasco (which the Vikings probably didn´t have, but I´m sure they were no strangers to adding whatever else they might have come across on their travels). You could probably use whole-grain pepper, but I have yet to try that.

After three hours.

 Just put it all in a pot, bring it to boil and let it simmer for about three hours. You could soak the peas for 12 hours before if you like, but I don´t find it makes much difference to how long it takes. Most recipes I have seen claims the soup is ready in 1½ hours but I think that´s ridiculous. You need at least four or five, if you want the proper creaminess, which, of course, you do. After three hours, take the meat out and cut it up. Leave it for another hour, spice it up and serve with a sweet mustard, cripsbread, hard cheese, lager or hot Swedish Arrak punch, if you can get it. 

Traditionally, you have pancakes for dessert. Or not exactly dessert, it´s more like a second main course in this case. With lingonberry or raspberry jam. 

It freezes well, but usually you need to add some more water and herb spices when you re-heat it. Pea soup tends to turn into a porridge if you don´t watch it, and that takes some of the joy out of it. You can make it vegetarian, and if I do, I like to serve it with black olives instead of mustard, inspired by the Greek. Actually, if we have vegetarian guests and there are black olives on the table, the husband will add those to his soup with the rest of it, so the one thing doesn´t have to exclude the other, apparently. 

After four and a half hours. Ready for seasoning.

Thyme and marjoram, or one or the other. As Garbo said: "Don´t be stingy, baby."

 

Personally, I will have bread with the soup or pancakes after, not both. 

The mustard goes on the side of the plate. Anything else is barbaric.

The punch is easily heated in the microwave.
I was having beer, so brought it out just to show you.
Nothing says you can´t have both.

Spagetti & Minced Meat Sauce, Swedish style

The Swedish word husmanskost means something like simple home-cooking. Only last week I saw an article in the paper  about how popular husmanskost is with the Swedes, but also how the definition of what is typically, traditional Swedish fare has changed over the years. Now, apparently, dishes like pizza, pasta, and tacos are considered husmanskost by the coming generation. Well, I grew up with pasta, certainly, the first dish I ever learned to cook properly was spagetti and mincemeat sauce, but I do remember a time when a pizza restaurant was rather exotic, actually. Tacos were introduced in the late 80´s. When we were in San Francisco in 1994, we had fajitas, which was unheard of here then, but it was introduced not long after.

For me husmanskost is, for example, kalops, a meatstew with alspice and bay leaf, served with beetroots and cucumber. It is also kåldolmar, stuffed cabbage rolls - which is another import, it came to Sweden with the armies of Karl XII, returning from Turkey in the early 18th Century. It is probable that the most classic of Swedish dishes, the meatball, also originates from the Turkish köfte. If you go far enough back in time, there is no such thing as typically Swedish anything. There isn´t even a Sweden - as we know it - in the 15th Century!

Anyway, spagetti and mincemeat sauce: chopped onion fried with mince meat (any kind, local produce is good) in olive oil, add a can of crushed tomatoes, a can of sliced mushrooms; spice it with salt, pepper, something sweet to add punch to the tomatoes (anything from a teaspoon of marmelade to Heinz chili sauce, depending on your mood), some drops of tabasco and Worcestershire sauce. Fresh basil and garlic, if you have it, will turn this from husmanskost to gourmet food. This is also fast food; never takes longer than half an hour to make. Well, unless you make your own pasta, that is...

Baking in a Baking-House and The 3-Week Plan: Day 11

The small house on the far right is the baking house. 

All this talk of and drinking boiled coffee made me remember when a friend of mine bought a house and moved out in the country. On the property was a bagarstuga, a baking house. Way back, building a baking oven was quite an expensive investment, and in many villages here in the north, they would build a joint one, where the women would bake together, sometimes for days at a time. Mostly, they would bake tunnbröd (thin bread), which was dry - much like a biscuit - and could be stored for a long time, and mjukkaka (soft cake) which was a flat, soft bread.

Today mjukkaka is commerically baked by Polarbröd bakery in Älvsbyn, and their brandname, polarkaka (= polar cake, or bread), has to a large extent replaced the old name mjukkaka (I have seen recipes for "how to bake your own polarkaka"). This bread is exported all over and we once had a very expensive sandwich in Paris, salmon on polarkaka!

Anyway, my friend invited a group of us to bake in her bagarstuga, and I think I had a cold or something (it is more than 15 years ago, and hard to remember exactly), because instead of baking, I was taking photos. My friend´s husband was heating the oven with birchwood, and when it was hot enough, the embers were raked to the far side and the bread was placed on the hot brick surface. On the side of the oven was an open fireplace where he boiled our coffee. Of course, we had some fresh bread with it!

It was a great experience and when the mum-in-law tells her stories of baking the old way, I know exactly what she means. My friend and her husband have since given up this house and moved back to a flat in town, but they had some great years in the country, doing all the things they had dreamed of: raising sheep and ducks (I have some photos of myself picking feathers from dead birds, but for some reason they tend to gross people out...), had a garden (she even wrote a chapter in a garden book, about gardening in the severe northern climate), and what not. But I suppose everything runs its course eventually - they seem very happy back in town.

About my 3-week plan: I am eating alone tonight and since I can´t bother cooking for myself alone, I am having tea and sandwiches for dinner. It´s a bit lazy, but that´s ok, too.