Members of my first bridal shower/lefse class were L to R Leslie Pearson, Lulu Conner, Katy Best Conner (standing and then the bride to be), June Pearson, Acey Hofflander, and Cynthia Conner.
It was a the first Friday of this month, and Cynthia Conner and Lulu Conner arrived at my house 15 minutes early for the private lefse class. They brought wine and cheese with creative and delicious snacks. It’s not unusual for people to bring these treats for the class. It adds to the fun evening of learning to make lefse. But they also brought gifts in really fancy wrapping and bags—wedding shower gifts to be opened after the class. That was a first.
I didn’t know what to expect, actually. It was the end of a workweek and folks were tired from that, plus the wedding was only a week away. Would they all be too distracted to enjoy learning to make lefse?
Uh, no. We had a ball, and the class lingered into the evening long after the last round was rolled. Lefse has a way of adding to any occasion. Not sure if the lefse survived the week and made it into the wedding food offering, but I thanked the group for including lefse in such a big moment for the family. Tradition!
The best dressed person to ever take my lefse class was June Pearson. Classy lady, eh?
I stand between Kathy Herr, left, and Susan McCarty. These friends had lost children recently and were among the first people to purchase Final Rounds.
At the 2019 Potato Days in Barnesville, Minnesota, I rolled out my novel, Final Rounds: On Love, Loss, Life, and Lefse, about how a 12-year-old girl deals with the loss of her lefse-making grandfather. The novel was welcomed into the market very well, which was relieving.
The second day of the festival, two long-time friends were attracted to my street exhibit and to Final Rounds. Kathy Herr of Barnesville, Minnesota, and Susan McCarty, of Franklinville, New Jersey, (shown above) said they each had suffered the tragic loss of a son, and they were curious about why I wrote a novel about grief after years of writing non-fiction books about lefse and lutefisk.
I answered that Final Rounds is a fictional projection of what could happen when I die. How might my 12-year-old granddaughter handle it? I taught her to make lefse, among other things, and the novel reveals just how strong grief can be when that special loved one who taught you to make lefse passes on.
Time stopped on the street that day as I listened to Kathy and Susan talk about their loss. It was the kind of conversation I expected when the book came out late last month, and I was honored that they shared their stories. I was grateful that Final Rounds had brought Kathy, Susan, and me together, and I only hope the novel helps ease the pain.
Chuck Ihlen from Pipestone, Minnesota, demonstrates a winning way to get lefse perfectly round.
Congratulations to Chris and Chuck Ihlen from Pipestone, Minnesota, for winning the 2019 National Lefse Cook-off at the recent Potato Days in Barnesville, Minnesota!
The contestants roll for one hour and submit their best round to judges in a separate room. I judged two years ago, and it was an honor. But it was also hard to do because all the lefse submitted was great!
As I watched this year’s batch of contestants, a tool that I had never seen before for lefse making caught my eye: a grease-splatter screen. Chuck used it after rolling each round. He admitted he cannot roll round lefse, so he cuts the round with a pizza cutter moving around the grease-splatter screen. Not for everybody but a very cool idea! I love that kind of innovation!
When I teach lefse classes, students pick up the techniques quickly and leave smiling. Still, the biggest problem that I fix continually through the class is sticking. The student rolls out a beauty of round only to rip it when picking it up because the center (typically) of the round sticks. Bummer!
You can save a stuck lefse by using my Blue Pastry Board Cover. The blue lets you see sticky spots better and earlier so you can keep those spots floured. Yet even with the blue cover, you will have sticking from time to time. Here’s what you do:
Make it a habit to check for possible sticking before picking up the round with your turning stick. If you just assume no sticking and pick up the round, you may rip a masterpiece.
If you have sticking, slide your turning stick under the lefse so that it’s tilted at angle, and then slowly “saw” your way through the area that’s sticking.
To fix the sticky spot, scrape it with a knife and work flour into the area so that you don’t have sticking there again.
This is the kind of lefse-powered person (I never got the name of that stranger in town) who attends Potato Days in Barnesville, Minnesota—and a big reason why I open my lefse season there each August.
Pity the poor potato. It’s packed with flavor and nutrition,
and yet typically people display pathetically little potato appreciation. They
deem it to be lowly and grubby, and they disparage the dirty little tuber,
using phrases like “small potatoes” and “couch potato.” The spud doesn’t see
the light of day until it’s yanked from the muck, sliced, fried, mashed, riced,
rolled, or whipped—and then greedily gobbled up.
Thankfully, there are people in our midst who find the
potato to be most appealing. A. A. Milne, who wrote books about the thoughtful
and steadfast Winnie-the-Pooh, praised the potato right proper when he wrote, “What
I say is that, if a man really likes potatoes, he must be a pretty decent sort
of fellow.”
Pardon the promotional potato preamble (I lose perspective regarding potatoes), but it helps explain why I go to Potato Days in Barnesville, Minnesota, at the end of each August.
Potato Days
Lefse lovers are pretty decent folks who applaud the pomme de terre, holding it high because it is the fundamental ingredient in the most fantastic food this side of heaven. When it’s lefse time, it’s tater time—and it’s tater time all the time during one potato-packed weekend in this northern Minnesota town (pop. 2,570 in 2013). Barnesville’s annual Potato Days Festival in late August pulls in around 20,000 spud lovers who participate in events that embrace all things potato—including the National Lefse Cook-off, which I describe in Keep On Rolling! Life on the Lefse Trail and Learning to Get Around.
Betty Rud competing in the Potato Days annual National Lefse Cook-off.
With good food, kooky contests, silly stuff you have to see to believe, and a gripping lefse competition, Barnesville’s food festival is a must stop on the Lefse Trail. Please stop by my exhibit on Front Street, where I will sell my books and all things lefse and lutefisk.
After freezing, my lefse is not perfect … but it’s pretty dang good!
Last March, I fretted about freezing lefse. That even after all these years of making lefse and teaching lefse making, I was not confident about freezing my rounds. I asked for help from my readers, and received it, of course. Lefse makers got each other’s backs, right?
Bonnie Sellner said: “I fold the lefse in half and then again in half and have a triangle. I stack three of these. Then, wrap in Press n Seal. Then freeze. These packages are easy then to just take out of freezer as needed. These are so easy for mailing out to my relatives.”
In my book Keep On Rolling! Life on the Lefse Trail and Learning to Get a Round, Jean Olson of Deerwood, Minnesota, has this tip on freezing lefse: “Before freezing, wrap six cooled-and-folded rounds in Saran Wrap. Wait 24 hours, and then put the lefse in a Ziploc bag for freezing.”
And Connie Bowers wrote: “I have kept lefse frozen for one year and it was still edible.”
This jumbo freezer bag from Target is large enough so folding the rounds is not necessary before putting them in the freezer.
I have found freezer bags from Target that are large enough so folding is not necessary. This eliminates cracking along the fold lines. I also make sure the lefse has plenty of time to cool and dry—but not dry out—before putting parchment paper between the rounds in the freezer bag so the lefse doesn’t stick together.
So after all my fretting, I froze lefse last March and then forgot about it. Until today, nearly half a year later. Is the lefse “edible?”
I dig around in my overpacked chest freezer, curious to see if the lefse is still in a flat position or is buried under a big chunk of boneless sirloin steak or a pile of mint chocolate chip Klondike bars my grandkids go to when they come to visit. Amazingly, the lefse is flat!
I remove one piece along with the parchment paper that covers it. I check both sides of the lefse. One side looks fine, but for some reason the other side looks emaciated, like it has freezer burn! “Poor lefse,” I think, “what have I done to you?”
I let it thaw in a plastic bag so it doesn’t dry, and I wonder if I would serve this to another lefse lover.
Thawing is surprisingly fast. Within minutes, the lefse is soft, and the supposed freezer burn has disappeared. It looks and feels like real lefse!
I pop the lefse in the microwave for seven seconds, which softens the lefse a bit more. I spread butter and cinnamon and sugar, and I am ready for the taste test.
The lefse is more than edible; it’s very good! Taste and texture are excellent!
The truth about freezing lefse is my perfectionism is peeking through. I make wonderful lefse, like many of my readers, that brings oohs and aahs when served fresh. So I have to accept that frozen lefse—and there are many ways to freeze it—cannot be the same as fresh lefse. Fresh is fresh. I try to serve fresh lefse whenever I can, but there are times when I can’t. So I can let go of my perfectionism (yet again) and be proud to serve frozen.
Lowell and Bev Johnson enjoying the good life in Norway. What a view!
Well, I finally joined the Sons of Norway. I have spoken at many lodges and say in my speech that the Sons of Norway and I share the same mission: preserving traditions. The Sons of Norway lodges all over North American hold meetings and create entertainment and educational events throughout the year to keep the culture of Norway, and I write books to keep lefse making alive and well … and to keep those who eat lutefisk alive and well!
So it was a no-brainer that I finally became a member. I joined the Synnove-Nordkap lodge in St. Paul because I know a few members in that lodge and have been impressed by the lodge’s vitality. I enjoyed my first meeting at the annual summer picnic last month.
Image from the Synnove-Nordkap lodge of the Sons of Norway.
When I arrived at the picnic, I did some standing around with my hands in my pockets, feeling awkward and like the newcomer that I was. And then Lowell Johnson (pictured above) introduced himself. He’s a funny guy who is easy to talk with, so the time passed quickly and the evening was fun. Nothing like that personal connection and the power of simply saying, “Hello!” I’ll be back and am glad I now support an organization that has meant a great deal to so many who love the Norwegian ways.
Oh, Lowell reminded me that he had submitted two jokes to my newsletter, The Lefse & Lutefisk News. Here they are:
What did Ole say the first time he saw pizza? “Uff da! Who ‘trew up on the lefse?”
Lars was having trouble getting rid of the skunks under his porch. Ole told him to put some lutefisk under there. Well, the skunks are gone, but now Lars can’t get rid of the Knutsons!
The final page proofs of Final Rounds were sent to the printer today! A key part of this coming-of-age novel involves a lefse-making marathon that features stacks of beautiful lefse bowls and lefse-inspired rhymes. Verse is throughout Final Rounds, which makes this novel about how a 12-year-old girl handles grief both moving and joyous.
The release of Final Rounds: On Love, Loss, Life, and Lefse is only a month away! I cannot take orders yet, but today I sent the final page proofs to the printer.
Final Rounds is a simple novel about a complex character, 12-year-old Amaya, who handles the loss of Papa, her grandfather, by 1) pulling off an end-of-life celebration for Papa never heard of before in Amaya’s small town and 2) by writing—which she hates. Amaya writes about her memories of Papa and makes writing less loathsome—even enjoyable—by writing part of her story in verse.
Below is a peaceful scene involving Papa, Amaya, and Mrs. Taylor, Papa’s neighbor and a high school English teacher who helps Papa and Amaya make 630 rounds of lefse for a Christmas lefse giveaway in New Seljord, their small town in Minnesota. The blizzard and the lefse-making marathon have ended, and the three exhausted-but-grateful lefse makers are reflecting on life and the wonder of the sun emerging as the snow ends. Lefse has inspired all three of them to make up verse throughout the day, and now Amaya and then Mrs. Taylor each add one more verse. Mrs. Taylor, who grew up in Mississippi and has a different appreciation of snow than most folks from the North, has probably the best line in the book with her verse.
Papa closed the barn door. The late afternoon was now tinted with a dreamy, peachy light. It was still snowing, but the sun was pressing its way through the clouds from the west. Reds and oranges and yellows and pinks were everywhere. Even floating snowflakes carried flecks of paint. Mrs. T and I were gaping, and Papa stopped walking to the house and turned to look at us. Then he also looked at the sunset. None of us spoke until a rhyme came over me.
The sun . . . so fun; the snow’s the show. Please let it last. . . . Don’t let it go.
Mrs. T and Papa smiled and nodded but did not speak.
The sun did not last, but we stood and stood and stood. The sun lowered, and the colors slowly dulled on the final few snowflakes.
“Mrs. Taylor,” said Papa, still looking at the sun, which was just on the roof of her house down the hill, “for a Mississippi girl, you must have had your fill of Old Man Winter.”
She smiled but never took her eyes off the horizon. Finally, she said in a sweet, low voice:
Rain has its rhythm, its charm, and its sound. Its route is just straight, from the sky to the ground. But a raindrop may wonder: Where is the romance? Then winter gives water a chance to dance.
Final Rounds has much more of this kind of verse to complement a heart-rending story that, like grief, is sad and sweet. I won’t see the pages of the book again until it is actually a bound book—mid-August! Very exciting time!
This is very close to the final version of the cover of Final Rounds. The novel will be available in August.
All the writing and editing for my new novel are done, and Final Rounds: On Love, Loss, Life, and Lefse is in the final stages of production. My designer, Jenny Mahoney, is laying out the pages and incorporating the 20 color illustrations by Heather Bassler Zemien. Exciting!
I call Final Rounds a lefse novel. Let me explain. It is a novel about grief for people 12 and over. Certainly, there is sadness with loss, and the novel brings tears throughout. But the bulk of the book is a set of sweet and funny and moving recollections by Amaya, a 12-year-old whose grandfather, Papa, has passed away the day the book opens.
One of Amaya’s memories is of a snowbound night of making 630 rounds of lefse. In this night, Papa explains to Amaya his rather goofy Eight Rules of Life, which includes a rule on how to handle failure in general and in particular in learning to make lefse. Here is part of the rule and part of the conversation that follows. By the way, the rules are presented in verse and the conversation is also in verse—part of the creative fun in writing fiction!
First, Papa expounds on failure in general:
Does failure
mean you will not succeed?
Failure, my girl,
may be just what you need…
Failure may mean
that something is lacking.
Is backing
behind a façade that is cracking?
Failure is often
’tween you and your dream.
Your boo-boos
and flaws are not what they seem.
Failure’s an
invite: Develop. Be humble.
Strengthen your weakness so you will not stumble.
And then Amaya responds with a question about wanting to learn to make lefse but fearing she will make bad lefse, which is a common concern for beginners. So Papa gives a a lesson, passing on the tradition of lefse making.
“Papa,”
said I, “may I ask this of you?
“I
want to roll lefse, so what shall I do?”
He
stopped rolling lefse and stared at me so.
“Yes,
my granddaughter, this skill you should know.
“What
am I thinking? You should roll; it’s
time!
“You’re
steady, you’re ready—you’ve entered your prime.”
He
gave me his pin, wood smoothed by his love.
Was
I nervous and tense, apprehensive? Sort of.
“Roll
dough in your hands and please make a patty.
“Its
edges have cracks? Your round will be ratty.
“Amaya,
my dear, don’t bang and don’t squish.
“Let the pin work—if not, you’ll have ish.
“Start
round and stay round, check always the shape.
“Lift
at the edges; roll thin as a crepe.
“Flour
them well, your board and your pin,
“For
flour will stop your round from stickin’.
“Turn
your round once when rolling’s half done,
“Then
finish the rolling—that’s it, have some fun!”
I
smiled and I tried, and I tried once again.
Yikes:
one round was shaped like Lake Michigan!
The
next was Kentucky, and the next round like Maine.
Texas,
New Mexico—no two were the same!
Papa just smiled and said, “It’s OK.
“Keep
rolling, Amaya, and do not dismay.
This is one of the many tender moments in Final Rounds. I will keep you updated, and you will be the first to know when the book is published in August.
Dads are often the keepers of humor in families, ready to risk telling a joke or pulling a prank and usually appreciative of any sort of wit and humor coming their way. So for lutefisk lovers, I offer a toast, a joke, and a tidbit you can use at the dinner table on Father’s Day. All three are from my book The Last Toast to Lutefisk! 102 Toasts, Tidbits, and Trifles for your next Lutefisk Dinner.
The toast has just the right mix of sentiment, wishful thinking, and humor: May you live as long as you want, and want lutefisk as long as you live.
The joke about two retired fishermen is kind of a groaner. Bjorn and Magnus had been buddies at sea for years and years, catching cod, eating lutefisk, and drinking aquavit. But now they are retired. They still eat lutefisk and still drink aquavit. But they don’t catch cod anymore and hardly ever see each other. Kinda sad. And when they do see each other, all they say is: “Long time, no sea.”
The tidbit is a bit of history. The gesture of clinking glasses began when early Christians wanted to produce a bell-like noise that would banish the devil, who was repelled by bells. Another explanation: Clinking glasses brings all five senses into play, so you taste, touch, see, smell, and—clink—hear the drink.
