It's that time of year again: time for the lussekatter. Time to light the candles and sing the songs and punch the living hell out of that beautiful golden dough; time to inhale the scent of yeast and saffron and hope in darkness
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Bummer about the bread. If you were in this time zone where it is only 8pm, you could have sent Timprov to Byerly's for more yeast. If you mix more yeast in a quarter cup of warm liquid and let it sit for 5 minutes, you can knead it into your dough and then it will rise.
But alas, now it is nearly 11pm where you are. Too late. :-(
Will you make lussekatter later, so you can still enjoy the flavor?
I don't mean to be contradictory, but it is 10 pm where I am. And markgritter is the one who's still up and about (and, until recently, the only one who could be sent for things), and he would gladly have gone to get me more and better yeast if I'd asked, but by the time I discovered that the yeast was not doing its yeastly duty, I had already waited until my supply of energy was running low.
I don't think I'll make lussekatter yet this year, no. If someone -- markgritter or timprov or my dad or whoever -- specifically asks, we'll see what time I have. But probably not. There are other things, and plenty of them.
Oops! I was thinking about the wrong time zone. I am completely wrong and extend my apologies.
And bummer about the energy running out. I've been there but I'm not always smart enough to quit at that point.
There are many things I only make at the "right" season. Potato latkes at Chanukah (which I skipped this year and had to suffer inferior latkes at the temple). Matzoh ball soup at Passover. And when I make them I wonder why I don't make them more often, because they're so good. (except the latkes. I make excellent latkes but they're a pain and a half to get all the liquid out of the grated potatoes.) But I don't because honestly, I think seasonal things are better when they are part of the proper season, so I understand what you are saying. (Turkey at Thanksgiving is sort of like that, though really I don't think turkey is truly a seasonal thing.)
I was happy to be able to identify for Reid what holiday they celebrated at his school today:
"We had a holiday. I don't remember which one."
"Did it involve lighting candles and spinning tops?"
"No...There was just one girl, with candles on her head. And she had a special dress, and she gave us yummy bread."
"Was she carrying a plate?"
"Yes, with the bread, cut up in pieces."
Aha! Santa Lucia!
He wanted to know if we could make the bread. I told him our friend Marissa would have the recipe. The last thing he asked me tonight, as he was falling asleep, was if I was still going to ask our friend for the recipe.
Well, in whatever books I read 10 years ago when I wrote that, the tradition was expressed as the eldest daughter serving to her father.
If it was my personal family tradition, I would have taken gender out of it. But I'm an English Irish Catholic Protestant Ukrainian Dutch (Spanish) Ashkenazic Sephardic Jewish American. In none of those traditions am I actually Scandahoovian.
Speaking of light-in-darkness holidays, there's something in that last paragraph that makes me see think the Chanukah story pertains here. I won't retell the official story here because you probably know it. (If not, I can.) But to rephrase it just a little, sometimes when you have done all that you can, there is only a tiny bit of oil left, no matter how hard you've tried. But sometimes, sometimes, with a lot of work and careful tending, and maybe a little outside help, that bit of oil can be just enough to provide the light you need for just long enough to get you through.
I had a couple of very dark hours yesterday, and got some news this morning that is a candle glimmering, and I really needed this, both the original post and the reminder of this side of Chanukah. Thank you both.
Last year, you posted the recipe for the lussekatter, and, as I was rereading it in early spring along with what you said then about pushing back against the darkness, I realized that I had had need of making lussekatter that winter. And so I sent my future self an email, scheduled to send sometime around now, with the recipe.
That email's sitting on a computer that's wedged under and between moving boxes full of clothes and books, and which hasn't even been turned on for several days. And I'm spending most of my waking hours either working or packing boxes or moving them over here, and all of the kitchen stuff is in entire disarray.
So, yeah. There are times to be gentle with oneself instead of fierce, and I think that this is a year where for me too the right balance is not making the lussekatter. Even if I had been looking forward to them on random odd moments (when I happened to notice the queued-up email) all year.
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But alas, now it is nearly 11pm where you are. Too late. :-(
Will you make lussekatter later, so you can still enjoy the flavor?
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I don't think I'll make lussekatter yet this year, no. If someone -- markgritter or timprov or my dad or whoever -- specifically asks, we'll see what time I have. But probably not. There are other things, and plenty of them.
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And bummer about the energy running out. I've been there but I'm not always smart enough to quit at that point.
There are many things I only make at the "right" season. Potato latkes at Chanukah (which I skipped this year and had to suffer inferior latkes at the temple). Matzoh ball soup at Passover. And when I make them I wonder why I don't make them more often, because they're so good. (except the latkes. I make excellent latkes but they're a pain and a half to get all the liquid out of the grated potatoes.) But I don't because honestly, I think seasonal things are better when they are part of the proper season, so I understand what you are saying. (Turkey at Thanksgiving is sort of like that, though really I don't think turkey is truly a seasonal thing.)
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I'm sorry you suffered inferior latkes. That just sounds unfortunate.
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"We had a holiday. I don't remember which one."
"Did it involve lighting candles and spinning tops?"
"No...There was just one girl, with candles on her head. And she had a special dress, and she gave us yummy bread."
"Was she carrying a plate?"
"Yes, with the bread, cut up in pieces."
Aha! Santa Lucia!
He wanted to know if we could make the bread. I told him our friend Marissa would have the recipe. The last thing he asked me tonight, as he was falling asleep, was if I was still going to ask our friend for the recipe.
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I also once wrote This little essay. As far as I know it is accurate, but I think I write better now. :/
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The only question I have about that essay is, really, in your tradition the women serve them to the fathers? In ours it's the children to the adults.
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If it was my personal family tradition, I would have taken gender out of it. But I'm an English Irish Catholic Protestant Ukrainian Dutch (Spanish) Ashkenazic Sephardic Jewish American. In none of those traditions am I actually Scandahoovian.
But I do love Santa Lucia day buns.
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And not.
Because you're right. Sometimes symbolism is just...a lot of effort. But when you put the effort in, then it does work ( ... )
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I had a couple of very dark hours yesterday, and got some news this morning that is a candle glimmering, and I really needed this, both the original post and the reminder of this side of Chanukah. Thank you both.
Reply
Last year, you posted the recipe for the lussekatter, and, as I was rereading it in early spring along with what you said then about pushing back against the darkness, I realized that I had had need of making lussekatter that winter. And so I sent my future self an email, scheduled to send sometime around now, with the recipe.
That email's sitting on a computer that's wedged under and between moving boxes full of clothes and books, and which hasn't even been turned on for several days. And I'm spending most of my waking hours either working or packing boxes or moving them over here, and all of the kitchen stuff is in entire disarray.
So, yeah. There are times to be gentle with oneself instead of fierce, and I think that this is a year where for me too the right balance is not making the lussekatter. Even if I had been looking forward to them on random odd moments (when I happened to notice the queued-up email) all year.
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