Yes, it has been almost two months since I updated the blog. So (Mom and Dad) I'm sorry it took me forever. I was actually pretty busy in December, since I graduated college and all(please feel free to send money)! And then there was celebrating Christmas and New Years, and a mad search to find some sort of job. While these are all wonderful excuses, the fact remains that I have quite a bit of time on my hands lately. The funny thing about graduating is you don't have homework constantly harassing you, which is fabulous. It also leaves you to make up your own goals and that can be a good thing, or it could just turn into a string of wonderful afternoon naps. But I'm straying from the topic I want to address, and that ,dear readers, is krumkake.
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| The sacred text |
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| This is what shame looks like |
For those of you who don't have Norwegian immigrants in your family history, you're probably wondering what the heck is krumkake. Well, friends, it's basically like an ice cream cone but tastier and prettier. You make in on a krumkake iron and then you quickly roll it onto wooden cone to give it shape. If you wait too long your krumkake will break and you'll be left with the pieces of a pretty cookie. It still tastes the same, but your Scandinavian shame will rise within you and tell you that you failed miserably and that your ancestors are seriously disappointed in you. If you manage to please those Norwegians of long ago, you do it at the expense of your fingertips. And since Norwegians are not a community to shy away from things that cause pain, rolling krumkake onto the cone will burn the ever-loving-daylights out of your fingertips.
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| Pain for perfection's sake |
Before I go into the excruciating pain that comes with this Norse treat, I need to explain that there is a LOT of butter in the batter. Oh, and you need a good strong Scandinavian cookbook to work out of, preferably one that is from your grandmother's house and spells it Kokebok instead of cookbook. After you've mixed up the batter from the mystical tome, you take a spoonful and place it on the krumkake iron, where it proceeds to flatten out, all while shooting butter out the sides of the iron. The iron starts crackling and hissing, and if you stand too close it will spit butter on you...and it will hurt. Once the hissing and spitting calms down it's time to take that beautiful, patterned, golden brown cookie off the iron.
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| A perfect specimen |
This is where the pain begins, and it doesn't stop until the last krumkake has been rolled. Having pulled off the flattened cake you have to use your fingers to roll it on the cone. Now I did mention there is a lot of butter in the batter, and this is when it starts to burn (Oh my gosh I mentioned the title words in the post!You can drink to that if you'd like...I don't mind). Your fingertips scream in agony as the hot butter strips away any fingerprint you may have once had. There is nothing wrong with leaving krumkake in a flat pancake shape, but if you prefer not to anger the ancestors AND the gods of Norse mythology you suck it up and burn those fingertips right off and you thank Thor for letting you do this sacred work. You have to work quickly because those little cookies harden up into a non pliable Frisbee in no time flat. After roughly 30 minutes to an hour of burning away your fingers, you'll have a beautiful army of rolled cones gazing lovingly up at you, waiting for their chance to be devoured.
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| An army of krumkake |
Holding the sacred krumkake in your heavily bandaged hands you look skyward and know that on this day, the ancestors are well pleased with your work. You take a big bite and the rolled cone quickly breaks and cascades down your chest onto the floor. Unable to pick the pieces off the floor due to your injured fingers, you offer it up as a sacrifice to all those who have rolled before you, and for those who will continue to roll long after you're gone.
