Good home cooking; it quite literally flows through my veins. From within my immediate family, up into all of the intricate branches of my ancestral tree - as well as deep into its roots, foods have been made from the heart. It’s not that the various foods have been laden with complex procedures or steeped in secret spices and extra ingredients. In fact, it could be argued as somewhat bland in regard to some tried and true recipes. They are what I grew up with, however, so they have special ties and are therefore important to our family’s heritage.
When I teach a lesson on physical properties in 5th grade science, I explain that properties tend to describe certain traits. At that point we review the 5 senses and how these can guide us towards articulating certain properties of an object such as: cold, sharp, vibrant, loud, tart, or smokey. In regard to smells I reiterate to the students an often quoted saying from my Dad, who apparently got it from his Dad, that states, “Of all the smells I’ve ever smelled, I’ve never smelled a smell that smells like that smell, smells!” I suppose that could go both ways; for the things that smell beautifully aromatic as well as for things that come across putridly rancid! Regardless, the students think that it’s funny and are quick to learn the quote. We often discuss how our sense of smell is closely tied to our memory. I tell them that although I love them as a class, if someone came into our room and told me that right that second my Mom was taking something she had recently baked out of the oven, like she did on a regular basis when I was a boy growing up on our farm; and that I couldn’t reach her any other way than on my own two legs, I wouldn’t blink an eye but would simply take off for my parent's home! Sure the class would be left in a lurch, but they are 10 or 11 years old in 5th grade and are smart enough to figure out what to do and how to survive. Besides, it’s my Mom’s baked goods we’re talking about here!
As I walk the 24-ish miles to my parent’s house, I’d probably jog from time to time to help the process go a bit quicker. I might even break into a sprint over the last few miles as the aroma from the baked goods fills my nostrils; pulling me towards the finish line. After the cordial hellos and heartfelt hugs with Mom and Dad I’d cut a thick slab of homemade bread, still warm in the middle, and then slather it with butter. I wouldn’t just eat it, I’d inhale it! If it was a batch of raisin griddle cookies, I’d pop 2 or 3 of them into my mouth without so much as a blink of an eye. Should the baked goods exiting Mom’s oven be Swedish kringlor, then I’d savor each bite as I broke off chunks from the soft, circular, treat; the essence of magical memories wafting in the air!
Recently I had a hankering for kringlor. It wasn’t so much the eating of them that caused the craving, although I wasn’t against such an occurrence given half a chance, but rather it was a hankering bent towards knowing how to make them on my own. I contacted the source and asked Mom if I could come over and learn how to bake kringlor with her. You know, the old adage, “Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.”
As it happened, the time that worked best was on the afternoon of Independence Day; the Fourth of July. To kick off the activities, I ate lunch with my parents in their dining hall. It consisted of an all-American bratwurst, and summer berry salad, among other tasty side dishes. After that we went up to their apartment and layed out the necessary kringlor ingredients. We would be following my Great Grandma Fagerlund’s recipe; on my mother’s side of the family tree. Great Grandma herself had emigrated from Sweden to America as Hildegard Widegren around 1910. Soon after she met up with a fellow Swede that she had known in the old country by the name of Oscar Fagerlund, who was a blower in a glass factory by trade. The rest as they say is history! I am fortunate to have memories of my Great Grandma. I remember sitting next to her for breakfast at my Grandparent’s farm, I know there is a picture of us together somewhere, and I have a Valentine card from her in my baby album. Those things coupled with the kringlor, are my link to her past.
As my Mom and I went to work, we substituted vegetable oil for the melted shortening; but otherwise followed the recipe to a tee. Well, as much of a tee as is necessary for my Mom, who probably has made thousands of kringlors in her lifetime. She tends to add a pinch of something here and a dash of something there. In other words, she can make them with her eyes closed, but on that day humored me, and simply helped me work step by step through the process. Dad entered the scene when it came to demonstrating how he rolled them out between his palms and pinched together the ends to form a circle. It was a tag team effort between my parents to help teach me the process! In the past we’ve sometimes had kringlor in a stick form (often referred to by family members as “stogies”), and traditionally they are often twisted into a figure 8, but Mom always made ours in a circle. Regardless, kringlor tastes awesome no matter what shape they are baked in, and the warmer they are the better!
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| On The Banks Of A Favorite Michigan River Eating A Kringlor. |
See you along The Way…
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| Eating A Family Recipe With Mom & Dad |
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| A Kringlor In Circle Form |
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| A Well Loved Recipe Covered In Ingredients... |
