My grandmother* is Finnish, so I've had a few Finnish pancakes.I was invited once to a lutefisk and lefse dinner in the Twin Cities when I lived there. It was the only time I politely declined such an offer, but even a polite decline was taken as a kind of rebuke against the notion of partaking in the gelatinous-grey blob smelling of dirty gym socks.
I’ll eat smoked, canned herring or even smelt, but I’ll take a hard pass on lutefisk every time. I lack Scandinavian forebears who ate lutefisk in December (as a reminder of how hard the first Norwegian and Swedish settlers had it), so there was no desire for me to indulge in culinary pain for any reason.
That said, before I moved to Minnesota, I referred to the pyrex dish, baked in the oven, as a “casserole”, but ever since, I call it “hot dish”.
Lingonberries are delightful, as are bakeapple/cloudberries (which aren’t Scandinavian, but I’m sure the Vikings who made it to Newfoundland enjoyed them). One Scandinavian dish I absolutely love love love comes from, of all places, Thunder Bay, Ontario: the Finnish pancake, served daily at a Finnish community centre diner co-operative (opened in 1919) called The Hoito. Finnish pancakes are much thinner and eggier than what you might be accustomed to. They’re delectable, especially on a frigid morning.
Unfortunately, the Finnish labour hall (a building on the national historic register) which housed The Hoito, was gutted by a major fire a year ago, so the best one can muster for Finnish pancakes these days is at home.
She lives near Vancouver, WA.
*= not really, but when I was a year old my parents moved to Vancouver. They didn't know anyone so she and her husband befriended them. They became my godparents, hence my grandparents.
Their kids (two girls) are my aunts (making their husbands my uncles) and their kids are my cousins.
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