Tag: Christmas

  • Saffranskladdkaka

    Saffranskladdkaka

    [Swedish saffron blondies]

    Snipp, snapp, snut – så var julen slut. Christmas has come and gone, and I never got around to sharing this recipe.

    We always celebrate the coming Advent early – often already in November. We call it novent. Candles in the windows, the first cups of glögg, something saffron-scented in the oven.

    Usually, it’s Birgitta’s saffranskaka – the one with plump raisins just so, and grated marzipan folded into the batter. But this year, we tried something new.

    A golden, delicate saffranskladdkaka, its edges just set while the centre stays soft. A new tradition for the years to come, perhaps?

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    Swedish saffron blondies

    A new saffron cake might just claim a spot among our Advent traditions. Made in one pot, it goes from cupboard to oven in just ten minutes.
    Saffranskladdkaka [literally, saffron sticky cake, a kind of saffron blondies]. Spectacular in thin wedges, served with a generous spoonful of vanilla custard and slices of clementine.
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time10 minutes
    Cook Time25 minutes
    Total Time4 hours 35 minutes
    Makes 16 thin slices

    Ingredients

    • 225 g salted butter
    • 1 g ground saffron threads
    • 300 g good quality white chocolate I like Callebaut or Valrhona
    • 270 g caster sugar
    • 3 tsp vanilla sugar
    • a pinch of salt
    • 4 eggs
    • 180 g plain flour

    Some favourite toppings

    • vanilla custard
    • clémentine slices
    • loosely whipped cream
    • fresh raspberries
    • icing sugar

    Instructions

    • Preheat the oven to 175°C/fan 160°C. Butter a 22cm tin and line its bottom with baking paper.
    • Melt the butter in a pan set over medium heat, and add the saffron, stirring well.
    • Off the heat, mix in the white chocolate, and stir using a silicon spatula until fully melted.
    • Now whisk in the sugars, salt, and the eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition.
    • Add the flour, and mix until just combined.
    • Pour the batter in the prepared tin, and bake for 30 minutes – the edges should be set, while the middle remains wobbly.
    • Let the cake cool completely in the fridge for at least 4 hours, preferably overnight, before serving.
    • Serve the cake in thin wedges, with a generous spoonful of custard and sliced clémentines, or perhaps with loosely-whipped cream and fresh raspberries. Even sometimes, only a light dusting of icing sugar is enough.

  • Homemade cured salmon gravlax

    Homemade cured salmon gravlax

    One of my dearest food memories is the time I had my first taste of gravlax. It was a warm and sunny day in the late nineties. We’d gathered around a table placed in the middle of our street. Paper tablecloth, and rosé bottles in an ice bucket. On the table sat many beautiful dishes. Petits farcis and courgette flower beignets, polenta squares and Nice olives. But really, one stood out with a radiance that was hard to ignore. A whole side of salmon that had been cured to perfection by a dear family friend from Sweden. Its coral-hued flesh glistened in the sun and was adorned with plenty of chopped dill; fennel seeds too!

    The gravlax was served with slices of rye bread, garnished with delicate dill flowers, and accompanied by a sweet and tangy mustard sauce that was unlike any other. And its name? Hovmätarsås, a mouthful in more ways than one.

    Years have passed since that magical day, but the memory of that perfectly cured salmon has lingered in my mind ever since. And it almost feels natural that I would find myself now living in the north of Sweden. Here, gravlax is called gravad lax – literally, buried salmon. During the Middle Ages, fishermen would indeed salt and bury their catch in the cold ground to preserve it and make it inaccessible to animals.

    Although it is eaten throughout the year, it is a compulsory addition to the Swedish Christmas and Easter tables, and I’m more than happy to oblige.

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    Homemade cured salmon gravlax

    This gravlax recipe still transports me to that sunny al fresco lunch in the street down our house in the village of Valbonne. And yet, I'm hoping it will give you a hindsight into what we're eating for Easter, almost thirty years later in the north of Sweden.
    The salmon – and I like to use sahimi-grade fish for this recipe – is cured with salt and sugar. I like to add pink peppercorns, coriander and fennel seeds too, but you could use any spice you'd like.
    After curing, I like to drizzle my gravlax with a dash of aquavit – cognac and gin are an equally excellent choice but just as optional – before dressing it with a thick layer of finely chopped dill, plenty of crushed pink peppercorns, and a sprinkle of fennel and coriander seeds.
    The gravlax is usually served with a sweet and tangy mustard sauce – hovmästarsås -, crisp tunnbröd – a very thin flat bread – or thin slices of rye bread, a generous amount of soft salted butter, and sometimes, boiled new potatoes.
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time15 minutes
    Total Time2 days 15 minutes
    Makes 1 kg cured salmon, serving 8-10.

    Ingredients

    For the curing mix

    • 80 g caster sugar
    • 80 g fine sea salt
    • 1 tbsp pink peppercorns slightly crushed
    • 1/2 tbsp fennel seeds
    • 1 tsp coriander seeds

    For the gravlax

    • 1 kg sashimi-grade salmon trimmed and boned, with skin on
    • all of the curing mix above

    To garnish

    • dill finely chopped
    • zest from 1 lemon and 1 lime
    • pink peppercorns crushed
    • fennel seeds
    • coriander seeds
    • cognac, gin or aquavit optional

    Instructions

    • Make the curing mix by mixing all the ingredients together.
    • Place two large pieces of clingfilm on top of each other on your work bench, press down using a clean kitchen towel to “seal” them together. Repeat with one more double piece, slightly overlapping with the first one to create a large rectangle, big enough for your salmon side to sit on top of.
    • Sprinkle a little less than half the curing mixture on top of your prepared clingfilm, on a surface as big as your salmon side.
    • Place your salmon on the curing mix, skin side down, and top with remaining curing mixture.
    • Lift into a large tray and leave uncovered.
    • Refrigerate for 36-48 hours, turning your gravlax over a couple of times and removing the liquid that builds up.
    • When ready, rinse the gravlax briefly under cold water. Pat dry using kitchen paper or a clean kitchen towel, place on a clean tray and return to the fridge, uncovered for 3-6 hours for the surface to dry further.
    • If using any, drizzle with cognac, gin or aquavit. Then top with freshly chopped dill, crushed pink peppercorns, fennel and coriander seeds.
    • When ready to serve, slice thinly at an angle, detaching the slices from the skin. Serve with boiled new potatoes, soft salted butter, crisp tunnbröd [Swedish flatbread] or rye bread, and hovmästarsås – the sweet and tangy mustard sauce – recipe to follow!
  • Birgittas saffranskaka

    Birgittas saffranskaka

    [Birgitta´s saffron cake]

    If you follow me on instagram, you’ll recognise this cake. One that I make year after year, sometimes late november, when the snow starts to settle into a thick coat and paper stars hang at our windows. One that we made, Sienna and I, on a very cold Monday, just a few weeks ago. And filmed the whole process. You can watch our videos here, but it’s a bit of a happy circus!

    On saffron

    In Sweden, ground saffron is readily available at every supermarket in small half-gram enveloppes. And that’s the reason why most Swedish Christmas recipes call for saffron powder instead of the usual saffron threads.
    As always with saffron, it’s fundamental to extract its flavour as much as possible before incorporating it into a batter or a dough. Now, I must admit that I’ve baked cakes and bullar only doing a quick infusion, often by mixing the saffron powder into melted butter or into the liquids of a recipe.

    However, if you have time, I would recommend to make a saffron syrup. It can be made mid to late-November and will keep throughout the Christmas season.
    Start by mixing 3 g saffron (threads or powder) with 1 tbsp vodka in a small jar (I use a 150ml jar). Allow to infuse for a week. Then make a simple syrup by boiling 50 g water along with 50 g sugar, then pour over the saffron infusion and mix well.

    Now, when a recipe calls for 0.5 g saffron, you can easily substitute it with one tablespoon of your saffron syrup.

    Notes on gräddfil

    Gräddfil is a Swedish sour cream made with different bacteria strains than in the yoghurt making process. It has around 10-12% fat content and is best substituted with sour cream, or Turkish yoghurt, but in a pinch, natural yoghurt or even crème fraiche would make a good substitute.

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    Birgittas saffranskaka

    This recipe is adapted from my friend Susanne. Her mother-in-law – Birgitta – used to bake this cake every year around Christmas time. If I recall right, her recipe has a less sugar and she never soaked raisins, one thing that Susanne is also partial too. I also like to add grated almond paste into the batter, and a thick coat of slivered almonds on top of the cake before it goes in the oven.
    Sadly, I never got the chance to meet Birgitta, but I'm deeply grateful that her cake has become a tradition in our house as the very first thing we bake with saffron every year, not unlike a soft step into the Christmas season.
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time25 minutes
    Cook Time45 minutes
    Total Time1 hour 10 minutes
    Makes 20 cm cake

    Ingredients

    • 100 g raisins
    • 2 eggs
    • 210 g caster sugar
    • pinch of salt
    • 100 g salted butter
    • 0.5 g ground saffron read notes above
    • 150 g gräddfil Greek/Turkish yoghurt or sour cream (read notes above)
    • 180 g plain flour
    • 2 tsp baking powder
    • 100 g almond paste coarsely grated

    To top

    • a handful slivered or flaked almonds
    • icing sugar

    Instructions

    • Preheat the oven to 175°C/fan 155°C. Butter and line a 20cm cake tin with baking paper.
    • Before you get on with the cake batter, soak the raisins in boiling water and set aside.
    • Whisk the eggs and sugar along with a pinch of salt until light and fluffy. In a small pan, melt the butter. Add the saffron (read notes above) and the yoghurt of your choice.
    • Add the melted butter mixture to the eggs and mix well to combine.
    • In a separate bowl, sieve the flour and baking powder. Drain the raisins and shake them thoroughly to get rid of as much water as possbible. Then gently coat them with a tablespoon of the flour mixture.
    • Now mix in the remaining flour into the batter, folding with a silicon spatula. Add the raisins and grated almond paste, and pour into the prepared tin. Top with slivered or flaked almonds and bake for 35-45 minutes, or until golden-brown and a skewer inserted into the centre of the cake comes out clean.
    • Allow the cake to cool slightly on a wire rack then unmould and dust with a thin coat of icing sugar.

  • Saffransmazariner

    Saffransmazariner

    [Saffron mazariner]

    Twelve weeks ago, almost to the second, Sienna was put on my chest; pink as a candy, eyes wide open. Twelve weeks that went quickly, and also, twelves weeks when winter came and went more times that I can count.

    There was the night we rushed to the maternity; the air suddenly so sharp we’d forgotten how it felt against our cheeks. There was the first snow, as early as the third of October, which was gone a few days later; and as it did, the longing for a winter as I had known it only became more intense with every morning that passed by without a snowflake. And then, one day, winter was here, not that it didn’t come without a warning.
    The afternoons by the river, frost on every branch. That Sunday when snowflakes were big as cotton balls. And the clear evening skies we had last week when the temperatures dropped to -20°C.

    In our kitchen, there is a bread made of rye and filmjölk [sour milk] on the counter. And every time we open the pantry, the earthy smell of saffron fills the room. We have blueberry cakelets in the fridge, and lussekatter in a jar above it. A mjukpepparkaka [gingerbread cake] on our table, and a baking tray filled with brown butter and cardamom salted caramel, waiting to be cut.

    Yes, there is so much I want to tell you about, but Christmas is only a few days away, and some things cannot wait, like these saffransmazariner.

    Saffransmazariner

    A mazarin is a tartlet traditionally composed of three elements:
    – a crisp pâte sablée case
    – an almond cream filling, not unlike the French crème d’amande
    – a simple icing sugar glaze

    Sometimes, a thin layer of jam covers the bottom of the tart shell, or the filling can be topped with fresh berries before baking, in which case, the mazarin isn’t glazed.

    Its origin – although I haven’t quite had the time to research – seems rather uncertain, possibly linked to an Italian cardinal who moved to Paris and first assisted Richelieu, only to succeed him in the mid seventeenth century.
    Through his regency, Cardinal Mazarin has been thought to popularise pasta and perhaps, other Italian delicacies in France and Sweden (which were rather new allies then). And although there is no evidence of it in literature, mazariner do strongly remind me of the traditional crostata di mandorle, a very similar tart from Italy.

    My saffron mazariner are the festive version of the Swedish favourite. You see, I have the bad habit to buy mazarinformar [mazarin moulds] at every garage sale; so really, I’m always looking for an excuse to bake them under one form or another.
    You can use any tartlet moulds, ideally around 5-6cm in diameter, but in a pinch, I suspect a muffin tin will do fine too. A large mazarin, sliced in thin wedges would also look fantastic on a cake stand!

    The dough – my usual pâte sablée, with a touch of baking powder for an extra brittle shell – will make more than you need, but you can:
    – do as I usually do and line additional moulds (around 40), and keep them in the freezer for up to two months
    – freeze the extra dough, which you can later use to line a 24cm tart tin
    I tend to make it in the food-processor, but a stand-mixer works too. As always, I can only recommend rolling it before letting it to rest in the fridge; however this dough is quite forgiving, and when I don’t want to use up a lot of baking paper or if I’m feeling lazy, I will wrap the dough in clingfilm, and chill it for 20-30 minutes, then roll it onto a lightly floured bench. For more tips on how to handle tart dough, please refer to these posts here.

    Mazariner freeze beautifully. On the day you want to eat them, simply take them out for a few hours, and glaze them with a simple icing sugar glaze.

    Saffransmazariner

    Makes 28

    For the pâte sablée

    360 g plain flour
    90 g icing sugar
    1/2 tsp sea salt
    1/4 tsp baking powder
    200 g unsalted butter
    100 g eggs (2 medium)

    butter, melted to grease the moulds

    For the saffron filling

    150 g unsalted butter
    1 g ground saffron
    300 g good quality marzipan (minimum 50% almonds), coarsely grated
    100 g eggs (2 medium)
    1/2 tsp sea salt
    10 g plain flour (approx. 1 tbsp)

    For the glaze

    250 g icing sugar
    water from the kettle

    Make the dough. In the bowl of a food-processor, place the flour, sugar, salt, baking powder and butter, and mix until the mixture ressembles wet sand. Add the eggs and pulse until it just starts to form a dough.
    Divide the dough in two and roll each piece to 3-4mm thick between two sheets of baking paper. Place onto a tray and chill in the fridge for 20-30 minutes.

    In the meantime, preheat the oven to 175°C/fan 160°C, and brush 28 (or more, read note above) tartlet moulds with melted butter; setting them aside until needed.

    Make the filling. Melt the butter in a small pan and add the saffron. Mix well and allow to infuse for a few minutes.
    Place the marzipan, eggs, salt and flour in the bowl of a food-processor and mix to a smooth paste. Slowly add the butter, mixing as you do so.
    Transfer the filling to a piping bag.

    Take the dough out of the fridge and loosen the top sheet of baking paper. Flip over and remove the other sheet, this way, the dough still is on baking paper, yet doesn’t stick to it (I hope that makes sense).
    Cut out the dough into small ovals or circles, depending on the shape of your tins, and line each with dough, trimming the excess using your thumb or a small paring knife.

    Place the lined moulds onto a baking tray, and fill them with your saffran almond cream, around 3/4 full.

    Bake for 20-25 minutes or until golden brown. Allow to cool down for 10-15 minutes, then unmould.

    Mix the icing sugar with a drop of hot water, just enough to form a thick paste, and spoon on top of the mazariner. Allow to set for an hour or two, then store in an airtight container for up to five days. You can also freeze the unglazed mazariner for up to 3 months (see note above).

  • On drying clementine slices

    On drying clementine slices

    Yesterday, we went to the basement and looked through our Christmas boxes. Candles holders, zinc, gold, silver, ceramic. A basket with my favourite vintage glass ornaments wrapped in torn newspaper and packed in egg cartons kept closed with rubber bands. A couple of straw julbock [Yule goat]. Many adventljusstakar [Advent lights]. Four paper stars with their cables all tangled and their light bulbs wrapped in kitchen paper.

    To the sound of Emmit Fenn’s Painting Greys, we hanged them, one by one, to our windows. And when we lit them, their soft glow reflected in the foggy glass not unlike a frosted mirror.

    [audio:http://www.likeastrawberrymilk.com/audio/paintinggreys.mp3|titles=Painting Greys|artists=Emmit Fenn]

    Later at night, we took a tray of dried clementine slices out from our oven. We left them cool down on our kitchen table where their translucent flesh glistened under the light of the white and gold star we’d hanged a few hours earlier. The same one we’d tied to that small hook by our kitchen window a year ago to the day too!

    I think I will make a garland: dried clementines and the pinecones we picked under the snow a few weeks ago now, a bit like this one, although ours might look a lot more… rustic.

    These dried clementine slices are also delicious to nibble on, much so in fact.

    Dried clementine slices

    Preheat oven to 110°C/fan 90°C. Line a baking tray with parchment paper.

    Slice the clementines into 4-5mm slices and arrange them in a single layer on the prepared baking tray. Generously dust with icing sugar.

    Bake until the slices are dry and the flesh looks translucent, about 2 to 3 hours.

    I find it easier to remove the slices from the paper while they’re still hot. You can do so and place them onto a plate to cool down. Store in a paper bag, in a dry place.

  • Glad Lucia, a lussekatter history (and recipe)

    Glad Lucia, a lussekatter history (and recipe)

    Traditionally eaten for Santa Lucia on the thirteenth of December, lussekatter – also called lussebullar – have a nebulous history. One that’s laced with Christianity and paganism, German and viking heritage.

    In fact, even the origin of the Lucia celebrations is quite elusive.

    Lussi, an evil figure roamed the land along with her lussiferda, a horde of trolls and goblins.

    Lussinatta once coincided with the Winter solstice back in the 1300s when Europe still used the Julian calendar. During that night, the longest of the year, it was said that animals could talk and supernatural events could occur; Lussi, an evil figure (that holds many similarities with the german Perchta or the italian Befana) roamed the land along with her lussiferda, a horde of trolls and goblins, punishing naughty children and casting dark magic. People, forced to remain secluded, would eat and drink in an attempt to fight the darkness.

    And as the years went by in the pre-Christian Norden, farmers started to celebrate the return of the light and the tradition of a goddess of lights took roots in the pagan folklore.
    It was also the start of festivities of some kind – not to say Christmas, although it is believed that both Christian and heathen traditions started to blend from the 1100s . In fact the very origins of the word jul [Christmas] are blurry, with one occurrence dating back to Harald Hårfager who might have said: “Dricka jul!” [drink Christmas!].
    During these celebrations, pig would get slaughtered, both for the gods and for the feast.

    The tradition of a feast and offerings is documented in Erland Hofsten’s unpublished manuscript Beskrifning öfwer Wermeland, dating from the early 1700s. And although no further narrative is given, Hofsten believed in a pagan provenance.

    The first printed description comes a few decades later in 1773 through Erik Fernows’ Beskrifning öfwer Wärmeland: “Man skall den dagen wara uppe at äta bittida om ottan, hos somlige tör ock et litet rus slinka med på köpet. Sedan lägger man sig at sofwa, och därpå ätes ny frukost. Hos Bönderne kallas detta ‘äta Lussebete’, men hos de förnämare ‘fira Luciäottan’.” And now if you please excuse my poor translation/paraphrase (Swedish is hard enough without having to deal with old Swedish): On that day, we should be up early (otta is an old Swedish word akin to night, but really means the time of the day when the night becomes the morning, around 4-5am) to eat, and for some, a shot of snaps would go down. Then we’d lay on the sofa and would later eat another breakfast. Amongst the farmers this would be known as to “eat Lussi’s bait”, but for the more affluents it was called a “Lucia morning celebration”.

    One that spread from Värmland to Västergotland where C. Fr. Nyman encountered the custom for the first time, as described in his unpublished 1764 manuscript: “Rätt som jag låg i min bästa sömn, hördes en Vocalmusique utan för min dörr, hvaraf jag väcktes. Strax derpå inträdde först ett hvit-klädt fruntimmer med gördel om lifvet, liksom en vinge på hvardera axeln, stora itända ljus i hwar sin stora silfversljusstake, som sattes på bordet, och strax derpå kom en annan med ett litet dukadt bord, försedt med allehanda kräseliga, äteliga och våtvaror, som nedsattes mitt för sängarna… det är Lussebete .” That morning he was awaken by songs coming from outside his door. He then proceeded to meet a white-clad lady wearing wings and holding a large silver candlestick, which she placed on the table. And soon after another lady came in carrying a small table lined with cloth and full of food and drinks, which she laid in between the beds. In his story, C. Fr. Nyman, calls it Lussi’s bait, reinforcing not only the heathen terms of the celebration, but also hinting about the origin of the lussekatter.

    It is noted in Nordisk familjebok 1912 that it was common to bake a peculiar bread shaped as a L and called “dövelskatt” [the devil’s tax] in south-western Sweden: “I sydvästra Sverige bakas till L. ett särskildt kultbröd, kalladt ‘dövelskatt’”.
    And with different spellings like the Dutch duyvelskat, or the more common Lussebette, it’s hard not to think how the word we all thought meant Lucia’s cats was actually intended to be an offering to Lussi in exchange for her mercy. Or as it’s described in this interview of Anna Freij that the buns were tinted bright yellow with saffron to scare the devil away.

    With the introduction of the Gregorian calendar in the 16th century, Lucia no longer coincided with the winter solstice, but the customs of December 13th being the longest night of the year remained strong in the farming community throughout the centuries and up to the 1700s.
    And it’s suspected that as Christianity grew in the north, the church tried to associate the pagan tradition with Santa Lucia, mostly based on phonetics and etymology (latin lux: light).

    And just like that, the customs of eating saffron bread, something that was once reserved to the higher classes of southern Sweden, started to spread amongst rural Sweden, where wheat buns would be brushed with a saffron-infused syrup; with each province having their own distinctive shaped bun.

    I hope that what was intended to be “just a recipe” five or so hours ago, brought some insight into this wonderful tradition, which like many others is a complex maze of cultural and historical layers tangled into each-other like morning hair.

    Here are the sources I’ve used to this little research:
    http://runeberg.org/svetym/0512.html
    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harald_Fairhair
    http://www.firajul.nu/julenstraditioner/ordet-jul
    http://www.bageri.se/aktuellt/nyheter/varfor-ater-vi-saffransbrod-till-jul/
    http://malinryke.blogspot.se/2014/12/lussekattens-historia.html

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    Lussekatter

    Come early November, every supermarket launches their annual production of lussekatter, which I suspect are loved by many.
    As soon as you step in, the sweet scent of saffron gives away the trolleyful of golden buns waiting to be wrapped in small plastic bags. I have never tasted one from the shop, but from what I'm told they tend to be on the dry side.
    My lussekatter, although certainly not authentic as their supermarket counterpart, are a dream to work with, to eat warm from the oven, or toasted the next day, to soak in an egg whisked with a dash of cream, milk, and sugar, and then pan-fried until golden, not unlike a French Swedish-toast.
    The recipe itself is a simple enriched dough that some would be tempted to call a pain au lait [milk bread]. As with any rich dough, I recommend using a stand-mixer, althought it's definitely possible to make them by hand, simply follow the instructions given on that post.

    Notes

    A note on the saffron:
    If you don’t have any ground saffron, simply bring the milk to the boil and soak/infuse the saffron threads in it for at least 30 minutes. You will have to wait for the milk to be completely cooled down before using in the recipe.
    Edit 13/12/2018: Nowadays, I always tend to dissolve the saffron in a tablespoon or so of rum. I find it brings out the flavour even more!
    Author: Fanny Zanotti
    Prep Time1 hour
    Cook Time12 minutes
    Makes 20 buns

    Ingredients

    For the raisins

    • a handful of raisins
    • boiling water

    For the dough

    • 250 g unsalted butter
    • 600 g strong flour
    • 75 g caster sugar
    • 18 g fresh yeast
    • 0.5 g one envelope ground saffron (read note above)
    • 7.5 g sea salt
    • 375 g whole milk

    Instructions

    • Soak the raisins in boiling water and set aside to cool down. This can be done up to three days ahead, in which case, keep the soaked raisins in the fridge.
    • Slice the butter into thin 2-3mm thick slices. Set aside until needed.
    • In the bowl of a stand-mixer fitted with the dough-hook, place the flour, sugar, yeast, saffron and salt. Add the milk and mix on medium speed for around 10 minutes or until the dough detaches from the sides of the bowl and feels smooth, elastic and barely tacky. If you take a small piece of dough, you should be able to stretch it into a very thin membrane.
    • Add the butter, one small piece at a time continuously until all the butter is in – and knead it in for a further 10 minutes.
    • Place the dough in a large bowl, and clingfilm to the touch. Refrigerate for at least 3 hours or up to 12.
    • Line three baking trays with paper and set aside.
    • Scrape the dough onto a lightly floured surface and divide in 50-55g pieces and cover loosely with clingfilm.
    • Take one piece and roll into a thin snake, approximately 30cm long, then form an S shape, curling both ends into a spiral. Place onto the prepared baking trays, making sure to give the buns plenty of space. And repeat with the remaining dough.
    • Cover with clingfilm and leave to proof until doubled in size, around 2-3 hours.
    • Preheat the oven to 200°C/fan 180°C.
    • Brush the top of the buns with the egg wash and press two raisins into each bun.
    • Bake for 10-12 minutes until golden-brown. Allow to cool down slightly.
  • Swedish pepparkakor

    Swedish pepparkakor

    This Swedish pepparkakor recipe isn’t one that comes with many traditions. It was in fact created on the very first weekend of advent earlier this month after days of formula research and calculations.

    We had just brought upstairs two cardboard boxes labelled hastily JUL 2015 [Christmas 2015] from our förråd [storage] and there were candles lighting our house to the most beautiful shade of gold; the sharp and intense smell of resin diffusing through every room, like a morning promenade through the forest.

    I had just unpacked a small pink plastic basket, filled to the rim with pepparkaksformar [cookie cutters] that I’d found last summer at a garage sale at one of the houses we’d cycle by every morning.
    After a quick run under warm soapy water, I left them to dry over my favourite torchon [kitchen cloth], the light grey one with nid d’abeilles [honeycomb] fabric.

    Later that night, we used them to cut through the dough we’d made the night before. And as I pressed each and everyone of them through the softly spiced pepparkaksdeg, I couldn’t help but think about the many Christmases these cutters had known. And just like that, a tradition-less recipe actually perpetuated one that I suspect lasted many decades and created a new tradition for us to hold over the coming years.

    Here is to the next first of advent!

    Pepparkakor

    I chose to make the lighter kind* of pepparkakor, one of many really. In some houses, the dough calls for whipping cream or baking powder. Muscovado sugar and treacle syrup. A pinch of cinnamon and a fat tablespoon of ground ginger.

    That day, I made the pepparkakor that I’d knew I’d love. Light and crisp with just enough bite to hold well when dipped in a cup of coffee – something I can only warmly recommend.

    I might try, next time I make a batch, to replace the caster sugar with light muscovado sugar or even brun farinsocker, a sugar that we have here in Sweden, and which is almost halfway between dark and light muscovado sugars; if you choose that road, you could most definitely substitute the caster sugar in the recipe below with 125 g dark muscovado and 100 g light muscovado.

    I will also perhaps replace the golden syrup for chestnut honey, as a reminiscence of my childhood pain d’épices (which I also need to tell you about).

    * Nowhere as light as they appear to be in the pictures I took here. Yes, I am still in dire need of figuring out this whole winter lighting thing.

    Pepparkakor

    Makes around 100 small biscuits.

    75 g water
    105 g golden syrup
    225 g caster sugar (read note above)
    175 g unsalted butter
    1 heaped tbsp ground cinnamon
    1 heaped tsp ground ginger
    3/4 tsp ground cardamom
    3/4 tsp ground cloves
    480 g plain flour
    1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
    1/4 tsp sea salt

    Bring the water, syrup, and sugar to the boil in a small pan. Off the heat, add the butter and spices, and allow to cool down to around 30-35°C.

    In a bowl, mix the flour, bicarbonate and salt.

    When the syrup has cooled down enough, slowly pour over the flour, and mix with a silicone spatula until a loose dough comes together.

    Place the dough onto a large piece of clingfilm, and flatten it into a square using the palm of your hand. Cover tightly with clingfilm, and refrigerate for at least 12 hours or up to a month.

    When you’re ready to bake your pepparkakor, take out your dough from the fridge and leave it at room temperature for 20-30 minutes.

    Preheat the oven to 200°C/fan 180°C.

    On a slighty floured surface, roll the dough to 3-4mm thick and cut out into the desired shapes. If you wish to hang your pepparkakor, make sure to cut a small hole before baking them.

    Arrange them onto baking trays lined with baking paper, and do not to mix the larger biscuits with the small ones as they won’t bake evenly.

    Bake for 5 to 8 minutes, depending on the size of the pepparkakor, or until the edges start to turn golden brown.
    When cooled down, decorate with royal icing if you wish, and store in an airtight container for up to a month.


    More Christmas adventures in the north of Sweden on Instagram: #fannysjul <3

  • Saffransbullar med mandelmassa

    Saffransbullar med mandelmassa

    [Swedish saffron and almond buns]

    Sunrise: 9:33 AM
    Sunset: 1:28 PM
    Temperature: -11.8°C

    The Swedish saffron and almond buns you see here were made on the twenty-fourth of November. Perhaps, it was a Tuesday. Or a Monday. But I remember how we made the dough the night before. And topped it with marzipan butter in the morning, just as a trumpet in the distance started playing Christmas melodies. I might have let them overproof as I went for a walk in the snow.

    Yes, I might have.

    Since then, I’ve made them countless times at the café and twice more at home. For a Christmas fika.

    Today, I have a different kind of saffron buns proofing on my kitchen counter: lussekatter. A simple saffron dough, rolled and twirled into shape.
    And I’m pretty certain that every house in Sweden also smells like warm saffron. And perhaps, if they’re as lucky as we are, of forest and cinnamon too.
    Because it’s St Lucia today. And the third Sunday of advent.

    But I’ll have to wait to show you the lussekatter, as the sun set hours ago and it’s now too dark to take pictures.
    However, I’m sure that these bullar will make a perfect in-the-meantime treat. And possibly make you wish for a forever in-the-meantime moment.

    Saffransbullar med mandelmassa

    For these buns, I adapted my usual kanelbullar recipe by adding saffron to the dough. Here in Sweden, saffron is easy to come across and fairly inexpensive – compared to France or the UK. One of the things I find particularly pleasant, is that the saffron comes already ground so you don’t have to infuse it in warm liquid like I’ve been used to with the threads.

    Edit 13/12/2018: Nowadays, I always tend to dissolve the saffron in a tablespoon or so of rum. I find it brings out the flavour even more!

    If you don’t have any ground saffron, simply bring the milk to the boil and soak/infuse the saffron threads in it for at least 30 minutes. You will have to wait for the milk to be completely cooled down before using in the recipe.

    The filling recipe comes from my friend Suss, my one and only reference when it comes to all things related to Swedish baking. She’s an amazing baker and these buns alone prove it!
    It’s really straight-forward: butter, marzipan, and the zest of an orange; and yet, it makes for the best saffron buns you’ll ever find.

    Saffransbullar med mandelmassa

    makes around 14-16

    For the saffron dough

    530 g strong flour
    70 g caster sugar
    16 g fresh yeast
    10 g sea salt
    0.5 g ground saffron     (see note above)
    3 eggs (150 g)
    190 g whole milk
    150 g unsalted butter    , at room temperature

    For the almond butter

    160 g salted butter, at room temperature
    160 g marzipan
    zest from 2 oranges

    For the topping

    1 egg, beaten, to glaze
    a handful of pearl sugar

    For the syrup

    75 g caster sugar
    75 g water

    In a large bowl, combine the flour, caster sugar, yeast, salt and saffron. Add the eggs and milk, and mix with a wooden spoon until a dough forms. Transfer to a clean work surface and knead by hand for around 20 minutes – if you’re making the dough in a stand-mixer, fit it with the hook attachment and knead on medium speed for around 10 minutes, until the dough detaches from the sides of the bowl and feels: – smooth, elastic and barely tacky. If you take a small piece of dough, you should be able to stretch it into a very thin membrane.

    Add the butter in three or four times – if making by hand; if you’re using a stand mixer, add the butter, one small piece at a time continuously until all the butter is in – and knead it in for around 10 minutes. The dough will “split” as you do so and butter will smear over your work surface, but keep on adding butter until it’s all used. Then knead the dough until smooth again. Place in a large bowl, and clingfilm to the touch.

    You could proof the dough for 1 hour at room temperature and then place it in the fridge for at least another hour before using it, or refrigerate straight away for at least 8 hours and up to 24 hours.

    The next day, get two baking trays ready by lining then with baking paper. Make the almond butter by mixing all the ingredients until smooth and spreadable.

    Slightly flour your work bench and tip the dough over. Roll into a 30 x 60 cm rectangle, around 5-6mm thick, with the short end facing you. Spread the almond butter evenly over the lower 2/3 of the dough. Then fold the dough into three, first the top part over the centre, then the bottom (and closest to you) over the rest. You should be left with a 30 x 20 cm-ish rectangle.

    Cut 2cm wide strips and roll each into a knot, and place it on the prepared baking tray. Keep on going until all the strips are rolled.

    Cover loosely with clingfilm and allow to proof for a couple of hours or until doubled in size.

    Preheat the oven to 185°C.
    Brush the top of the buns with the egg wash and sprinkle with pearl sugar.

    Bake for 12-16 minutes or until golden brown.
    Transfer to a wire-rack using a palette knife and allow to cool down slightly.

    For extra shiny buns, brush the top of your just-baked bullar with a simple syrup made of equal quantity of sugar and water brought to the boil.

    Let me know if you try to make them 🙂 Lots of love, and a wonderful week!

    pS. If you want to follow my Swedish Christmas adventures, use #fannysjul on instagram. X

  • Zimtstern à la cannelle

    Zimtstern à la cannelle


    We found a tree, just a few nights before Christmas. A bit of a happy coincidence. Not that we hadn’t looked everywhere before. Sold out or cheap plastic.

    And there it was, still wrapped in some sort of net. We named it Charlie; forgot about the pizza we’d set off to eat, and proceeded to carry it home on K’s shoulder across London. We stopped at the shop, the one around the corner, and got a pizza there. Twenty minutes later, we sliced into it, and later that night, we let the multi-coloured lights (with a green chord and cone-like bulbs; that remind me so so much of the ones my grand-mother brought back with her and her children when they moved back from Tahiti to France) lullaby us to sleep.

    And at that exact moment. With the twinkling lights and the smell of forest filling our room. That was Christmas. My Christmas.

    But really, I’m not sure why I’m telling you that.

    You see, I had amazing plans for this year. I wanted to share with you my favourite – old and new – recipes for biscuits to bake during those nights made of wool socks and candles and mulled wine and peeks through the window wishing for snow.
    But before I even knew it, Christmas had well gone. Not that we still have Charlie in our bedroom. Perhaps, we’ll go to the park at the end of our street one night, and dig through the earth to make him a new home.

    So we’ll have to make it an extended Christmas this year. Recipes from another time for the one to come maybe; if you don’t mind.

    After all, I went to every possible shop to find the perfect star cookie cutter. Buying anything star-shaped that came my way. And I no have many. Possibly six too many.
    One thing I know for sure though, you won’t have too many zimtsterns. Ever.

    Zimtstern à la cannelle
    Adapted from Mingou’s beautiful zimstern (via Pauline, the must-visit source for anything Christmas biscuit related)

    Just like we’re not in Kansas anymore, Christmas is far gone. However, as I write this, a couple of weeks after it all happened (for us, it was a delicious lunch at the pub with a little too much wine and a lot too-much laughs), I’m snuggled in bed with Ash in my ears and the comforting thought of many biscuits – cut and arranged in plastic containers – ready to be baked at any time. In fact, as long as we have Charlie on and a wreath on our door, I’m not planning on giving up on the holidays.


    Zimtstern(s?) are new to me. And really, when I first saw them, I knew they were going to be something special. Beautiful chewy, with a subtle cinnamon flavour. A bit like a macaron and yet not quite.
    Mingou’s recipe isn’t traditional as it calls for flour. I guess it makes them a little bit cakier (in a good way) and way easier to work with.

    I made the soft dough and rolled in – still in between two sheets of baking paper – then cut it and baked it for barely ten minutes. As Mingou says, it’s definitely better not to overbake them as they’ll turn quite hard. The edges will just start to brown slightly when they’re ready.

    As they cool down, make the glaze, a simple royal icing; I wanted to add vanilla, but then I forgot, although it would make a lovely finishing touch. Next time, tomorrow perhaps?

    When it comes to dipping the biscuits in, place them in the icing, then go up and down to get rid of the excess. Finally you can tap the biscuit slightly on your table to smooth the glaze.

    Zimtstern à la cannelle

    Makes around 50 small biscuits.

    200 g ground almonds
    100 g icing sugar
    60 g caster sugar
    3 tsp ground cinnamon
    1 tsp maldon sea salt
    160 g plain flour
    2 egg whites

    Preheat the oven to 150°C and line two baking trays with baking paper.

    In a bowl, combine the dry ingredients. Add the egg whites and mix until it forms a dough. Roll in between two sheets of baking paper to around 8mm thick. Cut out using your favourite cutter, from what I’ve seen, the must is a six-point star, something that seemed to be absolutely unfindable in my corner of the world.
    Arrange the biscuits onto the prepared baking trays and bake for around 10 minutes, or until slightly puffed up and the edges just begin to brown (ever so slightly).
    Transfer to a wire rack and allow to cool down completely.

    For the royal icing

    2 egg whites
    380 g icing sugar
    seeds from one vanilla pod

    Prepare the icing by mixing the egg whites with the icing sugar until smooth. It should be soft to touch, but not too runny. Gently dip the top of one biscuit into it, then remove, allowing the icing to drip for a couple of seconds. Place back onto the baking sheet, iced-side up. Repeat with the remaining biscuits and allow them to set at room temperature for a couple of hours.

    The zimtsterns will keep in an airtight container for a couple of weeks.

  • Biscuits croustillants à la cannelle

    Biscuits croustillants à la cannelle

    [Crisp cinnamon biscuits]

    I don’t want fig leaf or oak bark infusion. I don’t want gimmicks and royal icing where it’s not needed. I want to explore flour, sugar, butter and eggs.

    Give me cinnamon. And whole wheat flour. Oats. And dark brown sugar.

    I want to look underneath a biscuit. And see a golden colour. And little ridges. And above all, I want to build a collection of solid recipes for the years to come. For traditions that don’t exist yet, but will. And for those that are already there.

    Yes, at times, I love to experience with crazy flavours. The next big thing. Or more. But as I’ve told you yesterday, for me, Christmas is all about rituals and beautiful habits. I hope you feel the same way.

    Biscuits croustillants à la cannelle
    Adapted from Trine Hahnemann.

    When it comes to a biscuit texture you can get: crisp, crunchy, sandy/short, caky or chewy. These ones are full-on crisp. A beautiful texture which makes them – perhaps – the best biscuits I’ve ever eaten.
    So much, in fact, that this year, I’ve decided to forgo my usual vanilla shortbreads and use this recipe as a base instead. Maybe try different shapes, perhaps even thumbprint cookies and see how that goes.

    I think their insane texture comes from the initial sanding technique, when the butter gets rubbed into the flour and sugar, which created beautiful layers within the biscuit. So I might experiment with this instead of the usual creaming that most of my biscuit recipes use.
    They also make me want to try more of Trine’s recipes. Have you ever? If not, then please, make a batch of these.

    As I usually do, I rolled the dough between two sheets of baking paper (but as I mentioned yesterday, it makes me miss the feuilles guitare I use at the restaurant, SO. MUCH. BETTER.) as soon as it gets made, and then go on with the chilling. I’ve found that resting the dough before rolling doesn’t improve the texture, and really, makes it so hard to roll that you have to 1) bash it with a rolling pin to make it somewhat workable or 2) let it outside to warm up a bit (hence, erasing all the benefits of keeping the dough cold at all times: making the water content of the butter less available for gluten to bind).

    Two or three important things though when it comes to rolling the dough.
    – always roll in different directions.
    – every now and then, lift the baking paper and smooth any wrinkles out. They tend to make the dough fragile and the biscuits less pretty.
    – before you cut out your biscuits, remove the top layer of baking paper, then place it back (it won’t stick as much), before filliping around and removing the second layer of baking paper. This way, as you cut out, the shapes will stay in your cutter, instead of sticking to the paper (hope that makes a semblance of sense at all?!).

    Also, re-rolling the trimming? I would usually say it’s a big no. But f*ck it, it’s home baking after all.

    Biscuits croustillants à la cannelle

    makes around 30-40 biscuits

    For the dough
    375g plain flour
    125g light soft brown sugar
    1 tsp baking powder
    1 tsp ground cinnamon
    1/2 tsp sea salt
    250g cold butter    , cubed
    one egg

    For the sugar topping
    one egg, beaten
    100 g demerara sugar
    4 tsp ground cinnamon
    gold shimmer powder    , optional

    Mix the sugar, cinnamon, and gold shimmer (if using) to combine.

    Place the flour, sugar, baking powder, cinnamon and salt in a large bowl, and mix to combine. Add the butter, and rub it in the flour mix until it resembles coarse oats. Add the egg and work the dough until just smooth.
    Roll the dough between two sheets of baking paper until it’s around 4-5mm thick.
    Place on a baking tray that fits in your fridge, if the dough is too large, you can cut through the paper to make two or more rectangles. Chill the dough overnight.

    The next day, cut out your biscuits using either a round 5cm cutter or different shapes, and place on a large sheet of baking paper. Brush with the beaten egg and sprinkle generously with the cinnamon sugar. Shake off the excess and place on a baking tray lined with paper. At this point you can either freeze the biscuits for a month or so, or bake them straight away.

    Preheat the oven to 170°C. Bake the biscuits for 14-18 minutes, depending on their size. They’re ready when evenly brown. Allow to cool down completely and keep in an airtight container. Trine says they’ll keep for a month. If so, my dreams of the perfect biscuit have come true.