Lefse - a super thin potato flatbread that has a texture similar to a moist tortilla, and the flavor of an entire field of potatoes packed into each one. A few people have reported having transcendent spiritual experiences after eating lefse. While most are not so moved, it
is fairly common for people to remark on how they suddenly understand the true purpose and reason God made potatoes.
In response to the obvious question---why the hell are you making lefsa?---Who knows? I've given up asking myself why I do any of the random weird crap I latch on to. I don't want to dive too deeply into lake Andy here, but I do have a certificate that proves I am a genuine
I1a halpogroup Viking; however, I seriously doubt my attraction to lefse has anything to do with ancestral memory seeing as how the Nords never even saw a potato until about 250 years ago, and my peeps had rowed off for warmer climes about 800 years prior.
I suppose I could surmise that ancestry gives me a predisposition to liking things others with the same heritage like, but then again---
there's lutefisk---a Norwegian fermented fish often consumed in conjunction with lefse which simultaneously triggers both my gag, and my spit-it-out reflexes. So maybe I just keep it simple and say I'm making lefse for lefse's sake.
I was in denial. A friend invited me to a Lefanon meeting where I realized my decision to take up the sacred stick is probably an unhealthy reaction to being married to a hardcore lefse addict who, in fact, introduced me to the infamous "Norwegian Potato Crack." It makes me sad to see her fighting off the monkey enough to go out in the cold every Christmas Eve just to seek out some back-alley lefse pusher that charges her a king's ransom for a few soggy slabs of substandard lefse that was probably made with soy flour and off-brand instant potato flakes. I thought if I could make the stuff myself maybe I could keep her from sinking any further into the
pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization of late stage lefse addiction.
Not all heroes wear capes.
"Never mind all that." you might say. "
How are you making this lefse?" you probably didn't ask.
Well, by watching tons of YouTube videos of course. It's 2017.
My favorite so far is
"How to make LEFSE, the
amazing Norwegian comfort food"by Mia Nelson. It's my favorite because she uses normal kitchen stuff instead of all the lefse mafia special purpose stuff you see in the first fifty google hits for "making lefse." Also, this video has,
without a doubt, the
best soundtrack of any lefse video ever made (and there are more than you might think.)
Based on her video,
her recipe, her dreadlocks, and the enthusiastic yard apes that show up to eat her lefse at about 3:50 in the video, I'm sticking with Mia's plan as much as my limited attention span will allow. Mainly, I'm following her advice to eschew the use of heavy-cream. It makes sense. I'm just going to up the butter a little bit because (shhhh, science secret) butter is just heavy-cream concentrate.
LEFSE TEST RUN
5 Average Sized Russets, peeled, cubed, boiled until forkable, and "riced" in
special contraption I never knew existed.
Entire stick of butter
T Sugar
t Salt
~1/2 cup King Arthur Brand Flour (Just to keep things Christian) added just before cooking
Ready, Set, Wing It
Friday, November 17, 2017
So this was really just a test to get the feel for it and see if my Scottish approach to an improvised lefse griddle would work. I just pulled out a blob of the freshly mashed and still warm mashed potatoes about three fourths the size of a golf-ball and mixed it with a quantity of flour about one quarter the size of a golf-ball to make a blob of lefse dough about the size of---yep---a golf-ball ( I got mad math skills)
I fired up my Scottish lefse griddle on the big coil of my electric stove at a setting of "7" which according to my surface thermometer, produced wildly uneven temperatures between two and eight hundred degrees Fahrenheit at random points across the griddle. BTW: the Scottish lefse griddle consist of an overturned round oven-safe tray made for pizza. ($1.50).
The results were substandard of course. I had high hopes for the improvised griddle, but alas. I decided to spring for a $20 crepe griddle. (No way I shelling out 130+ bones for an official made-for-lefse lefse griddle. (probably))
And while I say the results were substandard, the test lefsa was already worlds better than back-ally bathtub lefse. I'm not sure the resident lefse junkie would agree--but she didn't exactly back off of it as far as I could tell.
Marginally acceptable results notwithstanding. I'm putting the remaining potato mash in the fridge and waiting until the electric crepe maker arrives.
OK. Lessons learned. Moving on.
FIRST ACTUAL BATCH
Tuesday, November 21, 2017
The
twenty dollar crepe griddle arrived. My infrared surface thermometer showed a fairly consistent 385°F across the whole surface, with a couple of weird 410°F spots near the edges. Lefse Mafia recommended temps start at 450°F, but this works pretty well even if it takes a little longer. Hey! Slow toasted lefse.
With the assistance of the ever helpful Middle Child (MC) we cranked out about 20 sheets of pretty darn good lefse.
MC and I took turns making lefse pucks, rolling them out, lifting them off the board with the magic lefse wand, toasting them on the crepe griddle, and tucking them into our custom lefse cuddle (yeah, it's a red pillowcase)
We were running the griddle at full blast the whole time, and after a little experimentation, we settled on 1.5 minutes for side A, and 2 minutes for side B. We established these standards using the TLAR method developed by the US Army for making coffee wherein you shake out the ground coffee until somebody says "That Looks About Right."
The primary challenge came from the dreaded "wet spot" on the pastry cloth. After the first two sheets, a spot developed that seemed OK, but when you tried to slip the wand under it, it would stick and tear the lefse sheet. I added a bit more flour thinking the dough was just too wet, and that seemed to help, or at least give you a few more sheets before a spot developed. I tried it without the cloth and got a quick lesson in why you need the cloth. After that, we just kept scooting around on the cloth so that a puck never started on the center of a previously used spot.
I got the mixture described above out of the fridge and added about a third cup of flower, but then ended up adding about two tablespoons more because of the wet spot thing.
Every once in a while one of us would flick some water on the pillowcase, er... lefse cuddle so it would stay moist. I'm not sure that's the right thing to do, but it was mentioned in more than one of the videos I watched in that distinct "shhh, this is my Norwegian great great grandmother's secret to righteous lefse making" tone.
It's fairly labor intensive. We only made one batch (~5---7 spuds), but by the time we finished, I told MC, "That's the kind of work makes old folk wanna sit down a spell." She said that it was enough to make at least one young person want a break too.
We let the lefse cool down some while we cleaned up the considerable mess. Then, we buttered up a couple sheets and took em out for a test drive.
The finished product surpassed my highest expectations, which---honestly---weren't all that high. It did seem a little on the dry side, but I honestly don't know how we would ever get it off the board if it were even a little wetter. We were going for paper-thin, so maybe just a little thicker next time. That, and I'm going to knock down the side A time to about 45 seconds and see if that helps.
The exceptional part was the flavor! Pure buttered potato bliss XD! and not floury in the least. I've had some that was like a mildly potato flavored tortilla, and that's not what I'm after. I think all this potato flavor is a result of skipping the cream, and therefore not having to add the flour you would need to get it to a usable dryness to make dough. Which leads me to the biggest take away from this first batch; it's NOT dough. It's mashed potatoes, butter, and just enough flour to make it ACT like dough. Like Mia the lefsa queen said, "If I wanted flour I’d have a tortilla."
Batch #1 Update: "ANNY, MIF IF FUM DERMD GERD LEMFSE!"
Cat didn't get any of batch #1 until she returned from a shopping excursion. I knew it was good enough to surpass her somewhat compromised standards, but I was surprised and delighted to hear the hearty approbations and proclamations of deepest gratitude she attempted to make while eating it.
I had been under the impression that having two sheets of lefse in a 24 hour period might prove lethal, but when Cat reached for her third, I decided to have another myself.
I discovered that full cooling in a dampened lefse cuddle is in fact an important aspect of making righteous lefse! What was pretty darn good lefse, had become holy manna from heaven---except for probably even better because I'm sure I could live on it while wandering around in the desert for forty years and never complain at all. (OK, maybe that's the lefse monkey talking.)
Editor's Note: It turns out that about 20% of the English speaking population is
pathologically opposed to the word 'moist' being used in association with baked goods. Mr. Salad has been advised and will henceforth substitute the words 'damp' or 'aqueous'---or just rewrite to avoid the issue altogether because, now that he thinks about it, it is kind of gross. Thanks a lot crazy people!
A Frank and Open Discussion Regarding Lefse Expenses
Growing up, I was taught that money, being as it is "the root of all evil," is a vulgar topic never to be discussed in polite company:---that it is dirty dirty filthy dirty stuff:---that you should never mention money unless it contributes to the good and proper purpose of getting and keeping all of it you can by any means necessary; however, after serious consideration, I've decided to disregard my raisin's and share my "Lefse Ledger" with the world. That's right mom! I'm putting it all right out there in front of God and everybody---and I don't give a single damn who sees it!
Man, that felt good.
First, lefse itself is so dirt cheap that I'm surprised the Scots didn't come up with it before the Danes! Even if you got the most expensive stuff available, I'd estimate the ingredients that go into a single batch to max out around $2.75---and most of that is butter!
Of course it's another story when it comes to the gear you need to make lefse. As per the "Lefse Mafia" alluded to earlier, a proper lefse kit could not be assembled for anything less than $4,000.00 because one must have special-purpose electric lefse griddles, hand carved Norwegian Yew wood turning sticks, and embroidered lefse cozies.
I started saving up for a Norwegian potato centrifuge, but at some point I decided to give it a go using the stuff I already had, and cave in only if I found any of the expensive lefse gear to be absolutely essential to the production of acceptable lefse.
The good news for aspiring lefse wizards and witches is that (almost) none of the Lefse Mafia stuff is necessary! I'd say the stick is borderline necessary because it's shaped perfect for the job. You could probably file down a yardstick so it would slip under the sheets, but at
the price of yardsticks these days---what the hell? Of course if you've read about my "Scottish Lefse Grill" experiment earlier, you know I splurged and spent 20 bones on a crepe cooker. The pastry cloth and pin cover are way more essential that I would have guessed if I hadn't tried it without them---but that's about it really. All told, I spent around $50.00 on gear I ordered from Amazon (it adds up quick). The rest of my gear was common stuff most people already have on hand.
In the final analysis, even if you estimate the cost of the gear I had to purchase plus the gear I already had and the cost of the ingredients required, the grand total only comes out to about a Benjamin and change. ---And only about 75 if you have a less discriminating opinion on paring knives.
Even at $100.00, that can be justified against the cost and risks of a making even a single excursion into a bad Norwegian neighborhood to score bootleg lefse where, if you're not careful, you could wind up watching hockey, or converting to Lutheranism.
Note: As tempting as it may be, a lefse stick should not be used for kitchen crowd control. To quote MC, "With great power comes great responsibility."
NEXT: Batch #2 Goes to Thanksgiving Dinner With Real Lutherans.
