Of all the Christmas traditions we have my favorite is the making of the krumkake. This is odd as I really don’t like to cook and try to only go into the kitchen to retrieve a cup of coffee or pour a bowl of cereal. But krumkake is different. Perhaps because it is so ceremonious. First I put on Tracks, disc 1, by Bruce Springsteen and skip ahead to Bishop Danced. Then I clean the kitchen counters and make a lovely working environment for myself. I may even don in apron. I definitely pour a glass of wine. Then I pull out the krumkake iron, a splurge of a purchase made in the early months of our marriage when spending $50 on something as unnecessary as a griddle that you use but once a year was unheard of. I like to say that I’m Norwegian, and technically I am 50%, but really the only Norwegian thing I do is make krumkake. Once a year.
This year Pia wanted to help. I was on the fence about this as a) it is a wicked hot iron, and b) I tend to need a bubble of space around me when I cook, a 10 foot bubble preferably. But, realizing that my favorite Christmas tradition was one where I was alone (with Bruce) seemed a bit out of sync with the Christmas spirit. So I said yes. And we had a ball. And none of her fingers, hands, elbows or hair got scorched. A Christmas miracle indeed.
Yes, that is my hand in the picture, ready to yank her arm out of the way in case her hand got too close to the iron. A bit overprotective? Perhaps. But there is no faster way to ruin a good Christmas tradition than with a burn injury, no?