Tarte à la citrouille

[Pumpkin pie] Originally published on October 9, 2009 Tarte à la citrouille A strong favourite around our house, pumpkin pie often appears on our birthday table (yay for autumn birthdays!!). I make this one with muscovado sugar, which brings lovely caramel undertones, complements the earthy flavour of fresh pumpkin. The first step is to make pumpkin purée, by roasting the pumpkin, then blending it with ...

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Äppelmos with vanilla and cinnamon

It was a little over a year ago; we’d brought home a mid-century secretary desk, the kind that received many layers of white paint over the years. It had a bookshelf, very much a happy mismatch of cookbooks, jars of kombucha, porcelain figurines, candles and notebooks. And two cupboards. The one of the right had draws made of birch reminiscent of an old map storage ...

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Apple pie shortbreads

On snow. The first snow didn’t settle onto the ground. That night, the clouds broke into minute snowflakes as we stepped out from the house. And just like I did last year and the year before that, I stopped and stared into this black and white kaleidoscope for what could have been a nightlong, a lifelong really. It’s been snowing every day ever since. Flakes ...

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The October mood board

01. I fell in love with this pattern from Ulrika Gustafsson’s collab with Hemtex. 02. A chandelier made of rönnbär [rowan berries]. I think I might have to make one for our kitchen table. 03. I’ve been organising our kitchen cabinets this week and wonder how functional glass jars would be; I have a few that I refill regularly, however, the whole bag/package never fits ...

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Scenes from a rainy day

One day last week I walked along the river, one second under the yellow light from the lamppost above, the next, swallowed in the darkness of a sky clearer than it’s been in the past month. It is cold, somewhere around 1°C. Perhaps not as cold as this time last year, but with the many rainy days we’ve had, cold nights don’t happen often; only ...

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An autumn day

We went for a walk today. And for once, I remembered to take my camera along. Our official purpose was to pick rönnbär [rowan berries], but really, I just wanted to wrap myself in a golden hour that comes everyday a bit sooner. We walked by the river. And crossed the dam that seems more of a waterfall at the moment, as water gets released ...

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Almond and raisin tea cake

I’ve been thinking about this cake ever since my mum emailed me earlier this week, asking for a good recipe for cake aux fruits confits. Growing up, cake aux fruits confits was always the last one left on a birthday dessert table. Slices of dry cake, studded with always too little candied cherries, of the bright-red kind, which if you’d asked me twenty years ago ...

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My ultimate kanelbullar

Tomorrow is the 4th of October. A date that doesn’t go unnoticed in Sweden. Yes, tomorrow is kanelbullens dag [cinnamon roll day]. I must have felt that this post – which I promised to share with you long before I even knew kanelbullar had their own day – was waiting in my drafts for a reason. This is a recipe I first made in Åsen, ...

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Chasing rugbrød, part one

We waked, in the two cabins in those happy days, just before the sun came up, when the birds were in their loudest clamor of morning joy. Wrapped each in a blanket, George and I stepped out from our doors, each trying to call the other, and often meeting on the grass between. We ran to the river and plunged in,—oh, how cold it was!—laughed ...

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PS. We picked apples and made cider. Oh and an apple cake too!

One morning, we woke up to lights through the wooden blinds barely covering never-ending windows. Coffee got made. And we sat on the steps overlooking the garden. Early signs of autumn, drawn to the earth in the shape of dew that made our feet wet as we walked to the apple tree. Apples as white as snow. His dad said they were called Transparentes blanches. ...

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Un gâteau aux pommes et au cidre

[A cider and apple cake, not unlike a tatin tart] There was a night made of champagne, flickering candles, crisps and smoked salmon sandwiches, the last of the foie gras smothered onto big fat chunky pieces of baguette, an endless game of trivial pursuit where – as it turned out – the one person who refused to play (my father, apparently stuck to his mots ...

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