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The sky these days, or just a dream? No but seriously have you ever seen pärlemormoln [pearlescent clouds], as we call them in Swedish?
A pale canvas, slowly awakening after months of nights, brushed with mother-of-pearl – soft greens, pinks, and blues, shimmering quietly in the cold.
They form high in the stratosphere where it’s cold enough for ice crystals to scatter light into these fleeting colors. Rare and delicate, they appear just before sunrise or linger after sunset, catching the sun’s rays long before they reach the ground.
We stood in the yard, Sienna with her sled and Stor Nalle in tow. “Do you think we’ll see them again?” she asked, her face turned toward the sky, cheeks red from the wind. “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. That’s what makes them special.”
There is nothing quite like winter in the north of Sweden – crisp air, snow-covered fields, and the northern lights flickering beyond the windows. In the depths of the season, I was honoured to welcome Bake from Scratch Editor-in-Chief Brian Hart Hoffman and photographer Joann Pai to the old baking cottage in Tjärn, just outside Skellefteå, for a day of baking – warm hands, golden light, and the scent of saffron and citrus filling the room.
We started at Svedjan Ost, collecting buttermilk and butter, then stopped at ÓGIN Distillery, where Jón Óskar Arnason distils the flavours of the subarctic into bottles. Back in the cottage, fire crackling, we turned to winter’s brightest flavours: saffron, citrus, and cloudberries. By the time the light faded, our table was filled with golden brioches, rye soda bread, saffron cakes, and almond-orange biscuits.
A day of simple joys, traditions and warmth. The full story is in the Jan/Feb 2024 issue of Bake from Scratch – a glimpse into my world of winter baking. You can purchase the issue here.
For my own record. My all-around sponge, raspberry jam, whipped vanilla pastry cream, wild blueberries, raspberry mousse, and vanilla frosting.
As a keepsake for myself. Vanilla génoise, raspberry and blueberry jam, vanilla crème pâtissière. Mascarpone cream, coloured with a syrup made with wild blueberries, sugar and water.
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.
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 mornings made of fog and misty winds.
As I looked up, the norsken [nothern lights] had started their dance; one that I could gaze at for – almost – hours.
We woke up to rain. Coffee, bread toasted in a cast-iron pan, salted butter, and hjortronsylt [cloudberry jam].
We lit candles around the flat to warm the soft blue tint of the clouds projecting on our walls. And dreamt about an old house with wooden walls and a deep ceramic sink; a kitchen window and unsteady floors that crack at every step.
One month till the first snow. May it be so! We crossed our fingers under the table.
I’m writing this on the first day of winter as defined by the astronomical calendar. In my heart, though, winter started early morning, on the second of November. That day, we walked through the old town; snow on the ground, snow twirling down, snow on the roofs. We were completely alone and really, I couldn’t not believe the beauty before my eyes.
Today, a little under two month later, days have stopped getting shorter and on Sunday, we’ll be sitting at the foot of our Christmas tree, opening the presents we wrapped a few days ago in brown paper and red ribbons.
There is a gorgeous wicker basket too. One that came all the way from London, not unlike the best care package I’ve ever gotten.
[heading_right]And mostly, there is something so wonderful and comforting about the thought of opening it on Christmas morning to the sound of wrapping paper and Christmas carols.[/heading_right]
Yes, we were lucky enough to receive a beautiful hamper from Harrods. The one we chose was made in collaboration with Cartwright & Butler, which products I’ve always loved both for their inspired packaging and deliciously old-fashioned recipes.
It was the first time I ever got a Christmas hamper. And really, after peeking through this one with my eyes full of stars, I intend on making it a new tradition in our home. Very much like a Christmas concentrate, this hamper feels like the only thing we need for the perfect Christmas day along with the people we love. There is coffee and tea, and even hot chocolate pearls. Biscuits and cakes, and more preserves than you can count on your fingers. And mostly, there is something so wonderful and comforting about the thought of opening it on Christmas morning to the sound of wrapping paper and Christmas carols.
We’d make a pot of coffee and eat a slice of fruit cake for breakfast, with the innocence of two children who like to play make-believe. Perhaps we’d fall asleep, lulled by the soft sound of snow against our windows. And when we’d wake up, it would already be dark outside, and our vintage baubles would twinkle under the tree’s blinking lights.
We’d open the fridge to a bottle of Champagne, a block of Västerbottensost [Västerbotten cheese], crème fraiche and löjrom [Kalix roe]. And before we’d know it, we’d have the most glorious dinner: cheese on tomato thins with a dollop of chilli chutney, marmalade on toast (because, really, is there anything better than breakfast for dinner?), cheese wafers topped with crème fraiche and roe, and of course, one too many chocolate oat crumble. And maybe even a caramel waffle or two.
Yes, it all sounds like a dream, but unlike many others, this one will get true; in the way only shooting star wishes do. A dream I am resolved to have on repeat for the Christmases to come.
You’ll find a detailed description of the hamper we chose here, although I do believe it is now out of stock. And more Harrods Christmas hampers here.
Disclaimer: This hamper was offered to me by Harrods for review; I was not compensated in any other way nor asked to write this post. I chose to tell you about it on my blog because I genuinely fell in love with it and would happily recommend it to friends.
“Saffran, pepparkakor, lingon och mandel.”
If you sat on the windowsill, here with me – yes, right now – you’d see many things around us. The stars and advent candles, fluttering in every house. The snow, covering roofs till the horizon and further.
In my kitchen – and I suspect many others – saffran, pepparkakor, lingon och mandel [saffron, gingerbread, lingon berries and almonds] pervade the air in the way only they can. And we’d watch bullar rise under the yellow glow of the oven lamp, spitting butter and oozing with marzipan just so.
Yes, it’s time to start baking with saffron, although I might have possibly started a couple of weeks ago.
And if you’d ever ask me, I’d possibly urge you to start too; most likely with my absolute favourite buns: saffransbullar med mandelmassa.
