Tag: post scriptum

  • PS. Time to start baking with saffron

    PS. Time to start baking with saffron

    “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.

    My saffron recipes

    Saffranskladdkaka

    [Swedish saffron blondies] Snipp, snapp, snut – så var julen slut. Christmas has come and gone, and I never got …
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    Birgittas saffranskaka

    [Birgitta´s saffron cake] If you follow me on instagram, you’ll recognise this cake. One that I make year after year, …
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    Saffransmazariner

    [Saffron mazariner] Twelve weeks ago, almost to the second, Sienna was put on my chest; pink as a candy, eyes …
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    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 …
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    PS. Time to start baking with saffron

    “Saffran, pepparkakor, lingon och mandel.” If you sat on the windowsill, here with me – yes, right now – you’d …
    Read More

    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 …
    Read More
  • PS. We picked apples and made cider. Oh and an apple cake too!

    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. And I really wanted to believe him so I proceeded to do so. I picked a few. Held them in my dress. Peeled them and cored them, with a small knife. Sliced them with the very same knife. And layered them with honey. I whisked eggs into butter and sugar. Eggs paler than the milky-way above our heads the night before. And added wholewheat flour and cinnamon just so. The cake went into the oven and we went fly-fishing by the river. We saw grown-up salmons jump, and tiny frogs too. I was taught how to say liten groda and it meant so much more. We picked blueberries, but you already know that.

    So yes, we picked apples and made cider. Cider for in a few months. And I made an apple cake. For dinner that night. It came with vanilla ice-cream from a tub. And I remember how we cut into it with a knife.

    RECIPE: A cider and apple cake, not unlike a tatin tart.
  • PS. Une brioche avec un peu plus de beurre

    PS. Une brioche avec un peu plus de beurre

    [PS. A brioche with a tad more butter]

    London, sometime in April.
    I made a brioche. In five minutes; and five days. We woke up early to shape and proof the dough. Well, I did. A couple of hours later, we sat at the table, with our eyes still plein de sommeil [full of sleep].

    And we had a slice each. With plenty of strawberry jam. And a cup of coffee.

    I then proceeded to braid my hair. And for a walk we went. The trees were snowing and no matter how long I will live in London, my dreams will always float higher with the April snow.
    Another coffee was taken, at a café this time; perhaps in Fulham or Clapham. I can’t remember.

    But I recall a phone conversation with my mum. About the brioche. And how she should make it.

    France, sometime in May.
    I flew in wearing UGG boots and a wool scarf. But as we reached the car on the airport parking lot, I switched for those leather sandals I’m so fond of.

    We arrived home. And dropped the suitcases somewhere in the living room.

    Without judging unpacking necessary, we headed to the kitchen. An apron got wrapped around my waist, flour got weighed out, dough was put away in a bowl.

    And before we knew it, we made a brioche. In five minutes; and a five days. Oh and five hundred grams of butter. Perhaps with a couple of hidden chocolate squares. Yes, perhaps…
    It tasted just as good. If not better.



    Process: Five-minute brioche.

    And just so my mum doesn’t have an excuse not to make brioche, here is the recipe in French. Oui!
    Accents included and all. Mum if you knew how long it takes to add accents when you have an English keyboard, you’d already be making brioche as you read this.

    Dans un bol, fouetter le beurre fondu, l’eau, le sel, les oeufs et le miel. Ajouter la farine et la levure. Mélanger à la cuillère en bois jusqu’à obtention d’une pâte souple et homogène.

    Recouvrir le bol avec un torchon et laisser pousser à température ambiante pour un peu plus de 2h.

    Une fois la pâte ayant doublé de volume, mettre le bol – toujours recouvert d’un torchon – au frigo pendant au moins 24h.

    Le lendemain – ou n’importe quand dans les cinq jours qui suivent – beurrer un moule à cake génereusement. Prélever 450g de pâte du pâton. Puis la diviser en quatre. Fleurer (fariner) le plan de travail et bouler (former des boules) chacun des morceaux.

    Placer les boules dans le moule préalablement beurré et faire pousser pendant 1h30.

    Pendant ce temps, préchauffer le four a 190°C. Battre un oeuf pour la dorure. Dorer la brioche au pinceau. Et cuire pour 40 à 50 minutes. Démouler et laisser refroidir sur une grille.