Kransekake Queen?

Maybe "Kransekake (crawn'-seh-caw-keh) Queen" should be my nickname. I made four of these tedious treats for our church's Scandinavian Dinner and Concert tonight. Why?

My husband likes to boast of his Norwegian heritage. Because he co-chaired tonight's event on the eve before Norway's Constitution Day (called "syttende mai"), Dan asked me to make Norway's National Cake for an estimated 100 people to taste.

I promised "to attempt the process" but not to "produce the product." Even Norway's best chefs concede, "Sometimes the recipe works and sometimes it doesn't." (Hence the menu's other desserts: krumkake, rosettes and fruit soup.)

Each ring on the Macaroon Wreath Cake is very delicate. During the process, I'm usually lucky to salvage enough for one 18-graduated-ring tower. I decided to make two batches and hoped for two cakes and lots of side-serving pieces.

Wednesday evening I felt blessed when one set of 18 rings came out perfect. Three other sets had a few rings with manageable cracks. I bagged, labeled and froze the rings overnight. Thursday I let them thaw – a step to achieve "chewiness."

Thursday evening, I mixed up bags of icing, sorted "puzzle" pieces and "glued" together the towers – one at a time. The result? Four cakes!

I sealed the cakes in plastic wrap overnight to further the "aging" or "chewiness" process and let my imagination flow. Since Scandinavians use the kransekake for a variety of celebrations, I decorated each one differently.





Here's one
dressed up
wedding style
with
red roses,
pearls
and
ivy.








Another
decked
out
for
baptism
or
confirmation
with
white
lace,
tiny rose buds
and topped with a dove.




The last one
I called:
"A Friendship Cake."

Besides the Norwegian
flags, I attached
chocolates wrapped
in colored tissue paper
and ribbons
to represent
Sweden, Denmark,
Finland and Iceland.

(In spite of its slightly smaller size and drippy glaze, Aaron insisted this candy-laden cake should be his. All four of my guys LOVE kransekake and couldn't understand why I didn't hold one back just for us.)

To say the least, the kransekake was a hit. Because it contains just almonds, powdered sugar, egg whites and a few splashes of milk, this dessert appealed even to diet-conscious folk. Both Noah and Aaron took charge of serving kransekake to the already over-stuffed party guests. (Pea soup, flat bread, lefse, herring, baked cod, Swedish sausage, dill carrots, boiled potatoes and white sauce as well as lingonberry preserves and juice made up the first two courses.)

"I really pushed it," Aaron told me later. "I told them, 'THIS (kransekake) is THE best dessert of ALL!'"

The boys had their fun and I had mine. Earlier in the day while googling images of kransekake to look for cake-topper ideas, I came across a Scandinavian-bakery website. Imagine my shock when I saw the line item for this product at $125.

Multiplying that price by four cakes, I quickly copied the inform-
ation, pasted it to a new email and addressed it to Dan – who pesters me to rejoin the workforce. I sent him the email under the title: "My New Job?"

Tsja? (As they say in Norway.)


Well... Maybe "Kransekake Queen" works best for fun and not fortune.