The culinary art of Lefse making

The lefse-making season is finally upon us. As a child, my Grandmother would make lefse every year just before Thanksgiving. It's a tradition I remember fondly, one I adopted once I could purchase a proper lefse-making kit. If you aren't familiar with lefse, it is like a tortilla made with potato instead of corn. That is the best description. It is the Norwegian taco shell. I've honestly never tried to make a taco or burrito with one, but I suspect it might be ok. If one can eat lutefisk with lefse, it is undoubtedly acceptable for anything else.
The history of lefse varies depending on what book or website you look at. Some claim the mighty Vikings made lefse for trips across the sea. I am sure they would have raided and pillaged villages looking for better food. Unfortunately, potatoes hadn't been introduced to Norway in those times. If the Viking carried a flatbread, it wasn't a potato lefse. There are several kinds of lefse; in our case, we make a potato lefse. My mother and Grandmother also made a hard lefse more like a tasteless cracker. Like lutefisk, you can eat it if you put enough butter on it.
After hauling the Bethany lefse kit from the basement, it sat in our office until we finally felt like taking on the task. It isn't so much complex as it is time-consuming and messy. Like every other year, I dig out the directions/recipe booklet and add ingredients to my shopping list—russet potatoes, flour, butter, and whipping cream (I already have the salt). You can make lefse with potato flakes, but that is sacrilege.
We use about ten pounds of russet potatoes. Peel and slice them in quarters, boil until soft, and then the fun starts. You get to break out an ancient potato ricer and test the limits of your arthritis. A potato ricer is a contraption that has a container with holes. You place the boiled potatoes in that container and then use the plunger and handles on the ricer to smash the potatoes through the holes. Ricing potatoes reminds me of YouTube videos where someone squeezes a giant zit. The potato shoots out of the holes all over the bowl below it. I'm sure you are thankful that I provided that imagery.
Because it's in my written directions, and I enjoy torturing myself, I rice my potatoes twice. Add salt, cream, and flour, and mix it all up, then let it cool. Now, you get to form the potato mixture into tennis ball-sized balls. I roll the balls, put them in cake pans, separate the layers with wax paper, and then stick them in the fridge overnight.
The next day, you pull out the roller, add its cloth sleeve, heat the flat grill, place the cover on the rolling board, and tell your son to stop using the lefse stick like a sword. Then, you get out 25 pounds of flour and prepare to cover your kitchen with it. We leave the tray of balls in the fridge until we are ready to roll each one. The three of us have a system: I roll, my son cooks, and my wife places them in towels to cool before stacking them for packaging.
Flour the rolling board, flour the rolling pin, flour the rolling board more, flour the pin more. If the lefse sticks to the board or pin, it will ruin the rest of your day. I fashion the lefse ball into a patty and then flour it more before trying my best to roll it into a thin circular sheet of lefse. My lefse looks more like the state of Alaska than a circle, but I'm still a novice. Once the semi-circular sheet is rolled out, slide your lefse stick under it, lift it, and place it on the large flat grill. Wait for it to bubble a bit before flipping. You will get a feel for the timing. I've never actually timed to see how long it takes to cook.
You must immediately consume the first piece with some butter. Continue the process until you have rolled out all of the balls. Remember to flour between each piece. Flour the board and the rolling pin generously. If you get a sticky spot, you can use a butter knife to clean that spot off, but then you need to use extra flour because it will continue to be an issue for the rest of your prep time. We will cook about 20 or so; that is enough to share with family and keep around the house for the holidays.
Our ritual of enjoying lefse involves meatballs, sausage links, or butter and sugar. I've always liked it plain; tear it into strips, place one end of the strip in your mouth, and slowly start eating it as it dangles down your chin. There is nothing elegant or sophisticated about my lefse eating rituals.
We have been making lefse every year for the last five years. I am thankful my teenage son still enjoys being part of the process. I swear I blinked one day when he was 10, and when I opened my eyes, he was 15. I deeply cherish this time with him. No social media distractions tell us what to be upset about today. We listen to music and the expletives that come from me now and then. My son draws silly pictures on the back of my shirt using flour. The whole process serves as a beautiful reminder that the moments we share are what truly matter. This simple activity connects us and highlights the warmth of family and the importance of creating memories together. The moments spent together are the sweetest treasures that fill our memories with joy and love. I hope these experiences will inspire future generations to continue this tradition. It's not merely about the lefse; it's a cherished tradition of unity.