make lefse, not war.

I still haven’t told you about our lefse night here in southeastern Minnesota!  Watch me blog loudly about it.  

Paige, Lauren, and I each followed Belva’s lefse recipe and made a batch of lefse one Thursday evening, each in our respective kitchens.  On Friday, we gathered in jD and Lauren’s kitchen to turn the potato flakes, butter, and flour into rolled and grilled circles of Norwegian goodness.  Lauren had decorated for the occasion and Paige brought Grace Lutheran’s classic kitchen aprons.  [The one jD chose to wear even had a kleenex in the pocket.  Yummy.]

Once we got the hang of it, the three batches of lefse went quite smoothly.  We each naturally migrated towards places of rolling or mixing or grilling, each with our hands steadily coated in flour and our feet growing tired after hours on them.  We found one of the most rewarding parts to be taking the cooled lefse from between the towel sandwich and folding them into bags.  What a sweet reward for our hours of intense Norwegian labor.

Another rewarding part?  The lefse quesadillas.  Incredibly delicious.

Make lefse.  Not war.  Destined to be another southeastern clergy-group-of-awesome tradition.