There are so many reasons to celebrate. Daily ones in fact. From the sweetest smiles to the dearest conversations to the sun’s rays dancing across the trees. It would be unfitting to overlook the simple delights that each day brings and which call for even the smallest hint of celebration.
That’s what bløtkake is all about. It’s a celebration cake. The quintessential Norwegian party cake, because it always makes an appearance. From the light and fluffy sponge to the delightfully tangy and sweet berries. It’s essentially a layer cake with cream, and sometimes custard, sandwiched between vanilla sponge. It can be topped with cream and fruit or enclosed with marzipan. It’s one of those cakes where anything goes. You pick the fruit, the fillings and the toppings, just keep the sponge and cream.
Layer cakes say a lot about celebrations because, just like the cake, a reason to celebrate is usually a build up of many things that culminate into an integrated and splendid outcome.
Apple trees across the valley hang a little heavier these days, their branches full of the fruit which has been growing and ripening over the past few weeks. The ground beneath them is dotted with hues of red and green and yellow as if it were merely a reflection of the tree itself covered in the same hues. The branches hang low and graze the grass, having given way to gravity and appearing in need of having their seasonal burden lifted. And so, kids and adults alike grab baskets and bowls and pluck the fruit from the low branches and climb on ladders to reach those on the very top. It’s a joyous time, when nature’s bounty can be harvested and enjoyed.
My mother-in-law, Kari, makes one of the best cheesecakes (ostekaker) around. It’s her most requested dessert, and I, of course, was incredibly pleased when she shared with me the recipe on one of her latest visits so I could share it with you. It’s a fluffy and light variation on what can be quite a heavy dessert. Her recipe has a subtle touch of lemon and the base has a buttery, sweet and salty taste that literally melts in the mouth. It’s a variation that I have never come across before, being more accustomed to the American style of cheesecake. Yet, this is the genius of a recipe when it spans across countries and cultures and time. The ingredients are tweaked. The taste becomes accustomed. And the style is in the eye of the beholder. Variation. The spice of life. And what a sweet spice this is.
It’s 9.00am when I pass through the open doors of the old barn, overlooking a valley carving its way through the mountainous terrain of Uvdal, Norway. The sun peaks through the grey clouds which have left morning dew on the yellow flowers popping around the well-worn farm. There is a cool breeze, which is welcome in the Uvdalsleiven kitchen, where the takke (griddle) reigns as it exerts its heat in every corner of the room. It’s temperamental. The colder it is inside, the higher its temperature must be. The hotter it is, the lower its temperature. And so it is with the takke, the surroundings effecting it in a way that only an experienced baker can instinctively master. Like a barista, the baker must constantly be in control and make adjusts to produce a quality product. And here at Uvdalsleiven, you can immediately see the symbiotic relationship which creates so much harmony in the kitchen. 
Sprouts of stinging nettles and wood nettles (brennesle) have unearthed across our farm following an indecisive spring which left plenty of water and a sudden transition from frosty earth to vibrant patches of green. In only a few short days, they have begun a siege to take over; relentless, swift and full of surprise positioning. While their dominance and sting may prompt many to take up battle, it is their nutrition and use in cooking which have many people, including myself, welcome the voracious growing with open arms.
My sister recently collated and copied my Great Grandmother’s recipes as gifts for the whole family. Reading through the recipes brought back so many wonderful memories. Her cookies were always a highlight of our holiday traditions. Cookies that, today, seem classical and perhaps a bit vintage. Something our grandmother grew up with and baked for us in our childhood, but we rarely, if ever, bake in our own kitchens.
