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Excerpt from Jul: Swedish American Holiday Traditions by Patrice Johnson

ASI's Nordic Table teaching artist Patrice Johnson and the art of holiday foodways.

I hear the crackling of tiny meatballs frying in butter, and the house is filled with a familiar heady perfume of beef, pork, and allspice. There is a nuance to the sound and smell, and I instinctively know when to turn the balls or remove them from the heat and add another dozen to the pan. If the smoke alarm goes off, I’ll know I’ve channeled my late father, who was a notorious meatball burner.

Anyone who has ever made multiple batches of Swedish meatballs in a single afternoon knows that you lose count after fifty and the balls get bigger as afternoon becomes evening. There is a comfort in knowing that for more than one hundred years someone in my family has spent Christmas Eve standing watch over the meatballs.

For generations before me and generations to follow, the traditional dishes placed upon our julbord (Christmas table) honor our collective past, nourish our present, and demonstrate hope for our future. Food is a compelling tool for telling our stories, especially our stories of immigration. For immigrant families like mine, the simple but significant meatball is loaded with meaning. My family pulled out our Swedish traditions mostly during the holidays. Our house was a good mashup of Swedish and American celebration, and our post-Thanksgiving lead-up to Christmas was filled with Saturday afternoons painting the sugar cookies that mom baked and sprinkling rosettes with powdered sugar. I was beyond excited with each year’s Christmas tree, so large that it practically pushed us out of our living room.

Patrice Johnson

All twelve months of my kid calendar rotated around annual viewings of A Charlie Brown Christmas and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. When it was time to hang our stockings, we five sisters carefully patched our names with a swath of glue and glitter, then hung the stockings in chronological order (mine being the smallest and last due to my position as the youngest). It was all so thrilling I could hardly bear it.

Yet the true thrill of it all was anticipating Christmas Eve dinner, when we would sit together at a table bursting with all manner of Swedish concoctions. Always present were typical Swedish julbord dishes like tiny allspice-kissed meatballs, boiled potatoes with “runny butter,” fruit salad, and the borrowed Norwegian specialty lefse (we ate it warm with butter and never sugared). Before my time there was lutfisk, a cream sauce, dilled peas, and rice pudding. The meal also included a a hefty hot dish of baked macaroni and cheese — makaronipudding.

What makes this food Swedish? It is dill, cream, or potatoes? Does it capture a time and place? Is it in the intention of those who bake the rye bread or roll tiny meatballs scented with allspice? Is it the Nordic way of contrasting yet balancing color and texture: pairing meat dishes with fruits and subdued whites and tans with bright berries and herbs? Is it the rich but not overly sweet dessert? Does this definition of Swedishness include the macaroni and cheese my family serves every Christmas Eve, just as our greatgrandmother served it nearly one hundred years ago?

All foodways are influenced by place and time. Food is a dynamic phenomenon. Yet, much of the Swedish food we place on our celebratory tables is what our grandparents brought with them from a time long past. Certainly, the recipes, ingredients, and cooking techniques have evolved, yet the core of the dishes remains intact. The result is a unique regional Swedish American cuisine.

Purchase Patrice's book, Jul: Swedish American Holiday Traditions at the ASI Museum Store or online at asimn.org. Text reproduced with permission from the Minnesota Historical Society Press.

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