I’ve always been an eater, not a baker.
But this holiday season I decided to challenge myself—I would bake Kransekake.
In my younger days, I must have been too interested in slam books and the cute gymnast in my homeroom to watch my mother bake Kransekake. Then, when my kids were growing up, I concentrated on baking and decorating Moravian sugar cookie cutouts and gingerbread boys and girls. Kransekake was the domain of my mother. We’d devour her towering creations when we drove to State College for the holidays.
The recipe and custom of making almond Kransekake, Norwegian for “wreath or ring cake,” arrived in our household from one of my mother’s dearest friends. Mabel sometimes joked that my Polish mother must be more Norwegian than she, because Marie became an expert at making Kransekake. (Mabel was famous for pinching little boys on the cheek to greet them. In fact, after one weekend with Mabel and family, Richard started calling pinches on the cheek “Mabels.”)
Tins of Kransekake were stored in my mother’s dressing room, far from little fingers, sometimes with a crust of bread locked inside, to ensure they’d be chewy, not hard.
These towering ring cakes could fit over champagne bottles for weddings, it was said. Not that we ever tried that. But the almond cookies did come with special lore. You could never take the top ring off until the tower was completely eaten—or you’d have a year of bad luck. So, there was a process.
Remember, these were pre-COVID days.
First, the almond cookies are notoriously difficult to remove from the “non-stick” molds. So, a host of broken rings always surrounded the tower of cookies stacked in the center of the table. Then, as the broken pieces were eaten, an adult would gently lift up the tower and the bottom one or two rings were broken and placed around the edge of the platter, with the tower a little shorter, but still impressive. This went on as the night, or nights, wore on.
I have my own set of Kransekake molds, six metal plates with three rings, enough make 18 rings. Sadly, unused. I inherited another set, bound for Belgium, and a Mirro cookie press, also never used by me. But I never watched the process of making the actual cookies.
So, I carefully washed the pans, and called my sisters Lisa and Lee Ann for help. Lisa snapped a photo of the recipe she had from Mabel and attached it to an email:
“I’ve made it a few times but never very successfully. I often had trouble getting them out of the rings. So make sure you grease pans well. I forget whether it even said to grease. Anyway, getting them out of pans, not overcooking, and I remember my hand getting sore squeezing it out of the cookie press if the batter was too dry. Not sure if any of that will be helpful.”
Lee Ann texted photos of the recipe found inside her Kransekake mold package. The first was in Norwegian; the second, luckily, a translation in English, using grams. In follow up calls on the phone, she too warned of the troubles getting the cookies out of the molds.
I looked at too many recipes and sites on the Internet, including Martha Stewart’s, and one that went through a lengthy process of blanching almonds, but I remained unsure I could accomplish the task ahead. So many recipes called for hand rolling the mixture to finger-thick lengths before placing them in the molds. I don’t remember my mother saying anything about hand rolling the cookies.
As I checked out the cookie press, I found the same Kransekake recipe Lee Ann sent, so I was feeling more confident. My mother must have used this to fill the molds.
At the supermarket, I bought blanched whole almonds, sliced, blanched almonds, and heck, a bag of almond meal. I wanted to have backups.
The recipe indicated first grinding the almonds. “Do not use a food mixer, as this will result in the mixture being short and unworkable.” Well, did this mean I couldn’t use a food processor to grind the almonds? I feel sure my mother would have. And if not, how was I to grind them? And what does it mean if the mixture is “short”? Meanwhile, I’m using my phone to convert 500 grams of almonds and icing sugar into cups (5.2).
Finally, I decided to keep it simple. I had never heard of almond meal before but I read the label carefully and it contained nothing other than almonds. So, I chose that.
Into a metal mixing bowl went almond meal, 5 cups; confectioner’s sugar, 5 cups; 2 level tablespoons of plain flour; and 3 egg whites, unbeaten. I mixed the ingredients with a silicone spatula/spoon. It seemed dry. I added a fourth egg white. For those gluten-free folks, I can’t see that there would be a problem skipping the 2T of wheat flour.
I kept hearing my mother’s voice saying, “Use the star.” So, I chose a tip for the cookie press that was star-like which I could fit my finger through. I scooped some of the almond dough into the press, screwed on the back and began to twist the end knob.
I filled one of the mold plates, put it on a cookie sheet, and slid it into the pre-heated oven for 10 minutes as a trial. When I brought it out of the oven, the dough of the three rings had flowed together. No go. Next, I tried the much smaller star disc. Fresh out of the oven they looked just like my mother’s. Success!
Well, not so fast. There was still the problem of gently lifting the rings out of the buttered (or in my case, olive oil cooking spray-coated) molds.
Some broke, but the majority made it to the cooling rack intact. Then there was the task of icing the cookies. I don’t have a pastry bag but read somewhere that a plastic sandwich bag with a corner cut off would suffice. It might have, had I made the icing a little thicker. As it was, most of the icing dripped through the cooling rack onto the table. When I removed the rack, it looked like a flock of seagulls had flown over. The cookie rings themselves were dotted with icing, not the elegant chain of loops my mother made. Next time.
In the end, I was able to stack enough rings to make a decent-looking tower. I packed them in two plastic Dollar Store cake carriers and placed them on my bedroom dresser for safekeeping.
Christmas afternoon, with single-digit temperatures, we headed to the mountains to a luxurious “cabin” my chef-phew Wille rented. It was a special weekend for a large family gathering with his parents, three brothers and families, and his fiancé Natali and her family, including her grandfather Gabriel. He was visiting from Peru and had never experienced a Pennsylvania winter.
The mountains were white with snow and studded with bare trees. The driveway was slick with ice. Wille asked us to bring rock salt and suggested we park at the end of the lane and walk up. The luck of Kransekakewas on our side.
Richard carried the rock salt, a bag of goodies, two cake carriers containing the Kransekake, and held my hand. We made it to the door without a fall, joined the festivities, and introduced Kransekake to our future Peruvian extended family. Marie was smiling from above. Happy New Year! Laurie Lynch
The Scoop: Upon Internet investigation, aluminum Mirro cookie presses are now considered “vintage”. The Wisconsin company stopped making them in the late 1970s or early 1980s. Today all cookie presses have some plastic parts. Used vintage models are available online, as are Kransekake molds.
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