Sales and Semlor

I realized the other day that I haven't really been utilizing all of Stockholm's resources lately. Namely, it's been a long time since I've gone out and just walked around town, which is the main weekend pastime here. So yesterday after a killer kettlebell class (my hands are getting ripped to shreds from all the swinging and snatching) I walked downtown to check out the scene. To my great joy and mild apprehension—gulp—I discovered that every shop in town has deeply discounted its merchandise to make room for the spring collections. Signs everywhere read 70% off! Slut rea! Realization! Final sale! Translation: the city is my Century 21. So, I did a small amount of damage. I picked up a fantastic cropped leather jacket from superhip Swedish designer Whyred, a corset belt and daringly draped turquoise jersey dress from Malin Berger and a pair of sexy but highly walkable black knee boots from Kenzo. *Long, low whistle.*

Aaaaand I might have also stopped into a salon and had my hair dyed red. My mom and husband are not thrilled about this because they "like me better blonde," but I feel like I look more interesting with a little bit of colorful pop, especially when I'm here in Sweden, surrounded by towheads. Plus, my dad, grandma, aunt and cousin are all redheads, so I feel like I have genetic carrot top cred.

While walking around town I also noticed an interesting foodie/cultural thing: There's a new seasonal pastry on the scene called "semla" (plural: semlor) and it's apparently very, very Swedish and important. There are coffee shops and konditori (pastry shops) on every block in Stockholm, and right now each one holds displays of this round yeast bun flavored with cardamom and filled with cream and almond paste. They were traditionally made for Fat Tuesday, as a way of using up all the rich ingredients prior to the pre-Easter fast, but these days they're served as early as possible, because people can't get enough of them. So now instead of just one fat day, there's basically fat January, February and March. I sat down to lunch at my usual salad place yesterday and people were queued up around the corner buying semlor. I sat there picking at a plate of greens while watching people stuff these huge cream buns into their faces and I just about died with jealousy, but managed to get out of there without eating one. Then I continued to be tortured by semlor calling out to me from every shop window in town: "Megan! Eat me!" I knew I wouldn't be able to fight the good fight forever and I'd have to taste one, so I was super psyched when I saw a gorgeous display of miniature semlor in a shop window on the way to work this morning. I got to experience the deliciousness in a golf ball-sized portion, which was exciting to my palate but not overly treacherous for my hips. It really is a nice flavor combo: the buns are soft and yeasty like dinner rolls, and kicked up with a touch of cardamom. The cream is barely sweetened, and a thin layer of marzipan provides a sugary bit of texture and rich almond flavor.

According to Niklas, the endless font of random historical knowledge, an 18th century king named Adolf something or other died after gorging himself on 14 semlor in one sitting. I assume this was after a full meal or something. Modern-day eating champions would scoff at such a poor performance. He was probably poisoned.

I was hoping to leave you with a video on how to make semlor, but a quick YouTube search yielded much stranger stuff. A Rammstein song set entirely to one unmoving image of a single semla and this little gem. They're singing about how the semla comes to cheer us up when it's dark and the weather is bad!