When planning the menu for my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party, I wanted to make sure to have some sandwiches hearty enough to stand in for dinner. We can't all subsist on salads and dessert! But while these sandwiches are decidedly NOT friendly to folks who don't eat pork or meat (always make sure all guests can eat!), they are delicious and worth a try for those of you who do eat pork.

Although many people don't realize it, ham is quintessentially Scandinavian. It is a popular Christmas and Easter dish, and the Danish pork industry supplies most of Continental Europe. We always had ham for Easter growing up, and sometimes for Christmas, too (along with Swedish meatballs). It's also a popular sandwich meat in the United States, where deli-style hams are very similar to those produced in Denmark. 

Jarlsberg is also a popular Scandinavian cheese here in the U.S. A Swiss-style cheese introduced to the dairy farms of Jarlsberg, Norway in the 1850s, it had disappeared by the 20th century. In the 1950s, scientists at the Agricultural University of Norway were intrigued by a graduate student's paper on the historic cheeses of Vestfold, Norway (where Jarlsberg is located) and set about to recreate the historic Swiss-style cheese.

Rich and very butter, with extra-large holes, Jarlsberg is coated in red wax and the details of its production are a trade secret. 

Combining the two on pumpernickel rye with a dollop of lingonberry jam seemed like a match made in heaven, and I was right.

Lingonberries, also sometimes known as partridgeberries or cow berries, are a relative of the cranberry. Lingonberries are native to the boreal forests of Scandinavia and the rest of Northern Europe, Russia, Alaska, Canada, etc. Tiny and tart, they feature heavily in Scandinavian cuisine, especially with game meats and in desserts and drinks. If you can't find lingonberry jam, you can substitute cranberry sauce, but it won't be the same.

thinly sliced sturdy pumpernickel bread
butter
shaved natural ham
Jarlsberg cheese
lingonberry jam or preserves

Butter a slice of pumpernickel or rye bread thinly, edge-to-edge, and top with a slice or two of natural (I prefer bone-in) ham. Add a slice or two of Jarlsberg on top (use a Norwegian osthovel for best results!) and top with a small spoonful of lingonberry jam.

The salty, fattiness of the ham, the buttery taste of the Jarlsberg, and the acid sweetness of the lingonberry jam work just wonderfully together. Plus they're pretty, too!

​You can serve these as part of a smorgasbord, like I did, or alone for a fancy lunch. The bread tends to dry out if left out too long, so if you have any party leftovers, be sure to seal and refrigerate to ensure freshness. I like to make the leftover open-faced sandwiches (if there are any!) closed by simply placing to of them together, open faces in! 

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Salmon is a classic Scandinavian dish. Spring salmon runs up the fjords and rivers of Scandinavia from late May/early June through most of the summer. Salmon is eaten fresh, but it is also made into gravlax, a mild cold-cured dish made by burying whole salmon filets in a mixture of salt, sugar, and herbs.

Salmon also features in many New England summer traditions, including Fourth of July menus, which consisted largely of salmon, new potatoes, and fresh peas. Historically, as with many springtime fish runs, salmon was inexpensive and easy to obtain, both in the United States and Scandinavia. Not so anymore.

I wanted to serve salmon at my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party, but I was also short on time and feeding a crowd. I decided against the more intensive prep of a poached or grilled salmon filet and settled on the easier and more wallet-friendly canned salmon instead. I use the smaller tins of sustainably harvested wild-caught salmon that don't contain any skin or bones. 

The inspiration for this recipe came from a historic one I saw a while ago. Linda Hull Larned's One Hundred Picnic Suggestions cookbook, published in 1915, had a recipe for Salmon Salad which called for the use of rice, but offered an alternative of hard boiled eggs and cucumber. Since I was already making deviled eggs, I decided to go a little lighter and use just cucumber. 

This recipe makes a lot of sandwiches (enough for all of the ones pictured above), so feel free to cut the recipe in half if you're serving fewer people.

2 cans (5 oz. each) salmon
1 cup finely chopped English cucumber
2 scallions, sliced
fresh dill, minced
lemon juice or white wine vinegar
salt 
pepper
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
mayonnaise


Drain and flake the salmon, then stir in the cucumber, scallions, and fresh dill. Add salt and pepper and a splash or two of lemon juice or white wine vinegar and toss to coat. Stir in Dijon mustard and mayonnaise to coat. Serve on thin slices of fine-grained but sturdy white bread (I used semolina batard). You should probably butter your bread slices - I didn't, thinking the mayonnaise was moist enough, but they got a little soggy! You could also serve on toast or with water crackers. 

If you can't find or don't like salmon, you could certainly substitute tuna. But if you don't generally like tuna salad, give salmon salad a try! It is milder-tasting and the cucumbers give a refreshing crunch. 

If you wanted to be extra-fancy, you could certainly also use leftover grilled, poached, or roasted salmon, flaked, although be aware that most modern salmon filets are going to be fattier than canned salmon, so keep that in mind, flavor-wise. 

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Growing up, I considered Scandinavian-style open-faced sandwiches the epitome of style. Which, in a region where "traditional" Scandinavian food is essentially variations on meat and potatoes, it was! I requested a Scandinavian smorgasbord for my high school graduation party, and that's what I got! Of course, mine were more American than the traditional Danish versions with tiny shrimps or smoked salmon, but still delicious.

When planning my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party, I knew I wanted open-faced sandwiches for the main dish, because they would be relatively quite and easy to assemble, and they were small enough for people to have lots. Plus! They could be served cold, so no having to manage a hot main course.

The official name for open-faced sandwiches is smørrebrød, which is Danish for (literally) "butter-bread," but which is used to refer to a very specific style of open-faced sandwich. Danish smørrebrød etiquette is a bit too formal for me - eating sandwiches with a knife and fork?! No thanks. I'm Scandinavian AMERICAN, after all. And there are some very specific types of sandwiches, and even an order in which to eat them! This is a party, folks. I don't tell people how to eat unless they ask for advice. I also find the formality hilarious given the very plebian origins of open-faced sandwiches. Conventional wisdom draws a direct line from Medieval trenchers (essentially plates made of bread) to open-faced sandwiches. As with most food history, there isn't a ton of concrete evidence, but it's a logical connection. Others draw a line between 19th century field food for farmers, who ate leftovers with buttered bread for lunch. Regardless, there are some commonalities between most open-faced sandwiches.

1. Fine-grained rye bread is the best and sturdiest foundation.

2. Yes, you have to butter the bread - thinly and edge to edge. This keeps the bread structure together and prevents it from getting soggy. Buttering edge-to-edge also helps keep the bread from drying out.

3. No, it cannot have another piece of bread on top. Otherwise it's not open-faced anymore!

Other than that, the sky's the limit! I made four different ones for the party, and all were a hit. Here's my personal favorite:

At that graduation party, a variation of this was one of my favorite sandwiches my mom came up with - tiny party rye slices spread with herbed cream cheese and topped with a slice of summer sausage, a slice of cucumber, and a sprig of dill. These aren't quite the same, but equally delicious.

Fine-grained rye bread, buttered
Thinly sliced dill Havarti cheese
1 slice summer sausage (not salami!)
1 slice English cucumber

Summer sausage is a must here. It's almost impossible to find in my neck of the woods, so when I was in Ohio for a wedding back in April, and saw giant sticks of it in the grocery store, I grabbed one to take home. It's all gone now (sadly), and it wasn't QUITE as good as the stuff from back home in North Dakota (which is known for its sausage), but it was better than anything out here in New York. Unlike dried sausages like salami or pepperoni, summer sausage is able to be kept at room temperature because of a bacteria which lowers the PH of the sausage and gives it its signature tangy taste. You have to refrigerate it once it's unsealed, but it's softer and less fatty than salami and the flavor is just as good if not better. 

I saw dill Havarti in the store, so had to get it for this recipe. I got mine sliced at the deli. Havarti was invented in Denmark and is an incredibly buttery-tasting, softish, lacy-grained cheese that is just lovely on sandwiches. 

The tender, dense rye bread, butter and buttery tasting Havarti, the tangy, salty summer sausage, and the crisp, cold cucumber are just a delicious taste sensation. I cut the bread in quarters for easier eating and to fit the sausage and cucumber better. 

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Cucumber salad with dill and sour cream just screams summer and Scandinavia. So when I planned my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party, I knew it had to be included. 

Agurksalat is the Norwegian name of cucumber salad, but funnily enough, most cucumber "salads" in Scandinavia are more like quick cucumber pickles - thinly sliced cucumbers are covered with a brine of vinegar, salt, and sugar, with fresh dill. This salad is often used to accompany fish, or as a topping for rye bread and liver pate. But where I was growing up in the Red River Valley of North Dakota, cucumber salad was made with sour cream. 

I wonder if these salads weren't invented to use up the bumper crops of cucumbers that often result. Certainly in Scandinavia they were historically celebrated as a herald of spring, and were eaten only for the short months they were available in outdoor gardens, mostly June and July.

In the US, especially the Upper Midwest, the cucumbers are often peeled, but I'm a big fan of English/burpless/seedless/Persian cucumbers, which are thinner skinned, less bitter, and more crisp than their larger counterparts. These cucumbers are perfect for salads as they're crisp enough to hold up under dressings but tender enough to taste more like garden-grown. 

I am not particularly a fan of the sweet-sour brine (which seems to also be used to pickle herring!), and dislike bread and butter pickles for this reason, so my cucumber salad recipe doesn't include any sugar. This last-minute addition ended up being one of the surprise smash hits of the afternoon, and I sent the little bit that was left home with a friend and her kids, who kept going back for seconds.

If you want a more traditional salad, google "agurksalat," but if you want something traditionally Midwestern Scandinavian-American, and surprisingly refreshing on a hot day, stay with me. 

6 mini Persian cucumbers, or 1 large English cucumber
1 teaspoon salt
2 scallions
white wine vinegar
full fat sour cream

Wash and thinly slice the cucumber - not paper-thin, but thinner than a quarter inch. Add salt to the bowl and toss the cucumber slices to coat. Let rest for 15 minutes, then drain off the juice. If you're avoiding salt, feel free to give them a little rinse and drain again. Slice the scallions paper-thin, and add to the cucumbers with a splash of vinegar and a dollop of sour cream. Toss everything together until the cucumbers are coated with the vinegar-sour cream mixture. Serve cold or cool. The cucumbers will be salty and crisp and the creamy-sour dressing will be very addictive. Great as an accompaniment to sandwiches, grilled fish or meats, or as one of a variety of cold salads served for a light supper.

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Nothing says summer like potato salad, but while many people have strong opinions about what constitutes potato salad and what doesn't, in my opinion, if it contains cold (or even warm!) potatoes and some kind of dressing, it's potato salad. 

Scandinavians have embraced the potato since it was introduced in the mid-1700s, and it now plays a foundational role in some of their most famous foods, including lefse, Jansson's temptation, and the beloved boiled red potatoes that accompany nearly every celebratory meal, including Midsummer. For my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party, I thought I'd riff off of a recipe my mother-in-law introduced to me, and make it slightly more Scandinavian. Hers calls for boiled potatoes, sweet onion, white vinegar, and mayo with dried dill. I made mine with boiled red potatoes (also a North Dakota favorite) and fresh dill. 

Native to the Mediterranean and Eurasia, dill is probably the most important culinary herb in Scandinavia. Only caraway gives it a run for its money. Although most Americans are probably only familiar with it thanks to dill pickles, it is one of my favorite herbs - fresh and green tasting, but not as one-dimensional as parsley or overpowering as fennel or rosemary. It is the perfect complement to fish, cucumbers (as you'll see in the next post), and yes, potatoes. Scandinavians also use it to flavor lamb stew, instead of the more Western mint. 

Fresh dill can be a bit of a pain to keep fresh, but trim the stems when you get home and place them in a wide-mouth pint mason jar with an inch or so of cold water. It will keep fresh at room temp for a day or so (change the water daily), but put it in the fridge with a plastic bag tent if you want it to keep for longer. 

The key to this tangy salad is the vinegar, and tossing the onions and potatoes while the potatoes are still hot. 

If you don't have fresh dill, you can certainly use 2 tablespoons dried dill, but the flavor, while good, won't be quite the same.

2-3 lbs red potatoes
1 sweet onion, like Vidalia or Walla-Walla
2+ tablespoons white or white wine vinegar
1+ cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup chopped fresh dill

Wash the potatoes and slice them about a quarter inch thick (I cut my very large potatoes in quarters first). Place in a large pot and add cold water to cover generously. Bring to a rolling boil, reduce the heat slightly (so they don't boil over), and cook until fork-tender, but not quite falling apart. Meanwhile, cut the root end off the onion, then cut in half lengthwise, peel, and cut in quarters or sixths. Slice crosswise paper thin. Add to a large serving bowl or casserole and toss the onions with the vinegar. When the potatoes are done, drain and let them steam for a second, then add while hot to the onions and vinegar. Toss well to combine. Then add mayonnaise to coat and the fresh dill. Taste and add more vinegar as necessary. The vinegar flavor will tame down a bit as the potatoes absorb it, so if making ahead taste the next day and add more vinegar as necessary. You can also add some sour cream if you want this potato salad to be even creamier. 

Serve as a side dish to grilled meats, sandwiches, or your favorite bean salad. 

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In our continuing Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party menu exploration, this mushroom pâté is relatively simple to make and a favorite of vegetarian guests. 

Although they're not often the first thing people consider when thinking of Scandinavian food, wild mushrooms are extremely popular in all the Nordic countries. Foraging is something of a national pastime, and while berries are easier to identify, mushrooms rank high on the list as well. Although in Scandinavia they are normally served in gratins, soups, and as an accompaniment to game meats, mushrooms in summer called for something a little different.

Traditionally pâté is made of finely ground meat and fat - goose liver (a.k.a. fois gras) is the most famous of the pâtés, which of course originate in France (hence the French word), but are common throughout northern Europe. Substituting mushrooms for meat is a common swap, but the same smooth texture is replicated, albeit in a lighter format.

There are lots of mushroom pâté recipes out there, but this is one of the simpler ones. It's based on a skillet dish I invented for a vegetarian friend. The lemon flavor doesn't fade as it often does in dishes, but adds an indefineable tang to the creamy richness.

I recommend a food processor or chopper for this to work well, but with some time and knife skills, you can make due without one.

For a more complex flavor, feel free to substitute your favorite wild mushrooms, or a combination of mushrooms. This recipe would also scale up easily if you're feeding a crowd. 

1 pint white button mushrooms
1 tablespoon butter
1-2 tablespoons lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon wild garlic salt (or regular sea salt)
1/4 cup heavy cream

Clean and coarsely chop the mushrooms, then add to a food processor or chopper. Pulse until the raw mushrooms start to form a paste. Be sure to ensure any large chunks are also finely chopped. If using a knife, just keep chopping until you can get them as fine as possible.

In a saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter and add the mushroom paste all at once. Stir well to combine and let cook until the liquid of the mushrooms cooks out and evaporates. Add the lemon juice and salt and cook until the juice is absorbed by the mushroom paste. Add the heavy cream and cook until absorbed. Serve warm, room temperature, or cold with rye crisps, crackers, or toast. 

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When it comes to freshness, there's nothing like a freshly picked garden pea. But most of us aren't growing them ourselves, and "fresh" peas in grocery stores are generally old enough that the sugars that make peas so delicious are converted to tasteless starch. Canned peas are generally overcooked and mushy. Fine for eating alongside mashed potatoes and meatloaf, but not so fresh-tasting. What's the solution? Frozen peas. 

Ironic, I know, but frozen peas are often so much better than "fresh" unless you've picked them yourself or get them the same day. To me, peas signal not only spring but also early summer - when mornings and evenings are still cool, even when midday is hot. In the Northeastern U.S., peas were historically on the menu as late as July 4th! They're popular in Scandinavia, too.

I wanted some nice, bright color for my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party, and this fresh pea spread hit the spot. I've made Spring Pea Hummus before - and that's equally delicious. But I wanted something vegan this time.  

This recipe definitely needs a food chopper or processor! You could use a food mill in a pinch, but you'll need to finely mince the onion, first.

1 bag frozen organic peas
1/4 sweet onion (I used Vidalia)
1 tablespoon lemon juice
​1 tablespoon olive oil
salt
pepper

Cook the peas in a little water on the stove or in the microwave until no longer frozen and just barely cooked. They'll be soft after thawing anyway. Add the peas and onions to the food chopper and pulse until well-mixed. Add a tablespoon of lemon juice and a tablespoon or two of olive oil and pulse again until as smooth as possible. If you're using a food mill, mince the onion as fine as you can before sending through the food mill with the peas, then mix in the lemon juice and olive oil by hand. Sample and add salt and pepper to taste. Serve on rye crisps or other crackers, or use as a sandwich spread.

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I'm not sure why deviled eggs are so popular. At least, mine are! They're always the first thing to go at every party, and no matter how many I make, even leftovers get devoured quickly. 

Historically, deviled eggs were "deviled" by mixing the yolks with soft butter and mustard. Later, the deviling became associated with cayenne pepper or paprika. The popularity of prepared mayonnaise meant that condiment soon supplanted butter as the primary ingredient. 

Deviled eggs are perfect for just about any party, but they seem especially lovely tea party, picnic, and summertime fare, so I just had to make them for my Scandinavian Midsummer Porch Party. As you can see in the photo, they were half-gone almost instantly, and totally gone by the end of the night. Despite their relative simplicity, they always seem so festive! They're not difficult or expensive to make, but a few tips will make things a bit easier than you might expect. 

I like to use free range local eggs for my deviled eggs, which makes for super delicious and bright yellow yolks. Slightly older eggs are better for peeling as the albumen of the egg starts to pull away from the shell. So if you've got a dozen eggs that need eating, there's no better way to use them up than deviled eggs. Deviled eggs are best when you boil the eggs the same day you devil them.

1 dozen eggs
mayonnaise
Dijon or spicy brown mustard
sour cream (optional)

In a stock pot large enough to accommodate all the eggs in a single layer without touching, cover the eggs with cold water. Cover the pot and place over high heat, bringing it to a full rolling boil. Turn off the heat and leave the eggs, covered, for 15 minutes. Then fish them out (a slotted spoon works nicely) and deposit them in a large bowl of ice water to stop the cooking process and cool them down. Let them rest at least 10 minutes. 

Now for the hard part - peeling them. I find the water method easiest. One at a time, place each egg in a glass, fill a third of the way with water, cover the top with your hand, and shake vigorously. Alternatively, crack the egg all over, peel up a small part, and then place under running water. In both instances, the water gets between the shell and the cooked egg, making peeling easier. Although a perfectly peeled egg is a joy, no one ever complains about a slightly battered one - they all taste the same!

Slice the peeled eggs in half lengthwise and pop the yolks out into a small bowl. Mash the yolks thoroughly with a fork, until no large chunks remain. Then add about a half cup of mayonnaise and 1-2 tablespoons of prepared mustard. Add some sour cream if you like. The yolk mixture should be extra-creamy, but bright yellow from the yolks. Taste and add more mustard or salt as you like. Remember, the whites are bland.

Using a spoon, plop the yolk mixture evenly into the egg halves (use a plastic bag with the tip cut off if you want cleaner piping - also good for transporting the eggs and filling on site for picnics and such), making sure to cover most of the white, not just the hollow left by the yolk. A good deviled egg should be just a bit messy to eat. 

​Deviled eggs contain egg and mayonnaise, so they should not be left at room temperature for too long. Luckily they're not likely to last long, anyway! 

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Today is Midsummer! The summer solstice is a big deal in Scandinavian countries, and I grew up celebrating it with my local Swedish Society. We'd have a big potluck, replete with Scandinavian goodies, in a local park, raise a giant maypole, and then sing and dance Swedish songs around it. My florist parents and I would do all the decorations for the maypole - a local guy would bring a huge harvest of poplar and cottonwood branches to serve as the greenery, and my dad would wire it all onto feet and feet of garland. The morning of, we'd wire leftover fresh flowers onto the garland and then deck the maypole, which had to have been at least 20 feet tall. Then it would get raised up at the park and everything felt festive! The picnic would be held in a big covered park pavilion, and we'd often have live music or visiting Scandinavian bands, but the food was the main attraction. 

Midsummer has long roots in Scandinavia. Celebrated since pagan Viking times, the festival emphasized the importance of the sun and fire. Sankthansaften - or St. John's Eve - is the night before midsummer, and in Norway is often celebrated with huge bonfires, including the one in Ålesund, Norway, which features the largest bonfire in the world! In Sweden, where midsommar is the biggest deal in all of the Nordic countries, the maypole is generally the center of midsummer celebrations. Salmon, shrimp, herring, sour cream, dill, cucumbers, strawberries, almond-flavored desserts, and whipped cream feature prominently in most Midsummer menus, along with copious amounts of aquavit (which, sadly, I could not find in my local liquor stores). Spring fish runs, woodland strawberries, and early vegetables like new potatoes all reflect the arrival of the summer season in Scandinavia, which is later than in most of Europe. Midsummer also heralds the season of midnight sun. As the longest day of the year for the Northern hemisphere, the summer solstice near the Arctic circle means just a few hours of twilight, and no actual nighttime, for weeks. Here in the northern United States, it just means the sun sets a little later than normal.

Ever since my mom died, I've been feeling the need to reconnect with my Scandinavian roots. There are far fewer of us out East than back home, so I decided to introduce my friends to a real Scandinavian party. The midsummer porch picnic was born and now I want to do one every year!

I wanted the menu to be relatively straightforward and easy to prepare. I had a few extras on my list, but didn't quite get there due to time constraints (as per usual). I did the desserts ahead of time, but everything else was prepared the morning of. I was running behind, so the sandwiches were assembled with help from the guests!

Here's the full menu:

Appetizers:
Deviled eggs
Fresh Pea Spread
Mushroom Pâté
​Goat cheese*
Creamed Pickled Herring*
Wasa Rye Crackers*

Sides:
Dilled Potato Salad
Scandinavian Cucumber Salad
Pickled Beets*

Open Faced Sandwiches:
Salmon Cucumber Salad on White
Dill Havarti and Summer Sausage with Cucumber on Rye
Ham and Jarlsberg on Pumpernickel with Lingonberry Jam
Ski Queen Brunost on Rye with Strawberry Jam

Dessert:
Sandbakkels Small and Large with Jam and Whipped Cream
Midsummer Rice Pudding with Raspberry Sauce
Rommegrot Ice Cream

Drinks:
Rhubarb Gin & Tonics
Elderflower Punch

*you can buy these things - no need to make yourself!

I'll be posting one recipe a day for the next several days, so keep your eyes peeled. No need to bookmark your favorites, I'll link them all back to this menu. 

We are lucky enough that our little house has a very large screen porch, and one larger than our living room! This is always the perfect place for summer parties, although the fireplace is no longer useable. The uneven stone floor makes for some interesting seating and table arrangements sometimes, but it's worth it for the space to spread out all at tables together. 

I got to use some of my vintage dishes, including newly acquired Block Optic green Depression glass, some little pink depression glass dessert plates, and my favorite lace-edged milk glass plates for those who were too nervous to eat off of the green uranium glass. 

Although the party was a smash success (the first guest arrived at 2 pm - the last left at 10:30 pm), and we did get our bonfire outdoors, we were having too much fun to make the flower crowns I had planned! And the unseasonably chilly weather (a high of just 63 F after the previous day's high of 90 F was a bit of a shock) did put the kibosh on some of our plans. But we still had a great time.

I tried pickled herring for the first time. It was my Swedish grandpa's favorite, but although it was nowhere near as bad as I feared as a child, the creamy sweet-and-sour flavor was not my favorite. I sent the jar home with a friend who fell in love. The pickled beets went home with another friend who loves them, and the last bits of the extremely good creamy cucumber salad went home with another friend's kids, who couldn't stop eating it. The rhubarb gin turned out divine, and everyone was curiously addicted to the elderflower punch. The extra creamy rice pudding with raspberries was my take on the Swedish rice pudding the society made by the gallons for the big Scandinavian festival I grew up attending every year. The raspberry sauce topping is a must. But the runaway surprise hit of the afternoon was the brunost with strawberry jam. To a person the 15+ people who attended loved it. That was the only platter of sandwiches to be totally gone by the end of the evening.

In all, a delightful party, despite the weather, and one I'm definitely going to repeat. Next year I'll make sure to have the flower crown activity ready to go, I'll decorate more with some Scandinavian flags and a mini maypole or two (I don't think I could swing a giant one), and aquavit is definitely going on the menu for next year. And I will try to take more photos!

If you'd like to try your hand at your own midsummer party, feel free to steal liberally from the menu above. Just don't forget to make things festive with flowers, candles, pretty table linens and dishes, and, if you can swing it, a real fire!

Glad midsommar, alle! 

Learn more about Scandinavian midsummer traditions. 

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Last year I wrote about North Dakota Caramel Rolls, which have dominated the state in recent years. But funnily enough, although they are less popular now, orange rolls were equally if not more popular when I was growing up. And I found many more references to them in my historic cookbooks. 

Orange rolls in the upper Midwest (mainly Eastern North Dakota, where I grew up, and Minnesota) were popular Sunday brunch staples, although they competed about even with caramel rolls in my neck of the woods. Of course, the kind I grew up with were not made from scratch, but rather the frozen kind made by the Rhodes frozen bread company. They came with a delightful orange cream cheese frosting. But despite being a brunch staple of my Midwestern childhood, I didn't know much about these, and I wanted to try a historic recipe for a brunch of my own. 

The origins of orange rolls and their popularity in the Midwest is, like many things, a bit cloudy. If you search for "history orange rolls" today, you'll likely get a LOT of hits about ALABAMA orange rolls (scroll to the bottom for the links), but nary a one about the Midwestern kind.

Truth be told they don't look like they differ much. A sweet roll dough with orange zest and sugar rolled up like a cinnamon roll and topped with an orange glaze. So why did both Alabama and the Upper Midwest develop a love of orange rolls? Oranges aren't grown in either region. Enter the 1910s and '20s orange craze.

In the 1870s California orange agriculture exploded, and oranges - once an imported wintertime treat - became increasingly available year-round. "Orange fever" struck Florida around the same time, until a big freeze in 1894 and again in 1895 set the industry back on its heels. In the 1920s the industry got a boost from the Florida real estate boom. Cooperatives like the California Orange Growers Exchange began to market nationally using clever advertising techniques. "Sunkist" - a playful spelling of "sun-kissed" - became synonymous with the California Orange Growers co-op, and later became their official name. 

The earliest recipe for what resembled orange rolls comes from Sunkist Recipes, Oranges - Lemons, published by the California Citrus Growers Exchange in 1916. 

"Orange Pinwheels" are essentially baking powder biscuits, rolled thin, spread with butter and sugar mixed with orange juice and zest, then rolled up and sliced, with more sugar sprinkled on top. The Sunkist biscuit-style recipe survives, with or without attribution, in other cookbooks throughout the 1920s and '30s. Often, the biscuit "rolls" are called "orange rolls," not "pinwheels," which makes the research a bit confusing!

The earliest recipe I could find for yeasted orange rolls comes from Mrs. Allen's Cook Book by one of my favorite cookbook authors, Ida Bailey Allen, published in 1917. But even these aren't quite the same as what I was looking for.

Mrs. Allen's "Orange Rolls (5 Hours)" are not actually rolled up rolls - they're more like buns flavored with orange juice and candied orange peel, and then glazed with more orange peel. 

Thankfully, Frances Lowe Smith has our back with her More Recipes for Fifty, published in 1918 and containing several wartime-friendly recipes, including this one for "Orange Rolls," which are to be prepared using a yeasted dough and spread with butter and sugar mixed with orange juice and grated rind and then "rolled like cinnamon rolls." 

The first North Dakota reference I could find is for the biscuit-y kind of orange rolls, in a 1930s North Dakota Agricultural Extension circular. But looking through my cookbook library for vintage midwestern cookbooks, I also found tons of references to orange rolls! Largely from the 1930s and '40s (which is when most of my North Dakota and Minnesota cookbooks date to). I decided to go with this recipe, because it looked fairly easy and definitely quick. No getting up five hours before brunch for these beauties (sorry, Mrs. Allen). Taken from Receiptfully Yours, a community cookbook published by the Ladies' Guild of the Zion Lutheran Church of Duluth, MN, the recipe turned out very nicely!

Although Receiptfully Yours, is undated, I'm guessing it dates from the 1940s, judging by the type and the style of binding. Both the Cinnamon Roll recipe and Orange Roll variation were submitted by Ethel Mathison. I love that they used full names, instead of "Mrs. Husband's Name!" 

Like many orange rolls recipes, this one starts as a recipe for cinnamon rolls, with orange rolls listed as a variation. Interestingly, instead of having an orange glaze or cream cheese frosting, this recipe is listed much like caramel rolls! With a butter-sugar-orange-juice mixture cooked in the bottom of the pan. Here is my slight modernization of the recipe:

- - For the dough - - 
1/2 cup scalded milk
3 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/2 cup cold water
1 envelope quick-rising yeast
1 egg
3 1/4 cups flour

 - - For the filling and glaze - -
3/4 cup sugar
2 tablespoons grated orange zest
2 tablespoons melted butter
3 tablespoons orange juice

Preheat the oven to 375 F. Mix milk, butter, sugar, and salt in a saucepan and heat over medium heat until the butter is just melted. Cool by adding cold water, then add the yeast and egg and beat well. Then add flour and mix until smooth, kneading several times. The dough will be soft. Let the dough rest 15 minutes. Roll the dough out on a floured board (or clean countertop) into a 12" by 18" rectangle. Mix 1/4 cup sugar and 1 tablespoon zest and spread on the dough, then roll as for cinnamon rolls and cut crosswise into 1 inch slices. In a 9"x13" pan, mix 1/2 cup sugar, 2 tablespoons melted butter, 1 tablespoon orange rind, and 3 tablespoons orange juice, then top with the cut dough pieces. Let rise until doubled, then bake for 20 minutes or until golden brown. Flip to serve.

These turned out beautifully, although very sweet! I used some very sweet heirloom navel oranges in the recipe, and something with a little more acidity might have been better. When I make them again, I might take a page from some of the other recipes and moisten the sugar for rolling with a little orange juice, and pick some more sour oranges. I may also bake them a smidge longer. 

Of course, I may also decide to try my hand at some of the other recipes, too!

These rolls are perfect for a weekend brunch, bridal or baby shower, or afternoon treat. Have you ever had orange rolls? How do you take yours? 

And now, as promised, a taste of the rabbit hole I went down in researching this post. The Alabama orange rolls may be more internet famous than the Midwestern ones, but it looks like they laid their claim to fame a bit later - in the 1960s and '70s, to be precise. Read on for more of the back story.

The delectable history behind Birmingham’s famous Orange Rolls

Why the Alabama Orange Roll is a Southern Classic - Southern Living

The sweet story of Millie Ray and her famous orange rolls

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