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Nana's Lefse
Whenever asked, I say it’s like a crepe
However, it's a challenge to make
To roll out the dough
As it resists your efforts,
Gently picking up the stubborn mixture
And laying it on the million degree stove
That my Nana always burns her hands on.
The smell wafts through the air,
Sweet but dull
Like the first time we made it alone.
I manned the stove that year
I didn’t burn my hands
While doing the job my Nana always did
Once it turns golden brown,
I take it off the stove
And slice the circular dough in half
Let it cool, and it’s ready to eat.
Everyone eats it differently.
Put on some butter, sprinkle the sweet sugar
And roll it up like a burrito
Everyone chatters as we enjoy the treat.
It’s sweet
Like the time we made it together again
I manned the stove that year.
But somehow, my Nana still burned her hands
On the million degree stove.
The same way she always has.
The same way I’ll always remember.
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Every year, my family and I would meet up with my Nana to make lefse. We would set aside an entire day to make cookies together. It was my favorite day of the year. I loved helping her in the kitchen, and watching her create such a magical environment for both the adults and kids that were visiting. During COVID was the first time we didn't meet up. That was the year I learned how to do my Nana's job of cooking the lefse. I'd learned from her continuously repeated mistake of slapping the bubbles that formed while cooking, so there were no burn injuries that year. Since COVID, I've manned the stove every year. Lefse has become much more than a sweet treat to me. It symbolizes the joy my Nana brought into our lives, and the incredible memories she's left us with. I feel closer to her every time we use her mother's recipe, and her funky Christmas aprons, and we laugh surrounded by all the people who loved her. My Nana has left us with more love than I ever thought possible, and lefse is a physical reminder of all the good she brought into our lives.