On the afternoon of August 12, 1995, I walked into a house in Toledo, Ohio where everyone was talking about
lefse — a sort of potato-based tortilla that's very popular in Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Norway but unheralded (and virtually unknown) in northwest Ohio, where I lived for 13 of my first 18 years.
- "Is the lefse ready?," someone said.
- "When do we get to eat the lefse?," someone said.
- "Lefse? Yummy, yummy!," someone said.
- "When do we eat lefse?," someone said.
- "Will the lefse be ready soon?," someone said.
- "Hey Brian, have you had lefse?," someone asked.
No. I had never eaten
lefse. I'd never even heard of the stuff.
- "Nope, I haven't eaten lefse," I said. "But I'd like to try some."
- "You've never eaten lefse?," someone said.
- "Not yet," I said.
- "You've never eaten lefse?," someone said.
- "No," I said.
- "Do you want it with butter and sugar?," someone asked.
- "Sugar yes, but no butter, please," I said.
- "No butter?," someone asked.
- "No thank you," I said.
- "I can't believe you don't want it with butter," someone said.
- "I'd prefer not to have butter," I said.
- "What?" someone said.
- "I'd rather not have butter," I said. "But sugar, sure."
I ate the sugared, butterless
lefse — I ate it warm, which is a good way to eat homemade things that are supposed to be eaten warm — and I enjoyed it. It was delicious in the way that I bet a fresh homemade tortilla stuffed with sugar would be delicious.
After that first
lefse encounter, I never ate another bite of
lefse and I never heard another peep about
lefse or thought another thought about
lefse until today, when a friend from Minnesota mentioned
lefse in an email.
- "Tickets [to the play] are going faster than Grandma's lefse," the friend's email said.
THE END