Perhaps that was the crux of the matter. Annika wasn't sure. But those characteristics were necessary and served her well as she pursued her career goals and ambitions. An insightful man would understand that. He'd spend time with her, ask questions, and get to know the real Annika. Maybe she just hadn't met the right man, one who was attractive, interesting, and attentive. She put her desire for a husband on the back burner and focused on her work.
Considering how much cooking and baking she did, people were genuinely surprised she didn't resemble a weight loss candidate for Jenny Craig. But Annika's own eating habits were simple and natural. She saved her lavish dishes for special family occasions or for patrons who dined at her establishment, The Smorgasbord.
After taking Business Administration at Bethany Lutheran in Mankato, Annika had returned to Minnetonka and started a cozy little restaurant, specializing in Scandinavian fare. She also taught general interest cooking classes through Rasmussen College's Continuing Education arm.
She enjoyed teaching as much as she enjoyed cooking and running the restaurant. Seeing her students’ excitement as she taught them how to prepare unique cultural dishes gave her a buzz. She taught Swedish cooking and baking, of course, but also Finnish, Norwegian, and Danish cookery. This fall she'd added a more specialized course in Swedish festive fare and couldn't wait to present it.
Annika pulled the upcoming class list out of her briefcase and scanned the list of names. It pleased her to identify the devotees. Yes, Yoko, the little Japanese exchange student had signed up again; yes, there were Mrs. Nillson, and her friend, Freda. There were some new students as well, and she looked forward to seeing what kind of influence they would have on the mix.
Although the class was still a couple of weeks away, she examined the syllabus she'd prepared for the ten-week course. The first night, she'd introduce some Swedish holidays and describe traditional foods associated with them, highlighting Christmas. The classes concluded early in December, and many of the students would want to use what they'd learned to create exceptional celebrations for their own families. She smiled. Who was she kidding? What they really wanted to do was show off and they were well within their rights.
Because of administrative tasks and the cultural introduction, she always kept the first recipe simple, but they had to make something. After all, it wouldn't be any fun going to a cooking class and walking away without a taste. She'd show them how to make a low-alcohol julglogg that night since the first thing they'd want to give their dinner guests would be a warm, comforting beverage. She'd bring some Lucia Ginger-snaps with her as a sample and give them the recipe to try at home. They'd end the class with a small amount of glogg and some cookies, a pleasant icebreaker to encourage the social aspect that was such an important part of these evenings.
She quickly skimmed the rest of her planned program and decided it covered all the bases. They'd deal with appetizers, breads, soups, salads, main dishes, pastries, and desserts. The recipes she'd selected were interesting and varied. She was particularly pleased with a new item on the ‘menu.’ No Swedish Christmas Eve was complete without rice pudding, and after working long and hard, Annika believed she'd finally perfected it. She could hardly wait to get the group's reaction after they'd had the chance to try it themselves.
Annika had to gather the ingredients she'd need for the glogg and the gingersnaps. Being ready was the key to success—that was the motto she lived by. She wrote out a shopping list and set it on the hall table by the front door as she walked from her home office to the kitchen. Before heading out to the grocery store, she'd brew some coffee and change out of her pajamas. It was only 6:20 in the morning, but she served lunch from 11:00 and bought her produce and meats fresh daily. Going early meant she procured only the best.
The smell of cardamom permeated the air as Annika pulled a light, short-sleeved sweater over her head. She brushed her hair in strong, broad strokes, tied it back in a ponytail, grabbed her wallet, and walked back to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. She inhaled its spicy scent as she wrapped her hands around the simple white ceramic mug and took her first sip. Mmm, just the kick she needed to start the day.
* * * *
Kjell was organizing things for the day's preparations when she pushed open the restaurant's back door and carried in the first load of groceries.
"God morgon, Annika.” He smiled, took the bags from her and set them on the counter. He held out a hand for her keys. “I'll bring in the rest."
"God morgon, Kjell,” she replied, passing over her keys. “The bag with the wine in it can be left in the car, but we'll need the others."
Annika couldn't remember how she'd managed before Kjell had arrived on the scene some three years earlier. He'd been a godsend, no doubt about it. She'd caught her previous chef with his hand in the till and had fired him on the spot. When Kjell, a recent graduate of Sweden's prestigious Umea University School of Restaurant and Culinary Arts, had shown up on her doorstep two weeks later, Annika had known it was fate.
Mamma had had something to say about that. “It's a sign, alskling. Don't you see?” She snapped her fingers. “Swedish chefs don't just show up out of the blue. You like cooking; he likes cooking. He's easy on the eyes. Sweet. Honestly, what more could you ask for?"
"He's twelve years younger, Mamma,” she had objected. “And we work together. It's not a good idea to mix business with pleasure. If it doesn't work out, I could be looking for another chef again."
"Ah,” Mamma had chided. “What is that saying? You have to live, love, laugh. You play too safe.” She'd insisted on inviting Kjell to dinner, and he had good-naturedly agreed. He'd moved from his homeland to experience life abroad, and had chosen Minnesota because of its history of Swedish immigration. Here he could enjoy the familiarity of home while exposing himself to the American way.
The evening had been a humorous affair as Brigitte pulled out all the culinary stops, both to display her cooking ability, and to wine and dine Kjell on her daughter's behalf. Spring salmon soup with rye circles, pasta with shrimp and Swedish pesto, pickled beets, and soft flatbread were served with flair. Generous amounts of blueberry cordial and mulled wine were poured into heavy crystal goblets. When the company felt they could consume no more, Brigitte produced several dessert options and brought out the requisite cardamom coffee to complete the meal.
Kjell had pushed back from the table with a groan and several pats to his belly.
"Annika didn't tell me you planned to kill me, Frun Svenson,” he said, smiling.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it,” replied Brigitte. “Come. The couch will be more comfortable.” Kjell took the hand she extended and allowed her to lead him to the living room. And while his belly was full and his mind warm with drink, she regaled him with stories of Annika's childhood and promoted her daughter's talents and accomplishments as a woman.
Annika remained in the kitchen. She cleared the table, washing and putting away the dishes while her stepfather, Rolf, filled and smoked his pipe. When she had dispensed with the last item, she sat down across from him.
Rolf jerked his head toward the living room and shifted the pipe to one corner of his mouth. “Your mother has a way with her, doesn't she?"
Annika rolled her eyes and smiled. “It's a good thing I'm used to her. I'm worried about him, though.” She looked over at Kjell. He'd slid down in his seat and his head lolled against the back of the couch. “I don't know if he'll recover."
"It worked on me,” Rolf offered. “And if it makes you feel any better, I don't have any regrets."
She stood and patted her stepfather on the shoulder. “You're a good man, Rolf. And I'd better go and get my good chef so he's of some use to me in the morning.” She walked into the living room.
"So soon?” Mamma protested. “We were just coming to an understanding."
"Now, Mamma,” Annika frowned. “Kjell's in no state to understand anything."
Mamma waved her hands in disgust. “Fine, alskling. But d
on't say I didn't try.” She turned a bright smile on Kjell. “I hope you and Annika will spend time together outside of work. My daughter works too much, and you need to see more of America than the inside of her kitchen.” She got up, took Kjell's hand in both of hers and squeezed. “You're a nice boy. Come and visit us again soon."
Kjell mumbled something that might have been ‘thank you’ but was unintelligible. He slung an arm around Annika's neck and let her help him into the passenger seat of her car. She drove him back to his apartment and put him safely to bed.
The next morning he arrived at work with his head down and looking slightly rumpled. “I hope I didn't say or do anything stupid last night. If I did, I blame it on the mulled wine."
"You were fine, Kjell,” Annika replied. “My mother did most of the talking."
"I like your mother.” He massaged his temples. “She cares about you."
"Yes."
"She hopes you get a husband."
"She does indeed. She's accustomed to having one herself and thinks it would be good for me, too."
"You don't think so?” Kjell poured himself a cup of coffee.
"You're a nice man, but I'm not interested in dating anyone on my staff. You're a good chef, and that's more important to me. I would hate to lose you if it didn't work out. Frankly, I'm also too old for you. You should be with someone your own age."
Kjell blushed. “Thank you."
"For what? For saying you should be with someone your own age?"
"No, not that. I was afraid you wanted to date me. And as much as I like you, I like working at The Smorgasbord better."
Annika laughed. “Good. Then we agree."
Mamma was disappointed by Annika's report of the conversation, but wasn't one to give up hope. “Be friendly, Annika,” she advised over the phone. “Kjell could still be an important connection for you."
"Mamma,” Annika chided with a sigh, “you are absolutely incorrigible."
"Alskling,” Mamma breathed, “I don't even know what that means."
* * * *
As Kjell brought in the last of the groceries, he tossed a copy of the Star Tribune onto the counter. “This looks interesting.” He pointed with a jab of his finger on the type. “The Tribune's got a dining critic now. Check out page D3."
Annika tossed a curious glance over her shoulder. She had her apron and hairnet on and was measuring ingredients into a pot on the stove. “Do you mind looking it up?"
"Sure.” Kjell found the short piece and started reading aloud. “The Star Tribune is pleased to announce the hiring of a dining critic to review the food, blah, blah, blah, of local and regional establishments. A professional writer and food services expert, the Undercover Critic will report weekly. Our critic is eager to start and welcomes suggestions of places you would like to see reviewed. Please respond to yada, yada, yada. The first review will appear in Saturday's Food Section."
"Hmm.” The idea intrigued her.
"Should we nominate ourselves?"
"I don't know. Seems to me our reputation should precede us,” she replied as the aroma of sugar, molasses, and spices wafted up from the pot she stirred. “Let's wait and see."
Kjell returned his attention to the grocery bags and started unpacking. “Smells like dessert you're working on over there. Want me to start with the soups?"
"I'm going to freeze Lucia Gingersnaps for my class. Why don't you make desserts for today's lunch? It's warm today, so keep it simple—parfaits and fresh fruit should do. There's enough soup in the fridge for anyone who may want it. People are going to be more interested in salads and sandwiches on a day like this. When my dough's ready to chill, I'll start working toward our evening requirements."
"Sounds good.” Kjell washed his hands and opened a jar of cloudberry jam.
* * * *
Annika plunked the first of the groceries onto the kitchen island. The Friday night crowd had been voracious, almost completely wiping her out. She'd be ready for them next time. Maybe she should hire another chef or extend her hours.
Kjell came in with a second load of groceries, a copy of the Star Tribune, and a big smile on his face. “We're first!” he crowed.
"The first what?” Annika furrowed her brows.
"The first review, of course. Remember? The Star Tribune was starting a restaurant review column—"
Annika's eyes widened and she snatched for the paper. “Let me see that.” Kjell already had the Tribune open to the requisite page, so it was just a matter of reading aloud. “'High Praise for Smorgasbord of Talent.’ Not a bad header.” She lifted her head and grinned. “Let's see what else he has to say. ‘Several readers suggested I visit The Smorgasbord and I went with great expectations. Happily, I was not disappointed. The decor creates a welcoming, relaxing ambience. The menu offers a generous variety of choices to satisfy guests. Having experienced authentic Scandinavian fare in my travels abroad, I can say that owner, Annika Samuelsson, and chef, Kjell Brogren, meet the mark.'” She continued reading silently before adding, “'The fact that every table was occupied and there was a wait list for those who hadn't the foresight to make reservations shows the community knows this already. The Smorgasbord is an establishment I will visit again and again. Ms. Samuelsson can be proud of her hostess and wait staff as well. I found everyone courteous and ready to meet specific customer requests.'” She looked up and raised her eyebrows, a smile tipping up the corners of her lips. “Helena, will be proud of you,” she said, referring to Kjell's Swedish girlfriend. “As for me, looks like I've got another grocery run to make."
* * * *
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Two
* * * *
After more than a week of congratulatory calls and a spike in the number of diners, Annika felt drained, though pleased by the positive review. It certainly demonstrated the power of the press. Still, there was no way she could keep up this pace without a break. On top of added pressure at the restaurant, tonight was her first cooking class of the season. How would she manage with her energy level so low?
She arrived at the college half an hour early to set up and review her notes. When the first students entered twenty minutes later, she was ready. Yoko, Mrs. Nillson, and Freda, applauded her on the “undercover critic's” review, and excitedly debated the possible identity of the Tribune's newest columnist. Annika smiled and checked their names off her attendance sheet. In addition to the new students she'd noted weeks earlier, five who'd recently visited her restaurant had been added. They looked to be a lively, youthful bunch who'd bring oomph to the class. She was pleased to see the group also included two men, since it was her firm belief that cooking did not belong to women alone.
At precisely seven o'clock, Annika welcomed everyone. “Thank you for joining me for ‘Swedish Festive Fare.'” She took several minutes to go over administrative matters, then continued. “Over the next several weeks you'll learn to prepare dishes for a traditional Swedish Christmas. Tonight we begin with julglogg and gingersnaps. I hope you picked up a syllabus as you entered—it outlines everything we'll be doing from now until the course ends in December.
"Since we have several new students, I'll start with a brief overview of Swedish culture and cuisine, and do a quick run through of the calendar year to highlight specific holidays. Then we'll get to the heart of the course. I'll explain just what a Swedish Christmas looks like and share two items commonly made during this festive season."
Twenty minutes into the class, the opening of the classroom door interrupted Annika's talk.
* * * *
Joel Bonaduce wasn't sure he had the right place. The college map had led him in circles for too many minutes, and he was ready to snap. “Swedish Festive Fare?” he queried, none too softly.
"Yes. Come on in.” The instructor disarmed him with her smile.
Joel moderated his tone. “Sorry I'm late. I just registered and had a horrendous time finding the room."
"No problem. We can ta
ke care of administrative issues later. In the meantime, grab a syllabus and find a seat. We're just getting to the interesting part anyway.” Joel knew that with the class already in progress, she didn't have time to scrutinize him more closely.
"Now, where was I? Oh yes, Saint Lucia . . ."
As a student, it was Joel's duty to pay close attention. He'd visited The Smorgasbord just before the publication of the restaurant review, and had been hankering to meet its owner ever since. Anyone who produced the kind of meal she did and ran a successful and popular establishment intrigued him. And the fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous didn't hurt either!
He'd learned quite a bit about her already from dining at the restaurant, and from things he'd heard around town. Now as he watched her ignite the students with her enthusiasm, he wanted to know even more. His heart stirred, caught by the force of her personality and natural grace. He envisioned dancing with her, her head nestled comfortably against his shoulder. He pictured the two of them sitting beside a crackling hearth, her long legs tucked underneath her.
Joel gave a sharp intake of breath and noticed several disapproving glares shot in his direction, but he focused on the class outline until the students lost interest. What had come over him? He hadn't heard more than three sentences of what she'd said. In all his forty plus years he'd never reacted so inappropriately to someone he didn't even know. At least not since he'd been a teenager, and look where that had led. He'd better smarten up or be caught looking the fool. He squared his shoulders and tuned in, giving Annika his full attention.
"The build-up culminates on Christmas Eve Day. At lunch time a buffet meal called the Smorgasbord takes place. You may have heard of it.” This was followed by appreciative laughter. “The meal includes prinskorv (sausages), skinka (ham), Swedish meatballs, herring, gravad lax (salmon with dill), potatoes, sweet and sour red cabbage, pies, and the like. After an afternoon of Christmas carols and dancing, Santa arrives with presents for everyone. Finally, the julgrot. Rice pudding into which one almond has been placed. Tradition has it that whoever gets the almond is the first one to marry in the following year, but it can also just mean that their fondest wish will be granted."
On A Cold Winter's Night Page 22