Made lefse this week.
First time ever. And it took ALL day.
The children helped, and we had a blast.
There was flour everywhere.
The Saturday before, I attended a lefse-making class. That was a blast, too. But I was the only non I-Grew-Up-Inhaling-Lefse-Like-Oxygen-Because-My-Norwegian-Grandmother-Made-It-All-The-Time participant. When we were introducing ourselves and explaining how much we couldn't live without lefse, I said that I was there for the husband, who, unlike me, is Norwegian, and whose grandmother did indeed make it.
Then came home and whipped up (in a manner of speaking) a batch while the instruction was still fresh in my mind. Needs some tweaking, I think - our lefse is more like flatbread than the popiah skin I'm used to seeing on the dinner table when the in-laws get together for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Emily says our crispy version is reminiscent of roti tisu.
I suppose there's a lefse for every culture. And starch.
My favorite is the sweet potato kind, with brown sugar and butter. Which we also made. Yum.