People. You guys. The lussekatter rose like a dream this year. They barely needed kneading. They twirled and danced into whatever shapes I wanted with barely a touch.
I have no idea what happened.
When things go wrong, you poke at them and you think: was it too cold? Was the yeast too old? Did I put the yeast into the warm milk and butter when it was too warm? And on. And on. When things come out perfect--well, there's a certain urge to interrogate that too. But the only thing different was that the saffron didn't grind well, and I can't think that's it. It was a longer rise time than the 45-minute minimum but a much shorter rise time than I have sometimes had before. The house was the house, and I was me. And my lussekatter, oh, my lussekatter gave me a break this year. They put up only token resistance.
I am so far behind on everything, and I am such a big worrywart, but this. This went right when I was prepared to have it be a fight. And now I have some fight left over for other things that need it.
I was going to hesitate to use this word, but it turns out we have a long tradition of using it with bread products: this was grace.
Happy Santa Lucia Day.
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