Krub (Rhymes With Boob)
Children can be so cruel. Yesterday I was having a grand conversation with one of my daughters when she casually mentioned that she did not like a dish I had grown up with, Norwegian krub (rhymes with “boob”). Readers of this column know that my two grandmothers were immigrant Norwegian. As is usually the case, that means that their culture was the one their children were raised in. I may love my English heritage, but it is the Lutheran Church, Vikings and the cool, low tones of Norwegian laissez faire upbringing that ruled my home roost. Along with this came typically Norwegian cuisine. Forget about lutefisk (a nasty fish cured in lye)--even the dog won’t eat that, but lefsa (imagine a rye flour tortilla) is good stuff and riskrem (rice pudding) is a real treat. But none of that is what I remember with a smile when I think of down home Norwegian cooking. N...