Literary City Guide | Helsingborg, Sweden

Back to Europe we go! Today we're welcoming Sweden to Literary City Guides, and taking a tour of Helsingborg on Sweden's southern tip, not far from Copenhagen. When Iris emailed me to offer a guide, I was excited for a few reasons. One, it's always nice to expand the international offerings, and second, since my husband's company is headquartered in Stockholm, I've become more interested in the culture since he works with so many Swedes. 

Although not known for its bookstores, being a university town does have its advantages, like numerous campus libraries (complete with outdoor hammocks), as well as HC Anderson's childhood home, and Kronborg Castle, better known as Elsinore from Hamlet.  Don't leave without trying Swedish waffles with homemade jam! 

Stop by to visit Helsingborg! 

On Finishing Books + Strawberry Oat Breakfast Crisp

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Living With Poetry is an occasional series where we explore how poetry infuses our everyday lives. Catch up with past features here.

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I started reading The Lowland last October, when Andrew and I went to Santa Barbara for a long weekend. There on our terrace, and on a cushioned chair at the pool, I read the book I had pre-ordered months prior, that I told my friends about, that I couldn't wait to for. I was planning to use the book to usher in fall, start fresh, get back to reading for the sake of it. 

Fifty four pages was as far as I had time to get that weekend, but reasoned there would be more reading to do when we returned home and lovingly placed the hardback by my bed, where it stayed unopened for months. (It has now been so long that the book is available in paperback.) I'm almost embarrassed to admit that it's taken me approximately 10 months to finish one novel. Oh, I've been reading plenty (this one I just finished, food magazines, cookbooks, all of Pablo Neruda's odes) but fiction has been illusive.

The difference in my life when I first began the book to now is profound. New job, new home, new neighborhood, new perspective, new challenges, new kitchen. Now that I'm starting to feel more relaxed, there is both space and time to enjoy simple pleasures again, like reading for no reason on a Saturday afternoon, then again Sunday morning while waiting for breakfast to bake.

I've told you about Whole-Grain Mornings before, but it bears repeating. I find myself cooking from it often, especially on the weekends, when breakfasts are for lingering and pancake making and such. I'd marked this breakfast crisp months ago but felt an urge for it when I pulled the book from its perch on the shelf. In between prepping dinner Saturday night, I sliced the strawberries, coated them with lemon juice, and gently mounded them with damp crumbs of oats, almonds, and butter. Into the fridge. 

Sunday morning I woke up promptly at 7 am, still wanting to read The Lowland. I tiptoed to the kitchen and turned on the oven, slid the crisp inside even before it had finished preheating, then propped up two pillows and read in the blue morning light for 35 minutes, until the crisp was golden and bubbly. Five minutes before my timer went off, the strawberries came. Lost in a passage, a mother drinking tea on a terrace in Calcutta, wrestling with the memory of her sons, one killed and the other far away in America, my breath was steady, in and out. The next inhale brought sweetness, the perfume of roasted strawberries collapsed in the heat, telling me it was time to close the book. To live poetry instead of read it.

I wiped sleep out of my eyes, pulled the crisp from the oven, waited impatiently for it to cool, saw down to write a blog post, sipped water from a small glass, smaller than my husband's sitting just beside it, lost myself in a story, watched light filter through the blinds as I finished my  bowl, got up to scrape a spoon through the pan for one last bite of summer. 

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STRAWBERRY OAT BREAKFAST CRISP

Very lightly adapted from Whole-Grain Mornings by Megan Gordon

I already had almond meal from Almond Milk LA stored in the refrigerator, so I made the topping in a stand mixer instead of a food processor.Preparation will take little time, but waiting for the crisp to cool will likely be a struggle. 

Serves 4 to 6, because I'm hungry and adore strawberries. 

Topping
1 1/2 cups almond meal1/2 cup whole wheat pastry flour
1/2 cup rolled oats
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3 tablespoons muscovado sugar
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
6 tablespoons cold butter, cubed
1/4 cup whole milk

Filling
1 1/2 pounds strawberries, hulled and halved
1/3 cup natural cane sugar
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 teaspoon lemon zest
3 tablespoons cornstarch

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees and butter an 11 by 7-inch baking dish. (Or, you can prep the crisp the night before and keep it in the fridge overnight before baking.)

To make the topping: Add the almond meal, flour, oats, baking powder, baking soda, sugar, salt and nutmeg to the bowl of a stand mixer. Mix on low speed until the dry ingredients are whisked. Add the butter and mix on medium speed until the butter breaks down and it begins to resemble coarse cornmeal. Slowly add the milk and continue mixing until the liquid has been  evenly distributed. The dough should have some together and look clumpy, but not be too wet. 

To prepare the filling: Toss the strawberries, sugar, lemon juice, lemon zest, and cornstarch in a medium bowl. Scrape into the prepared baking dish.

To assemble and bake: Place the topping over the strawberries in an even layer and place in the oven. Bake until the top is golden brown and the juices begin to thicken and bubble, 30-35 minutes (in my oven). Remove and cool for at least an hour before serving (although I got away with about 25-30 minutes) before serving.

"Siena" by Pat Phillips West + Roasted Caprese Tartine

Summer. Tomatoes. Italy.  Is there anything better? Perhaps not. There's something about the warm tomato season that tends to make me nostalgic. Sometimes for Italy (where I once enjoyed a memorable family vacation), but also for Vermont, where I attended graduate school.

Specifically around the Fourth of July, I remember Montpelier. It's the quintessential American small town. A local coffee shop, a few restaurants, children playing in the street, that sort of thing. One year, I spent part of the afternoon taking a long walk through the neighborhood around campus. People sat on porches drinking tea, neighbors walked their dogs. One street was bustling with a potluck, with friends and family gathered around a long table in someone's backyard. The air was warm but not stuffy. There was a breeze, and the color a bit muted, understated.

Last year we flew to Napa for a friend's wedding (heavenly), but this year we stayed home to enjoy our new neighborhood, where friends live a mile away, and we could see the fireworks show in the marina from their rooftop. 

All this is to say that summer, year after year, brings nostalgia with its heat and tomatoes. I'm not the only one who thinks so, either. We're all feeling it. All trying to hang on to the fleeting days, and when it comes to summer memories, this poem hits all the right notes and will have you dreaming of Italy by the end of it. 

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Siena

by Pat Phillips West

Papa Joe, the owner, shows me the garden
behind his café.  His wife sits on her heels
dress tucked between her legs tending herbs
and vegetables.  Every so often
she kisses her fingertips, Così bello!  
Papa Joe talks about Insalata Caprese,
a favorite summer salad he insists I try.  
Ripe, deep-red tomatoes, he shakes his head
side to side, never soft, never refrigerated.  
Only young basil 
grown in the earth and sun.  
I inhale oregano and rosemary, feel at home
in this space.  A young man pulls out a chair
at my table on the sidewalk as if I had been waiting
for him.  He tears off a chunk of crusty bread,
holds it out like a gift, fills my glass
with chilled white wine.  Papa Joe stops
to ask, Molto gustoso, si?  With a nod
toward the young man not my salad.  
I refold my napkin, finger a spoon, cross
and uncross my legs.  Food on my lips,
excitement wicking through my fingers,
I can only grin.  Finally, the young man
points, Come, I take you to see the Duomo.  
I look at his scooter, my aunt’s send-off
remark flutters in my ear, There’s more to life
than being safe.  I tuck my skirt
between my legs, climb on,
and press against his back. 

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This is most certainly a poem of place. From start to finish, we're transported to a romantic Italian city. With offerings of bread and intoxicated by the scent of rosemary, our speaker is swooning, but still asks a reasonable series of questions Do I go see the Duomo? Do I hop on the back of a scooter?

Do I dare? 

As it turns out, food is the peace offering, the calming force, the reason. The bread and the rosemary, the cooking tips, the young basil, it's enough to learn one of summer's great lessons: "There's more to life than being safe."

Reading this poem is not unlike when you attend someone's wedding. While watching friends pledge their love for each other, you can' help but reflect on your own vows. Although this memory is not my own, I could see it so vividly and imagine myself in the same circumstance, wind blowing in my hair, stomach full with caprese, utterly happy. 

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ROASTED CAPRESE TARTINE

In the summer, there's nothing better eating tomatoes with as many meals as possible. For these tartines, I chose a medium-sized tomato that fit perfectly on the bread slices. 

Serves 2 for lunch, or 3-4 as an appetizer

1 pound tomatoes 
Salt, pepper, and oil
8 slices bread (like ciabatta)
8 slices mozzarella
Basil

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Slice the tomatoes lengthwise into 1/2-inch pieces and place in a roasting pan. Sprinkle with a generous pinch of salt, a few grinds of pepper, and a drizzle of oil. Roast for about 30 minutes, or until shriveled and caramelized.

Turn on the broiler. Slice the bread into 1-inch slices and place on a sheet pan. Layer with the tomatoes, then lay some cheese on top. Broil for about 4 minutes, or until the cheese is golden and the bread begins to char just around the edges. Sprinkle with basil. This is also a good time to pull out your prized bottle of thick balsamic vinegar and add a dash before serving.