Still Not Entirely Sure What Egg Butter Is But It Sounds Awesome
Still Not Entirely Sure What Egg Butter Is But It Sounds Awesome
Karelska piroger in Stockholm
I had already been in Stockholm a few days filling my belly with crisp breads and spreadable cheese when I first tasted egg butter.
Originally, I’d purchased my ticket on a bit of a “research” whim to dig into the Swedish taco and learn what exactly that phrase and food meant, but along the way I found myself floored by food at every turn. Warm kanelbullar, perfectly salted licorice, ice cream swirled with lemon and sweetened dollops of ammonium chloride. The country had me in a trance: would anyone even notice if I never came home? That’s when my friends introduced me to Karelska piroger and I started filling out a Fulbright application.
Karelska piroger, or Karelian pastries, come from Finland, not Sweden, but can be found pre-made or ready-to-heat in various places around Stockholm. My lovely hosts had just happened to stumble upon them a few weeks before my arrival when Elias, a lanky Finn on his mother’s side, spotted his childhood treat in a shop near their subway stop.
I’d met Elias’s wife through a whirlwind Jewish food fellowship in New York City and our mutual love of food made these two eager to share their find. We all gathered in the kitchen as Elias bopped around, searching for the taste of his memories one egg at a time. Mina supplied me with a running narration and I learned it was the first time he was attempting Egg Butter, a classic topping for the oblong, rice-filled, crimped-edge pastry.
Sure, it sounds simple enough: Egg Butter. But the unforgettable mixture of hard boiled eggs and butter needs to come together at the perfect temperature to ensure the butter and eggs meld but don’t melt. Sipping our tea, we were all aware of the possibility for disaster: greasy hard-boiled eggs were not on the menu. With great, well-deserved joy Elias placed the (perfectly executed) delicacy on their kitchen table and quickly loaded up three pastries. Each piroger was loaded, but not overwhelmed, by the glossy, pale-yellow mounds. Helping myself to a warm piroger, quickly softening butter leaking into the rice filling, I knew I was going to need seconds.
As a dubious egg-eater, I was skeptical about this dish holding my interest, so when breakfast rolled around the next day and we pulled out the left-overs, heated up the pastries, and dug in for the second time, I was thrilled that the magic hadn’t dissipated. Even now, I still find myself obsessing over about these supreme pastries far too frequently.