You Know You're A Swede When...

You know you're a Swede when there is a bowl of whipped cream in your refrigerator at all times.

I thought about that the other day as I opened my fridge. I wondered how many other people consistently harbor a bowl of whipped cream in their fridge. It's a staple in our home, right there with the milk and eggs. You see, I am of Scandinavian stock. And Scandinavians like their cream.

There is a story that circulates around our family. My grandmother was a teenager, in Sweden, before and during World War II. At fifteen or sixteen years old, my grandmother worked a small job, and she handed her paycheck over to her widowed mother each week. That is, most of her paycheck, she kept a few cents for herself so that she could buy herself one luxury, a pint of whipping cream. Mor Mor talks of growing up and how there were always finger prints scraped all over the top of frosted cakes on her mother's countertop. Mischievous children, you wonder? No, my grandmother was the culprit.

I have memories of my own mom opening the fridge to take a swig out of the carton of unwhipped cream, and I remember her more than once pouring some cream into her bowl of cereal. That 2% milk just wasn't cutting it. I grew up with freshly whipped cream on my waffles, and on my Swedish pancakes, and in my hot chocolate,and on my ice cream sundaes. No leftover whipped cream ever went to waste. My mom would scrape what was left in the bowl and add cocoa, oatmeal, and coconut, to make a chocolate cream concoction that is pure heaven, an idea that she got from none other than her own mother, and a treat that I indulge in now and then. Because, heaven forbid the whipped cream go to waste. I find myself making a batch of waffles, just to put that bowl of cream in my fridge to good use.

We children may or may not have left my mother's house knowing how to cook, but everyone of us, girls and boys alike, left knowing how to whip a bowl of cream to fluffy perfection. To this day, few sounds bring warm-fuzzy memories quicker than the sound of a hand mixer beating against a bowl of whipping cream.

One consequence of such childhood indulgences, is that I tend to be a cream snob. I shrink in horror when I see a tub of Cool Whip sitting next to a pie. I almost think it's blaspheme when someone refers to Cool Whip as whipped cream. "What? Could you be referring to that petroleum-like substance sitting in that plastic tub? No, that is not cream, and I do not want it anywhere near my pie, thank you very much!"

And shall we discuss the dreaded cream in a can? Just shake and spray, only to watch it deflate to a few white spatters across your precious dessert. I was recently at the Dickens Festival and had been eyeballing a delicious funnel cake all night. I finally indulged just as the event was closing. The gentleman preparing my treat asked if I wanted whipped cream and I replied with an enthusiastic "Yes Please!" My face may have dropped when he pulled out the can of Reddi Whip. It may have dropped even more so when he applied it stingily. 

When I think of my very favorite desserts...creme brûlée, chocolate mousse, truffles, cream puffs... they all carry one key ingredient...you guessed it. 

My calorie and cholesterol obsessed in-laws shudder at family campouts when we sit down for a waffle breakfast and my children ask, "Where's the whipped cream?" I have learned to bring my own pint of cream and to whip it up right there in the trailer. The sneering comments about early heart disease fall on deaf ears, for we all know who's really enjoying their waffles.

Yes, I am fully aware of all the risks of high cholesterol and high fat diets. That is why you will now find a bowl of whipped cream in my fridge only 70% of the time instead of 90% of the time. I don't know that I am aware of a single Swedish relative that has died of heart disease. So I will go on slathering my Swedish pancakes with cream, for you see, I can't help myself. It's in my Swedish blood.