Happy Midsummer!

Tomorrow all over the Nordic countries people will be celebrating Midsummer Eve.

In Finland this means that good food and drink will be consumed, there'll be some dancing, and fires will be lit to mark the night when the sun never sets.

In Sweden, and in Åland, people will be picking wild flowers to wear in their hair, while drinking schnapps and dancing around a maypole (or Midsummerstång).

Midsummer Eve is always a Friday closest to the summer solstice and heralds the long summer holidays which all the Nordic countries enjoy. Many people, fortunate enough to have a country cottage, leave town and start their often 4 or 5 weeks long summer hibernations.

Anyone doing business with the Nordic countries will know the Midsummer weekend as the worst time time to get hold of anyone important, and often the weeks afterwards the countries may as well have closed down.

If you are lucky to be in a Nordic country over Midsummer, you will experience the wonderful long evenings and nights, when the sun barely dips into the horizon just to rise again only moments later. If, however, you try to spend Midsummer in a city you might be disappointed; everything is closed and you may as well be holidaying in a ghost town.

Having just watched England lose their second World Cup football match, I think a Nordic city like Helsinki or Stockholm even on Midsummer Eve when everyone has left town would be preferable to tomorrow's disappointed, crowded, humid London...Oh, well.

Have a wonderful Midsummer wherever you are...and to my Finnish readers, sitting on a sauna porch somewhere by a lake (you know who you are!), I'll quote Randy Crawford, 'You lucky, lucky thing!' 

Hauskaa Juhannusta!

Misery on Ice or How Finland Won Olympic Bronze in Ice-Hockey

I know this post is a bit like London buses, you wait for ages for one then two come along at once. Last time I wrote about ice-hockey was in 2011, and here I am writing two posts back to back in 2014!

But as you must know by now, ice-hockey is more than sport to me. It reminds me of my childhood, it's part of who I am, and it makes me proud to be Finnish.

Yesterday's bronze medal match between Finland and the US, where Finns thrashed the Americans, was dubbed by the BBC commentator as 'Misery on Ice', but to me it was just a delight to watch.

Here was a team of players which included Teemu Selänne, the worlds most decorated ice-hockey player, and a veteran (he is 43 years old, in theory far too old to be still active in this, one of the most physically aggressive sports), and two others for whom this match was going to be their national swan song. They weren't easily going to give up on an Olympic medal.

But only a day before this same team (although without the wondrous goalie Tuukka Rask) suffered a dispiriting defeat against our bitter old adversaries, the Swedes, and thus missing out on gold or silver. According to Selänne, the team decided in the dressing room just before going out to face the Americans, that they were going to take the bronze - no messing.

History has shown that when Finns en masse decide something, they rarely fail. 

And what a match it was! I could barely watch when in an unusual sequence of events in the second half, with the score still at 0-0, the Finnish player Kimmo Timonen moved a broken stick left on the ice and it hit the puck being manoeuvred by a US player, resulting in a penalty shot against the Finns. When Patrick Kane failed to score, I had a feeling this was a crucial psychological moment for the US team. I was proved right; Finland scored two goals in quick succession and in the third period made the final score a joyous 5-0!

The Finns on ice looked the better team, but you could also tell that, unlike the Americans, they really, really wanted to win.

As if Teemu Selänne, who scored two of the five goals, wasn't a complete star in Finland already, he will be now. Here is an interview with him and some of the other team members after the match. Even if you don't speak Finnish, you'll enjoy watching these tough guys get emotional in front of the camera - except for the hero of the day, Selänne of course. He just makes the reporter weep, saying, 'I promised myself I would't cry, so I won't.'

That's Sisu for you!

A Weekend Reader Offer on Coffee and Vodka!

Coffee and Vodka, dubbed 'Nordic Noir Meets Family Saga' at The London Book Fair, is now on a very special and very limited offer. From today until Sunday (26-28 April 2013) you can download my book for only £1.35  (or $1.99).

Here are more details and links to where you can download the book.

Now Only $1.99 

Was $4.99

Offer Ends Sunday 28th April 13

Buy it Now:

Amazon  iBooks   Kobo   Nook

Readers give Coffee and Vodka  ***** stars

"Compelling Narrative"   "Fabulous reading"

Nordic Noir meets family saga in this heartfelt story of immigration and family breakup set in Finland and Sweden. 

'In Stockholm everything is bigger and better'. 11-year-old Eeva is excited when Pappa decides her family will emigrate to Sweden from Finland. But adjusting to a new language and culture is not as easy as Pappa thought. Thirty years later, when Eeva returns to her home town of Tampere to see her dying grandmother, she is forced relive the dramatic events of her childhood. 

Some prices may change wthout notice, so please make sure to confirm the offer before downloading. 

Have a nice weekend and happy reading!  The sun has come out again in London….(for a brief moment at least).

A-Z Blogging Challenge: C is for Creativity versus Cash

My theme: Writing and the business of writing.

Creativity and the art of making money are often deemed complete opposites: creativity is pure and beautiful, whereas cash is dirty and ugly. How could these two things possibly be connected?

But even writers have to eat.

In fact, one could say artists are the ultimate self-employed businessmen (and women). There are few professions where you rely so much just on yourself, and your creativity, to provide food and shelter for yourself. (Or shoes and handbags)

Contrary to what the populist opinion of today may say, many artists are excellent at making money. More surprisingly it's often the lack of funds which spurs these artists on to make their art. Just look at my hero, Strindberg. As soon as he ran out of money (which he did frequently), he sat down and wrote another play. Apparently he didn't even like writing plays, but did it because plays were quicker to write than novels and they were easier to market. When even his plays wouldn't sell, he started painting oil canvases, which now fetch a pretty penny.

August Strindberg, the Swedish playwright

It could therefore be said that without the need for cash there would be much less creativity. Discuss...

Happy 'Little Christmas'!

In the Nordic countries we celebrate something called 'Little Christmas' on 1st of December. It's basically First Advent, but a less religious version. People have parties, children get presents from the elves, and the first advent candle is lit at breakfast (there's a huge FAIL in our household on this score since all Christmas decorations are still in storage - and because Daughter is the only person now who keeps us in check and she's away at uni).

'Little Christmas' also hails the beginning of the office party season in Scandinavia, just like here in the UK.

This year I thought the best way to give you all a bit of Christmas cheer is to share the Blossa Christmas ad. Blossa make the most famous Swedish mulled wine, each year coming out with a new version.

Blossa 12 Yuzu Ingefära

£19.90 
from Scandinavian Kitchen

Just the bottle design is brilliant, don't you think? This year's version combines Swedish traditional glögg flavours with Far Eastern fruits and spices, with yuzu, grapefruit, clementine and ginger. I cannot wait to sample it!

Hauskaa pikkujoulua!

Fäviken launch at The Swedish Ambassador's Residence in London

I've written before about this extraordinary restaurant in Northern Sweden, Fäviken Magasinet, where chef Magnus Nilsson creates flavour explosions from locally sourced food and fauna. And I mean locally sourced. This is from their website:

'We respect our raw ingredients for what they are, what they look like and where they come from. We strive to monitor the production of each ingredient from seed to plate. We accept nature’s own choices as the primary factor, and apply our own knowledge in order to maximise every product’s potential. We concentrate on harvesting, preparing, cooking and then serving it. We present every single ingredient in a manner that conveys the feelings that arise in the process to createrektún food.
 Our ingredients are primarily from the Fäviken Estate, grown and raised in conditions that we control. After this, they come from people we know in the local area, Jämtland, and, lastly, they come from our Norwegian neighbours in Tröndelag.' 

The result is the purest tasting food I have ever enjoyed. Though Magnus has an estate and a small farm at his disposal, still, you need a hugely creative mind and excellent skills as a chef to produce the delicacies such as 'Langoustine rolled in dried malted vinegar'

Me with Magnus Nilsson

When we visited Fäviken last March, Magnus told us that he was writing a cookery book which would come out in October. And, true to his word, on 1st October came out the moorishly good looking book, Fäviken, which promises to be not just a cookery book but a book on a way of life.

Last night, when the Swedish Ambassador, Nicola Clase, introduced Magnus to a crowded room, she said something very perceptive about the way of cooking at Fäviken. I'd quote her word for word here, but alas, after a few glasses of their excellent wine and even more excellent Hors D'oeuvres, this morning I could not for the life on me remember what she said…but it was something about the past having brought Magnus to the future of cooking.

The cover looks fabulous.

I cannot wait to have my copy, which is waiting for me at West End Lane Books. Sadly, at yesterday's event we weren't able to purchase copies.

Fäviken is published by Phaidon Press
Hardcover Price: £35-00

Swedish Wallander comes to London's West End

The lovely Krister Henriksson.
Photo: Baldur Bragason / Yellow Bird

I've been a fan of Krister Henriksson long before he became the Swedish Wallander, but it's in this role of the moody detective created by Henning Mankell that the actor is best known here in the UK.

This is about to change.

I met Krister today at the Leicester Square Theatre where he held a press conference to talk about his forthcoming performance at Wyndham's Theatre of Doktor Glas, a play based on the Swedish classic novel by Hjalmar Söderberg. It's a play about sex, passion and murder. As Krister put it, 'My favourite director Truffaut said that all a good play needs is a man, woman and a gun. Doktor Glas has two men, one woman and some arsenic.' 

Krister Henriksson as Doktor Glas.
Photo: Baldur Bragason / Yellow Bird

Doktor Glas has been a sell-out success in Sweden, as well as in the other Nordic countries, including Finland where it was performed in the original language, just like here, with surtitles. When I asked Krister why he chose this play in particular to break his run of Wallander, he said it was a play which had made a deep impression on him at a young age. 'Somehow I knew one day, when I was old enough, and brave enough, and enough experience as an actor and as a human being, I'd do this play.' 

About playing it in Swedish he jokes, 'I offered to do it in English, but once they heard how badly I speak it, they said, 'No,no'. It was an offer the producers loved to refuse.' Of course this isn't true; Krister's English is impeccable (although I preferred to interview him in Swedish). Krister added that he loves the way Söderberg uses Swedish, which is why its important for him to perform the play in its original language. 'I've often regretted being born in a country with such an ugly language, especially when I was younger I thought why couldn't I have been born, for example, in England. But when you read and perform Söderberg, you see how beautiful the Swedish language can be.'

Doktor Glas is a tough play for an actor. It's a one-and-a-half-hour monologue, where Henriksson portrays three tragic characters. There's no interval, no time to collect oneself. But Krister says that although he's a 'lazy actor' he loves playing Dr Glas. 'When I enter the stage, the time just flows by. I may be lazy, but I love being on stage. The longer I'm on there, the better.' At sixty-five he certainly looks energetic, youthful and very charming. He also told me that there have been plays that he's got bored doing - but not this one. 'Hjalmar Söderberg is such a wonderful writer, you can read this novel over and over and still find something new.'

Several times, while I was interviewing him, and particularly when I asked about the differences between doing Wallander and Doktor Glas, he had a glint in his eye that I dare any woman to resist. 'Oh, you know the Doctor and Wallander are very similar. Both are Scandinavian men, who may be very good at their jobs but when a woman enters the room, they freeze. I'm sure Finnish men are the same?'

I could but nod, especially when he continued, 'Of course then they have a drink and become bold and then it all goes horribly wrong.' 

Sadly just at this point, the lovely James from the PR company gave me the 'wrap it up' sign. I'd only asked half of my prepared questions, and we were just getting to the good bits!

But the great Swedish actor was in great demand, so I rushed to get a picture of me and Krister, and as we parted with a kiss he said, 'We'll meet again, yes?'

I swooned.

Krister and me earlier today.
(Sorry about the photo - I had camera fail)

Doktor Glas will be at the Wyndhams Theatre
16 April - 11 May 2013
Mon-Sat 7.30 pm
Wed 2.30 pm & Sat 5 pm
Tickets: 0844 482 5120 (from 24 Sep 2012)
www.drglas.com

A new translation by Paul Britten Austin with a foreword by Margaret Atwood of the novel Doktor Glas by Hjalmar Söderberg was published by Harvill in 2002. 
ISBN 1 84343 009 6

Not skiing in Åre and 'old' friends

This pretty mountain train terminus is one of my favourite buildings in Åre village.

I've just come back from a skiing holiday to Sweden, where we'd planned to spend most of the time on the beautiful pistes of Åre. In the event I got only a few days on the mountains, because unseasonably warm weather brought rain, strong winds and melting snow.

It looked hopeful at night when we had a fresh covering of snow...

But in the morning the snow had turned into rain.

Each day more of the snow was disappearing off the mountain and down streams towards the Åre lake in the valley.

But the point of the holiday really wasn't the skiing alone. My ten day stay in Åre ended with a long weekend with my 'old' girlfriends.

I consider myself very lucky in that I have loyal group of friends from school who over the years have made the effort for us all to keep in touch. In the first years when I lived in England I was very bad at this, and things got even worse when my children were born. But my friends are a determined bunch (particularly one - you know who you are!) and didn't give up on me.

I love this home ware and clothing store.

There are five of us and in the last few years we've managed to meet at least once per year. We've had lunches in Helsinki, weekends in London, Paris, Rome, Athens and Åre in Northern Sweden, but to name few of our 'girly trip' destinations. It's rare that all five can make a 'meet', but this year, first time in four years, we were all re-united for a skiing holiday with no skiing...

Instead of spending the days on the pistes, we laughed much, watched some silly DVD's (Bridesmaids), and shopped together in the chic shops in the little village of Åre. We swam in the nearby hotel pool, bathed in my friend's genuine Finnish sauna (something not always available in Sweden) and lolled in her hot tub afterwards - giggling like the girls we were when we met at sixteen - while enjoying a glass (or two) of champagne and ignoring the cold drizzle falling on us. We talked about everything and anything. At times I had to remind myself that we were no longer teenagers and at school; that we were serious grown-ups with some of us having grown-up children ourselves.

And last weekend as I came home to the summery London weather from a wet non-skiing holiday, I felt incredibly refreshed, but not in a way one usually does, with aching legs and the feeling that you've really done some serious excercise. No, this time it was my mind and soul that had had the holiday.

Thank you dear, dear friends. I cannot wait for our next outing.

Fäviken Magasinet, near Åre ski resort, Sweden, revisited

The atmospheric Fäviken Magasinet is housed in an old grain barn.

I was a little apprehensive about my third visit to Fäviken Magasinet, the acclaimed restaurant run by young Swedish Chef of the moment, Magnus Nilsson, since often when you revisit a place, which you've been raving about, you are disappointed.

But I shouldn't have worried, because this time the food was - if possible - even more exquisite. 

Magnus approach to cooking is twofold: firstly, apart from salt and vinegar, he will only use locally grown and sourced foodstuffs; secondly, he puts his imagination and great talent as a chef towards utilising as much of the fauna and flora at his disposal in the grounds of the restaurant and the surrounding forests, waters and farms, as possible. 

The result is the purest and cleanest tasting food you can ever imagine you could eat. Magnus calls it Rektun Food (Rektun means real in the local Jämtland dialect).

Saturday before last, when we visited the Fäviken Magasinet, the evening started with little amuse-bouche including wild trout roe served on top of a biscuit made of dried pigs blood, something which sounds strange but was incredibly tasty. We also had thin slivers of cured bacon which just melted in the mouth.

Then it was time to go upstairs to the restaurant proper, which is housed in an old grain store with low ceilings. Dried herbs, hams and fish adorn the walls. This is where the theatre that is the Rektun meal begins in earnest. 

Each course is brought to the table by Magnus and his staff and the chef himself explains what we are about to have and how we should consume it to best enjoy the dish. There are eight small dishes, served to a maximum of twelve guests, with each dish wilder than the previous one, followed by four puddings.

Magnus preparing a dish for us.

The atmospheric surroundings greatly add to the magical Fäviken experience.

The carefully selected wines by Magnus together with his talented Somelier, Johan Agrell, are French, apart from the mead made by the restaurant, which is served with the first course of flame 'cooked' scallop in its shell. The scallop which is more of less rare, was the best I have ever tasted. My friend and I speculated whether we could ever eat scallops anywhere else again, as they would always be a disappointment after the one served at Fäviken.

The scallops, served in their shell, on a bed of smoked hay and sprigs of juniper.

The juice inside the scallop was divine.

Another four fish dishes followed....

Langoustine rolled in dried malted vinegar.  

One dish which stood out for me more than others was the trout, marinated in mushroom vinegar, served with a sauce made from roasted oats. Magnus told us the marinated fish had only been slightly 'cooked' by placing the piece on the hot serving plates. The sauce made from oats had a sweet taste, of almost butterscotch, which together with the mild acidity of the fish was a completely new taste sensation to me.

Trout, served with sauce of roasted oats and grated carrot.

This dish of pickled vegetables was so pretty you hardly wanted to touch it to spoil the effect. 

Cow's heart with marrow (which was cut in half in front of the diners) and  grated root vegetables.

Toasted sourdough bread served with herb salt.  

All throughout the meal the staff at Fäviken serve slices of sourdough bread made on site from a root originating from an old wooden bread basin. It's wonderfully soft in the middle and crisp on the outside, and it takes all your self-control not to pig out on it, especially as the bread is served with home-made butter. But luckily for us, my friend is such a regular at Fäviken that when she leaves the restaurant, a loaf of warm bread, wrapped in a brown paper bag, is placed in her hand. I felt honoured that, on this, my third visit, a loaf was given to me too.

Steak from 'an old pensioned-off milking cow' was the most delicious piece of meat I've ever tasted.

To move from the savoury to the sweet we were served wild raspberry sorbet, water lingonberry with thick cream and sugar. 

Cake made from pine bark with frozen buttermilk.

Milk ice-cream, whipped duck egg and raspberry jam.

The sweets were divine too. The milk ice-cream made in the old-fashioned churn, was served with home-made raspberry jam and a whipped duck egg. It was just sweet enough to be the pinnacle of the pudding menu.

When the meal came to an end we were invited to return to the downstairs bar/reception area for coffee and home-made liqueurs. Even though I was thoroughly satisfied, I'd enjoyed such wonderful tastes I didn't really want to leave the restaurant. Especially as I knew it'll be a long time before I can make a return visit.

The inevitable me-with-the-chef picture. (I just had to...)

But, there's good news: for those of us who aren't able to make regular trips up to Northern Sweden to sample Magnus Nilsson's fantastic cooking, his methods can soon be enjoyed by all. He has a cookery book in the making, which should be out in October this year. He'll also be making a book tour in London to co-incide with the publication of the book, so watch this space for dates and venues.

Fäviken Magasinet
Fäviken 216
830 05 Järpen
Tel: +46 (0)647 40177, Fax: +46 (0)647 40147
E-mail: info@favikenmagasinet.se

A true story: me as mission control

Last night I got a call from Son, 'Have you got mummu's (Granny in Finnish) telephone number?'

I was in London, he was in Sweden, with my mother - or so I thought.

'Yes, but persumably you're on the same ferry with her and can locate her without having to use your mobile?' I asked, drily. My clever son is not known for caring much about life's boring little practicalities. I knew he was travelling from Stockholm to Mariehamn with my mother. The cost of mobile telephone calls between Swedish and English phones are astronomical so we try to avoid calling each other when on holiday.

'No, I'm on the side of the road and they've driven off!' said Son.

I listened in stunned silence (Husband told me later my jaw literally dropped). My son, mother and step-father had been driving along the road from Stockholm to the port of Kapellskär when the engine made an unusual noise. They stopped at the side of the road. Son decided to get out of the car and investigate. When the door slammed shut my mother drove off.

'Didn't you try to wave?' I managed to say. I know this is bad of me, but I was trying to stifle a giggle.

But Son was more than a little perturbed, 'Of course I did - like mad! I'm on the side of the road somewhere in the middle of bloody Swedish countryside and they've driven off without me!' he repeated.

He had a point; I could picture the deserted road, the dark woods all around him. (My novelist brain was in overdrive).

It had become serious. Thinking about it, the situation wasn't funny anymore.

And my mother wasn't answering her mobile. I later found out it was because she'd had it on silent after the funeral they'd attended that morning. (Another story) I quickly penned a text that I'm sure I'll not see the like of in the history of texting: 'Mum, look behind you, you grandson's not in the car!'

On the sofa opposite me in London, the Englishman and Son's Girlfriend (who happened to be with us) stared at each other, then both turned to look at me. 'How do two adults manage to leave the third on the side of the road without meaning to?' said The Englishman.

Girlfriend, who luckily for my son has a strong practical streak, said, 'Do you think he has his wallet with him?' Her thinking was that if my mother didn't realise Son was missing, she could easily drive onto the ferry and sail off to Mariehamn without him.

I saw what she meant; they were late for the last Ålandsfärjan already. We've made the same ferry by the skin of our teeth many times; there's not even been time to get out of the car before the bow doors have been shut. What if this happened now? At least if Son had money and credit cards he could walk to the nearest house, or village, and get help. But was Sweden as safe as it used to be? Would anyone let him in at seven in the evening? He was in the countryside and spoke no Swedish. An episode of Wallander began to play in front of my eyes.

Girlfriend and I stared at each other when there was another call, 'They've just driven past me, not spotting me!'

Then my mother called, panicked, 'This is terrible, I can't believe it. We thought he just opened the car door to look at the wheels, and was back in the car, and the sun is so low, and I can't see through my windscreen, and there's something wrong with the wipers, and the water won't come out, and I had my phone off because of the funeral, you know...'

My mother speaks little English and my son basic Finnish, which make communications a little difficult at times.

'Calm down, mum,' I had to hide my own growing panic, 'Just turn around and try to find him again.' Son on the other line said - rather quick thinking of him in the circumstances - that he could see a road sign for the next village. I repeated the name to my mother. 'Ah, I know where he is,' she said, a little more calmly.

A few minutes later I had a text from son saying he was back in the car.

'Have a schnapps with your smörgåsbord on the ferry,' I texted back.

'Thanks, Mission Control,' came the reply.

Finland are ice hockey world champions!

The silveware. Picture YLE

Growing up in Tampere I was an avid follower of ice hockey. My team, Ilves, were Finnish champions and I saw many matches in the newly built jäähalli. 

Since moving here, I've lost touch with the game, but could not miss the wonderful news that Finland, after first beating Russia in the semi-finals were going to play Sweden - their old arch rivals - in the world championship finals.

It didn't start well; Sweden took the lead in the 28th minute. Here we go, I thought. In the days when I used to follow the game, Finns were famed for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Especially when playing against Sweden, or The Three Crowns, the players never failed to disappoint. I had to witness one crucial match with my father in Stockholm where we lost 13-0 to the Three Crowns.

But last night The Lions, as Finns call themselves, fought on. They have a lucky break when a Swede misses our goal by a whisker in the 39th minute. They go on to equalise just seconds before the end of the 2nd period.

Finland wins the face-off at the start of the 3rd period and take control of the game. Second and third goals come in quick succession. At 3-1 the commentators start to talk about winning the championships. Sweden crumbles. Three minutes from the end the Lions score again, making the it 4-1, and just a minute later there's another goal for Finland. The match ends at 6-1 when the Lions steal another goal just under a minute before full-time.

Picture Tomi Hänninen

Picture Tomi Hänninen

What a match - what champions!

Picture Tomi Hänninen 

Eurovision 2011 with Twitter

First time the Englishman and I watched Eurovision after I moved to Britain was when I was heavily pregnant with our first child. Because I was too tired to go out to the pub on a Saturday night with friends, we spent the night in front of the TV instead, marvelling at the bad costumes and terrible songs.

That was in the old days when Norway and Finland fought hard for the last place with it's 'nil point', and when the whole counting process was so long-winded people lost the will to live.  (You think it takes a long time now...!) Of course in Finland and Sweden people took the whole event much more seriously then and each country really wanted to win. Abba's Waterloo was fresh in my memory and the song and artist who came first were still guaranteed a successful European career afterwards. And everyone sang in their native language and there was no East European block voting...

Of course the Englishman thought it was the naffest thing you could do, watch Eurovision in 1987, but for some reason after that first time it became a family tradition to each year watch this European spectacle. 

This year, for the first time, we both sat in front of the TV with the addition of our Macs on our laps sending Tweets and laughing together at other people's comments on Twitter. I'm sure TweetDeck was close to crashing during the performance by Moldova. Some hats...

Moldova's contribution to this years' Eurovision song contest

The Englishman said afterwards he can't remember when he laughed so much while watching Eurovision. 

So thank you to all my Twitter friends for a fantastic night of Twittervision. (And Graham Norton was very funny too - I nearly didn't miss Terry at all).