“Uh-oh,” I said to the family a few weeks ago. “All the lefse-making equipment is packed away right now.”

What was I thinking in October when I led the charge to box up our holiday everything and haul it to the storage unit?

“What are we gonna do for Lille Julaften?” one of the girls asked, as if a lump of coal was coming her way.

This year, our tradition of making lefse, the Norwegian potato-y confection, for our December 23 celebration of the Norwegian “Little Christmas Eve” would have to change—like so many other things in our lives because of our recent move and current displacement.

“Maybe we just have to buy lefse this year,” Husband said.

“Wait.” I held up a hand. “We can do this without all the equipment, can’t we?” I considered the process of first cooking the potatoes and putting them through a ricer to make them smooth (before adding the butter, cream, sugar, and salt.) “The ricer is packed away, but we have the immersion blender.”

Hope bloomed in my chest, creativity in my thoughts.

Were we bound to stringent recipe guidelines? No! We could prepare the Scandinavian specialty without the fancy gear, couldn’t we? In fact, wasn’t it snobbery to assume we simply must have the proper tools to make the beloved holiday treat? Northern European immigrants back in the day weren’t granted the same luxury.

One by one, I ticked through the steps for making lefse, proposing to the family my equipment substitutions, a new world of culinary freedom unfurling as I spoke.

A large frying pan could replace the lefse griddle. A bottle could act as our rolling pin. A paint stir stick—sanded to a tapered point on the end—could be our turning stick. It was brilliant.

Last night, December 23, we celebrated Lille Julaften, and we made lefse. And I’m not being a snob when I say I now fully understand the need for the right paraphernalia.

Enjoy the photo album below showing our adventures in unorthodox lefse-making. Merry Christmas!

Flicka rolling the dough with the bottle.

Picking up the lefse with the paint stick.

Transferring the lefse to the pan.

Easy does it!

Because of our pan, a turner worked better than the stick to flip it.

Husband concurred it tasted the same as ever.

*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.