The Lamb of God - lamb shoulder braised in red wine and black currants

In a bid to offer inspiration for Easter, the blog's been full of lamb recipes for weeks now. But if you think all that feasting meant we were done with lamb come Easter, think again. Now, however, I think we just might have had enough. I personally couldn't care less if next Easter was a whole year away!

This turned out to be my personal favourite and made it to The Boy Next Door's Top 2, too. Inspiration for this came from that lamb we had at Ragù; the one that brought tears into The Boy Next Door's eyes. While we welcome any additional days off with open arms, we don't actually celebrate Easter. But let's get giddy (and only slightly blasphemic!): let's call this recipe The Lamb Of God. How about it?

We did not have the patience to wait around for 18 hours which is what theirs was stewed for (with that divine scent wafting out of the oven I doubt neither would you!) but don't you worry - just 5 hours will do. 

The gentle, comforting result is nothing short of heavenly and will have you begging for more. And what's more - I dare say it's so unlamby even those who'd normally turn their noses up to a lamb will come asking for seconds! Just try!

Serves 4-6

Shoulder of lamb braised in red wine and black currant gelée:

1,3 kg boneless shoulder of lamb, tied

4 sprigs of rosemary

salt, pepper

oil for frying

1 large red onion, quartered

4 large cloves of garlic, gently bruised

4 bay leaves

20 cloves

10 allspice peppers

5 dl red wine

200 g black currant gelée

Season the lamb. Place the rosemary sprigs under the twine and sear the lamb in a bit of oil on a hot pan.  Brown the onion and garlic, too, add the spices and finally red wine and black currant gelée. Bring to boil and place in a  pre-heated oven (150°, 130° in fan-assisted one). Cook, covered, for 5 hours.

Carefully transfer the lamb out of the pot and set aside, covered with foil .Strain the cooking liquid and spoon out the fat (the translucent layer floating on top). This is easiest if you quickly chill the liquid allowing the fat to solidify.

Remove the twine and pull the lamb apart. Pour the liquid into a large pan/ pot, check the taste and season as needed (salt, pepper and/or more black currant gelée for more sweetness). Pour over the lamb and serve.

With risotto, polenta, Jerusalem artichoke purée or yellow lentil mash.

Not too long ago we had a similar mash at a restaurant (right next door to Ragù, actually!) and fell for it. The creamy texture and mellow taste are very much like mashed potatos, but lentils are packed with all sorts of goodies. They're rich in protein (a whopping 26%), fiber and minerals.

For a dairy-free or kosher diet, use oil (or cooking liquid from the lentils) instead of butter.

Yellow lenti mash:

8 dl yellow lentils (about 320 g)

water or vegetable stock for cooking

75 gr butter, cubed and at room temperature

1/2-1 tsp granulated garlic

1/2-1 tsp ground coriander seeds

salt, white pepper

Soak the lentils in plenty of cold water for about half an hour (this makes them cook faster). Drain and cook, using either water or vegetable stock (1,5 times the amount of lentils), over low heat until done (about 20 minutes). Drain, place in a food processor with the butter, and blizz to a smooth puré.

Season and serve. Don't worry of initially the mash looks a bit runny, it will soon set.

At this point of the Easter weekend we didn't have a perfect wine pairing for this (Alko, the shop with the state-run monopoly over wine was closed all weekend...) so you'll have to make do with these two previously sampled and liked specimen. 

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Gluten-free strawberry and rhubarb bake

My alma mater (yes, I've got one of those!) was kind enough of remember me with an invite to one of their alumni events. You know, to pose around in the distinguished company of fellow graduates, engage in deep and meaningful discussions on the role of the university as the beacon of civilization and nod knowledgeably when the moment called for it. 

I was kind enough to wait a whole 2 minutes before discarding the invitation. Oh Alma. Where to begin?

Yes, for seven years I loitered around your hallways and believed how Arts and Humanities produces deeply cultured professionals with wide range of expertise with all the reason in the world to feel great professional pride (I might have wanted to pay more attention to the words of my first lecturer as he laughed declaring how we'd never find work...)

Little did I know: the list of requirements for successful candidates in the jobs in my field tend to be longer than the Great Wall of China, yet the money wouldn't get an Economics graduate out of the bed.

Yes, I am academically trained. But can't even remember the last time I said those world out loud without them being followed by  the word "unemployed". Which kind of erodes the shine of the first two words. I know I'm not alone: university graduates make up the fastest growing bunch in the unemployment statistics. Not a great party to be in. I bet even Saddam Hussein threw better ones.

In those seven years I learnt a lot. Like, to read hieroglyphs. And the fact that due to the economizing tendency of the spoken language interdentals tend to evolve into sibilants in proto-Semitic languages. 

In the seven years since the graduation I've learnt even more. Like the fact that the languages that had been dead for a good 4000 years by then, were still dead. Which doesn't make brushing up on one's Aramaic terribly easy (once, at a party I slipped into a conversation details on the etymology of the word for sun in ancient Babylonia. Never saw that guy again...) I also learnt that it's probably not a good idea to include Middle Kingdom hieroglyphs in the languages section of one's resumé. Unless I want to come across as a lunatic, of course.

So, were I to make educational choices now, the results of which I'd live with for the rest of my life, I'd probably choose something a bit more rational. Like business administration. Or lion taming.

So, I didn't go (they would have had some dried up store-bought biscuits anyway). Instead I stayed home. And baked. Nothing dried up about my night - not the bake or the company!

Strawberry and rhubarb bake:

200 g butter

2 dl sugar

2 eggs

1 tsp vanilla extract / vanilla sugar

1 tsp baking powder

4-4,5 dl gluten-free flour mixture or all purpose flour 

150 g rhubarb, 250 g strawberries

Crumble mixture:

40 g butter

3/4 dl sugar

3/4 dl gluten-free flour mixture/ all-purpose flour

1/ 4 dl almond flakes

Cream sugar and butter, then add eggs and vanilla essence. Combine dry ingredients in and add into the mix. Pour the mixture into a (parchment-lined) oven-proof dish.

Using your fingers, rub the ingredients for the crumble mixture together.

Spread cubed up rhubarb and strawberries (or what ever fruit or berries you prefer) onto bake and top with the crumble mixture. Bake at 200º for half an hour (cover with foil for the last 10 minutes if it seems to be getting too much colour).

Let cool and serve.

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Superfood truffles for a superhero of a man

"Well, then. That's another 10-hour-day you've just clocked in," The Boy Next Door informed me as I finally emerged from the kitchen after the day's cooking and shooting last Sunday; on a day that one Lord and several treaties have sanctioned as the day of rest. For some, anyway.

There's a chance that was just a friendly notification and a proof he can count all his fingers. But there is also a chance that was meant as a subtle hint, suggesting the tripod isn't the only three-legged creature in need of some attention. No, it's not always fun being Mr. Food Blogger.

His contribution to this blog is so crucial though that he deserves to be spoiled every now and then. And can you think of a better day for that than Valentine's Day?

Yeah, yeah, I know it's a bunch of well marketed madness mainly consisting of tacky crap made in China... but love! And chocolate! And love of chocolate! And love of man with a love of chocolate! Surely they deserve to be celebrated? He sure does, somehow managing to muster the patience to put up with me...

I found the recipe for these truffles with roasted white chocolate ganache on Food & Wine. In the original recipe the white chocolate gets slow-roasted in the oven for 3 hours, but I didn't have time for that as I had some pizzas to bake too (no, no starving to death happening in our house...!) and turned out that half an hour does the trick too!

White chocolate, rich in itself, acquires a fantastic toffee-like depth but it is so rich, it benefits from something refreshing, such as lemon or lime zest. Cardamom is another good pairing: always a hit with blueberries. If you're into herbs, you might want to try rosemary or thyme. Since The Boy Next Door is crazy about blueberries, I hid a blueberry inside each truffle too. And hey, they're superfood! Can you think of anything more fitting for a superhero like him?

The original recipe coats the chocolate-dipped truffles in cocoa powder, but I got giddy and bought a jar of powder made of dried blueberries though crikey - even cocaine would probably be cheaper! He is worth it though. And in the end the recipe only called for a couple of tablespoons of it.

makes 12 truffles

130 g white chocolate

0,625 dl heavy cream

1 tsp grated lemon zest and/ or 1/2 tsp ground cardamom

a pinch of salt

12 blueberries

100 g dark chocolate 

unsweetened cocoa powder or blueberry powder

Chop white chocolate into a steel bowl and roast at 130° for 25-35 minutes until golden. Heat cream over moderate heat until it barely simmers, add lemon zest and/ or cardamom. Let the cream infuse for 5 minutes and then pour into the chocolate through a sieve. Using an electric mixer beat until smooth. Pour into a shallow dish and cover with a cling film pressing it against the surface.Chill until firm, at least a couple of hours. 

Using a small scoop or a spoon, scoop out small balls (1 inch diameter). If using, sink a blueberry inside it and with hands, moistened with ice water smooth the surface into a ball. Line a tray with parchment and place the balls onto it. Cover and chill for an hour.

In a medium bowl set above a pot of simmering water, melt the dark chocolate. Using a fork or a skewer, dip the truffles into the chocolate and dust with cocoa or blueberry powder. Chill for at least 15 minutes to allow the shell to set. 

These can be made and chilled up to 3 day in advance.

Have a wonderful weekend and a joyous Valentine's Day, you all!

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Instant cheesecake

You know the feeling when you just want a little bit of something sweet? You know, just a little something to take the edge off? And you find yourself in the kitchen, hopefully scanning the most random contents of your fridge (what's in that bag? When did I ever get that? I wonder if it's still safe to drink that milk?) and before you know it, you've devoured the rest of the gherkins dipped in leftover peanut butter? Wolfed down a banana wrapped in salami?

This flash quick dessert was a result of one of those moments. Though it's nice to enough to get served to guests too - last time was at out crayfish party.

The quantity of butter depends on the gingerbread you use - home-made ones tend to be softer, so you'll need less. For a gluten-free treat, use gluten-free biscuits. I normally use Digestives, but this time I used shop-bought gingerbread left over from Christmas (how did those find their way to our house?) and instead of strawberries I used blueberries. Because that's what The boy Next Door wished for. And what he wants, he gets. In the kitchen, anyway...!

Yummee.

Serves 4

50 g shop-bought gingerbread, crushed (and a couple of more for serving)

25 g butter, melted

200 g cream cheese

1 egg

1/2 tsp vanilla essence (or vanilla sugar)

1/2 tsp finely grated lemon zest

2 tbsp icing sugar

250 g blueberries

to serve: gingerbread crumbs

Combine finely crushed gingerbread crumbs with butter to a mixture that resembles wet sand. Press onto the bottom a little jar or glass. Chill while you make the cheesecake-mixture. 

Beat the ingredients together and spoon into the glasses in layers with blueberries. Sprinkle some blueberries and gingerbread crumbs on top and serve. 

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Happy Hanukkah!

We are currently living the eight merry days of Hanukkah - the brightest light in Jewish calendar. And fittingly, continue exploring of the Jewish cuisine. Though, for someone of North European descent, living in a country whose culinary traditions draw from the Eastern European traditions I must say they're hardly exotic treats. Pickled herring? Pickled... well, anyhing? Stuffed cabbage rolls? Been there, eaten that, went for seconds. 

Even bagels, that New York classic that has become a breakfast staple everywhere else in the world as well is nothing new to us - I inherited my own (since then sadly misplaced) recipe from my great aunts.

So, today's treat will hardly make you gasp in awe: it's blintzes. Or, stuffed pancakes.

These parcels, usually stuffed with cheese-filling are particularly popular during Hanukkah (what with all the frying in oil...) and Shavuot (when particularly Ashkenazi-traditions of Northern and Eastern European Jews feast on all sorts of dairy products). 

Etymologically more gifted ones probably already picked up on the similarity to blinis and sure enough, they are part of the same family alright.

The filling is very cheesecake-like - not too sweet then. At its simplest it consists of ricotta and cream cheese but in my version white chocolate gives it just a little bit more richness. Well, you know me by now: in my food philosophy less is never more! Much like in that rosemary and rhubarb-tart ricotta could also be substituted with soft goat cheese.

Instead of strawberries these could also be served with bluberries macerated in lemon zest, icing sugar and a pinch of cardamom. Cardamom also works wonders in the batter itself. 

It's crucial the pancakes be properly cooled before stuffing and frying as this way they hold their shape better so the pancakes themselves can be cooked already the day before. 

Blintze-batter:

2 eggs
3 dl milk
1 tsp vanilla essence/ vanilla sugar 
2,5 dl all-purpose flour
1 tbsp sugar
pinch (appr. 1/2 tsp) salt
50 g butter, melted 

Combine the dry ingredients in one bowl and beat eggs with milk (and vanilla) in another. Melt butter over moderate heat.

Combine the two by adding the wet ingredients into the dry ones (this way you'll avoid any lumps) and finally pour in the butter. Let rest for about an hour. 

Cook the pancakes on a skillet using either butter or oil - but only on the other side. Pour a ladleful into the skillet, swirl the pan so it spreads into an even, thin layer and once it starts to set, remove from the pan and place on a plate or parchment sheet to wait. In case you pile the cooked pancakes on top of each other, place a parchment sheet in between each layer to prevent them from sticking. Let cool before stuffing. 

Cheese filling:

1 tub ricotta 
1 tub cream cheese
100 g white chocolate, melted
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla essence/ vanilla sugar
3 tbsp (icing) sugar
the zest and juice of 1/2 lemon


Melt the chocolate in Bain Marie. Beat rest of the ingredients together and finally whick in the chocolate. Let rest (and set) in the fridge until ready to use. 

Fill the blintzes. Place the pancake in front of you the cooked side up and spread about 4 tbsp of filling onto the lower half of the pancake leaving a couple of cm border. Fold the lowed half towards the centre of the pancake, then fold the sides on top of it and roll (as tightly as you like) into a parcel. You know, like you would with burritos or summer rolls (see here). 

Fry a couple of blintzes at a time golden and crisp on both sides, first the seam side down. Turn over and fry on the other side too. Serve warm. Maybe with orange-infused strawberry compote?

Strawberry compote:

500 g strawberries
the juice of 1 orange (1 dl)
1 tbsp icing sugar

Hull the strawberries. The tiny ones can be left intact but halve (or cut into quarters ) the bigger ones. Squeeze the orange juice, combine with sugar (through a sieve) and whisk until sugar has dissolved. Let macerate for a couple of hours in the fridge.

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Reindeer herder's pie

Finland's Finest (Hyvää Suomesta)- campaign invited bloggers to share stories about their relationship with Finnish food and come up with the recipe for the best home cooked dish. I myself spent my childhood up North where no-one would even hear of exotic treats such as dim sums and bagels. The shops didn't even know what Serrano ham was - any given body part of cold smoked reindeer on the other hand was never in shortage.

Those early years still managed to ignite my love of cooking and my warmest childhood memories are firmly linked to food. I can still remember the scent of onions being sautéed which always started my Dad's cooking sessions. And the freshly baked buns that greeted us on his days off as we got back from school. In the pickiest of families his role as the Masterchef of his own life, yearning to fulfill his culinary potential wasn't an easy one and often I was the only one who'd even touch any of his cooking. I left North to conquer the world as soon as I could and since then my love of food has only grown. I have gotten to enjoy the local culinary concoctions in more than 20 different countries and even feasted in Michelin-starred restaurants.

With each year both my palate and appreciation of good food has evolved and food has become a passion that eventually led to food blogging. These days a great meal means a successful combination of food and accompanying wine, balance of tastes and textures and aesthetic presentation. But I've also come to appreciate other aspects too: the origins of the ingredients, the conditions they were produced in, employment issues, carbon foot print and through all those, Finnish produce. Locally grown and produced ingredients and making the most of seasonal treats. Oh, the joy when the asparagus first hit the shelves! And the excitement before each mushroom season! And is there anything better than Finnish strawberry? And that reindeer... now I can't get enough of it.

And all the traditions and memories food transports! Women in my North Eastern family have a recipe for Nordic flat bread that has been passed on for generations. I too have gotten my hands on that and have made it my own: sometimes spiked with with sun dried tomatos and fresh basil. As well as dim sums my fingers have learnt to crimp traditional Carelian pasties too. And those bagels have found their match in the family recipe that I inherited from my larger than life great aunts from my Carelian side of the family.

As I've grown, I've also discovered the world of less used, cheaper cuts which, with a bit of time, produce amazingly tender treats. And offal of course! And Finnish fish... Herring for instance has been frowned upon, yet it's incredibly versatile! They can be turned into tapas treats, but just as well they work with now so trendy Asian flavours.

One thing hasn't changed though. Still today the best food is made by my Dad. Nothing comes close to the comforting embrace that is a plate (or three...!) of his mashed potatos with sausage gravy. And going back home wouldn't be anything without his spaghetti with mince sauce. And there it is, the most secret and carefully guarded ingredient in any chef's kitchen: love. When food is made with love, it can only be good.

And food - it is the language of love. And that's what home cooking is all about. Rounding up your nearest and dearest around the kitchen table. Switching off TV, leaving the phone on mute and logging off Facebook. Enjoying. Both food and being together. Taking one's time. And even humble home cooking is easily elevated to a whole new, more festive level with a little attention to the ingredients and presentation (and which one of us couldn't use a bit of sparkle in the middle of the mundanity of the everyday life?)

And so my entry in the contest, Reindeer herder's pie, is a tribute to my roots. My dad's mince gravy, his mashed potatos (the best in the world, people!), England - a country I've over the years come to regard as my other home and reindeer. Oh, and that pickier than thou family of mine, who, as I've come to finally understand, is the best family for me.

Reindeer mince sauce:

500 gr reindeer mince (lamb would work well too!)
1 large red onion
2 generous tbsp all purpose flour
3/4 dl lingonberry jam
10 whole allspice peppers (or 3/4 tsp ground variety)
1 large sprig of rosemary
1/2 l boiling water
1,5 tbsp game fond
salt, black pepper
for frying: butter

Finely chop the onion and sauté in butter until soft. Then add mince and brown it well. Depending on the pickiness of your dinner guests you could also add into the pan  a large carrot finely cubed. (Wild) mushrooms would work beautifully too. 

Sprinkle flour on top and mix. Let them cook for a while and then add boiling water that you've combined with fond. Mix until smooth, toss in the allspice, rosemary and lingonberry jam. Let simmer, covered , over medium heat for about half an hour until the sauce has thickened  a bit. Scoop out the rosemary sprig, check the taste and season as needed. Spoon into an oven-proof dish or 4 small bowls. Top with mashed potatos.

Mashed potatos:

1,2 kg potatos
150 g butter 
1 dl milk, hot
2 tsp finely chopped rosemary
1 tsp garlic powder
salt, white pepper

Boil or steam the potatos. If you boil them, steam them for a bit after you've poured put the water to get rid of all the moisture (this way you don't end up with glue-like mash). Mash (I like to use potato ricer). Heat butter in a heavy-based pot or pan until it stops bubbling and starts browning and emits a toffee-like scent. Stir into the potatos along with milk. Season. 

Spoon the mash on top of the mince to a smooth layer. If needed, use the back of a spoon dipped in hot milk to get it as even as possible. Decorate either with a piping bag or with a fork. Bake at 220° until the mash gets a gloriously golden colour.

*In collaboration with Hyvää Suomesta - campaign*

You get to vote for your favourite and let your voices and opinions (I know you've got them!) be heard. Voting starts today and ends on April 24th. There are prizes to be won, too! You can vote here!

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Minty raspberry crème brûlée tart

Santa clearly reads my blog. And isn't even terribly bothered by the fact that I don't celebrate Christmas. Or, how else do you explain the fact that last Christmas the parcels under the tree yielded pasta machine and a blow torch. Pasta machine is still looking for its introduction to the society as with my patience (non-existent), hand-eye coordination (see before) and the capacity of my current 1,5 square metre kitchen that would probably result in bodies rather than, say, pappardelle. That, and a long-awaited kitchen renovation...

The blowtorch finally got taken out of the box as I was designated to the dessert duty at a recent girls' night with The Wine Merchant and The Chocolate Manufacturer. Inspired by my favourite bakery in Tallinn I made this créme brûlée tart for which mint brings a little certain  jenesaisquoi.

Initially I made small tartalettes which got their finishing touches at the dinner table with Wine Merchant's kids. They were thrilled to get to burn stuff. Naturally I refuse to take any responsibility should they grow up to be arsonists...

The crust was ye olde and faithful recipe I now know by heart. This time, instead of regular sugar I used demerera sugar which gives the crust a darker colour and a mildly toffee-like flavour. You'll find the recipe here.

The recipe for the crème brûlée you'll find here. My tin was 28 cm in diametre which called for 1,5-times portion of the original recipe. After blind baking the shell I let it cool, scattered 100 g of fresh raspberries on it along with 20 finely chopped mint leaves and poured the cream mixture on top. Then I baked it 150 for about 30 minutes until the filling set (it will firm up even more as it cools).

Let the tart cool. Then sprinkle demerera sugar on top (be generous) and blow yourself away!

Other combination that would work are blueberries and cardamom. Oooh, I wonder how strawberries would behave with, say, basil...?

And in case you're having people over to celebrate the anniversary of that Jesus' resurrection this tart its creamy richness this would make a great ending to your Easter lunch!

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Marc Aulén's Soups

Soups are held in such high esteem that at one point an entire day was dedicated to them each week in this blog: Soup Sunday.

They are incredibly versatile: some are quick and easy, some get their soul from slow roasting. They can be light or rich enough to feed an army. The world is your oyster when looking for an inspiration for travels on a plate: from Asian laksa to Morrocan serrouda. Chilled soups such as gazpacho, salmorejo and ajo blanco keep you cool in the sweltering heat, while roasted tomato soup with basil oil, chicken and corn soup, taco soup, cabbage soup and borsch warm you up when the temperatures drop. Some, such as vichyssoise can be served both hot or cold. They make an excellent dumping ground for leftovers as minestrone and Italian wedding soup prove. They are also a great way to smuggle more veggies into the diet of the most committed bacon-lover - one of my all time favourites is the minty pea soup.

So, Marc Aulén's restaurant Soppakeittiö (that's Soup Kitchen in Finnish) that serves soup and only soup has, over the years, become a familiar haunt. And yes, I, too, always go for the bouillabaisse, celebrated as the best in the country. These days he also operates a restaurant called Qulma in the beautiful, nautical neighbourhood of Kruunuhaka - the venue for our next Saturday's brunch. He has also found time to collect his soups into a book which I received as a welcomed present form its publisher. My review of the book (in Finnish) can be found here.

The recipes in this book will be revisited a lot - that I can tell. The book also features the recipe for that legendary French fishermen's classic, but I chose to put the author's personal favourite to test. Ladies and Gentlemen: Sikamakeekaali. Which roughly translates as Übercoolcabbage. You get the drift, I think. And with it, his special relish called Nordic dynamite which he recommends for... well, absolutely everything.

Our endeavour begun with The Boy Next Door sent to fetch a pot big enough for this. The recipe fails to mention how many people it serves, so be prepared. With a big pot. And I mean BIG - this feeds at least 10 people. Easily.

The cabbage soup:

appr. 1 kg pork shoulder or another, meaty bit still on the bone
300 g sliced onions
900 g shredded red cabbage
rape seed oil for sautéing
3 tbsp finger salt
3 tbsp balsamico
3 litres cloudy and preferably acidic apple juice

Fry the pork in a pan so it gets a nice colour. Add salt and some black pepper. Place in that massive pot of yours. Fry the onions until golden and dump into the pot too. The sauté cabbage and add into the pot along with rest of the ingredients. Bring to boil  and let simmer for about 2 hours - at this point the meat should be falling off the bone. Remove from the broth with a slotted spoon and shred the meat to chunks of desired size. Return to the pot and serve. Beer is the recommended accompaniment.

Nordic Dynamite:

3 tbsp lemon juice
0,7 litres cloudy, preferably acidic apple juice
2 dl raisins
2 dl lingonberries or cranberries
1 tsp crushed ginger
10 habanero chillis, stalks removed and halved
10 cubes brown sugar

Measure the ingredients into a pot, boil for 20-25 minutes and blizz into a purée. Keeps well in the fridge.

And the verdict? Interesting. The kind of comforting concoction that warms your body and soul and combines many great things:it's easy to make, makes most of the cheaper cuts and only requires a handful of ingredients. And that Nordic Dynamite compliments it beautifully adding depth and heat to it. It's also suitable for those avoiding carbs and it's gluten-free. And if only vegetarians ate meat, this would work for them as well. Like many soups, this only gets better in the following days after the meat really soaks the flavour from the broth. I highly recommend - both the book and the soup!

The Boy Next Door, specialized in spontaneous comments that defy the limits of context (and often, understanding) that tend to raise eyebrows and evoke some serious eye-rolling where ever he goes, started waxing lyrical.

"Winter. This tastes of winter. Tall chimneys pushing smoke into the frozen sky. And workmen, climbing on ladders." A quick search on my mental Google translator revealed this to be a good thing. Though the fact that by now he was already onto his fourth plate sort of hinted in that direction, too.

Nordic Dynamite was received with equal enthusiasm. "Well, it is a fact that the soup carries some deep, dark and leathery tones. You know, base-like. To which this relish lends an entirely new layer of high notes." (Understand that eye-rolling now...?)

*The book was received for free through blog for reviewing purposes*

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