Dad's Lettu
By Elina Vepsa
Every morning, for as long as I can remember, lettu on Saturday mornings has been a staple in my house. I go to bed the day before already thinking about tomorrow’s breakfast. After a long sleep, I head downstairs with a growling stomach, waiting for my dad to make lettu. Unfortunately for me, given he is not a morning person, he takes his sweet time. When I ask him for the fourth time to begin making them, he simply replies that he needs to make a coffee first.
While making his very important coffee, he plays his very weird music: European electrical industrial music, or another genre he calls “old timer.” He tells me that when he’s gone, I’ll reminisce over his songs and tells me that everytime I have lettu, I’ll think of those Saturdays in my childhood. I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to his musical taste, though not by choice, and to my dad’s glee, it has been integrated into my memory of Saturday mornings.
After waiting for so long, listening to the mechanical noises of his coffee machine and his music, he finally begins to make lettu. The smell of the Finnish-style crepes fills the house, creating an enticing aroma that only makes my stomach growl louder. When my dad cooks them, the edge of the lettu sometimes slip off in the flipping process. When that happens, he calls me over to eat it. We call them “lettu skins” and when I was little, I’d be so eager for some, he would sometimes purposefully cut off the edge of the lettu to give it to me.
My dad always gives me the first one, which I pour maple syrup on, or add yogurt and raspberry jam, or sometimes, I’d just eat it plain. The lettu would be warm with a subtle flavouring and with a trace of vanilla and a hint of butter. The perfect start to the morning.
Every morning, for as long as I can remember, lettu on Saturday mornings has been a staple in my house. I go to bed the day before already thinking about tomorrow’s breakfast. After a long sleep, I head downstairs with a growling stomach, waiting for my dad to make lettu. Unfortunately for me, given he is not a morning person, he takes his sweet time. When I ask him for the fourth time to begin making them, he simply replies that he needs to make a coffee first.
While making his very important coffee, he plays his very weird music: European electrical industrial music, or another genre he calls “old timer.” He tells me that when he’s gone, I’ll reminisce over his songs and tells me that everytime I have lettu, I’ll think of those Saturdays in my childhood. I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to his musical taste, though not by choice, and to my dad’s glee, it has been integrated into my memory of Saturday mornings.
After waiting for so long, listening to the mechanical noises of his coffee machine and his music, he finally begins to make lettu. The smell of the Finnish-style crepes fills the house, creating an enticing aroma that only makes my stomach growl louder. When my dad cooks them, the edge of the lettu sometimes slip off in the flipping process. When that happens, he calls me over to eat it. We call them “lettu skins” and when I was little, I’d be so eager for some, he would sometimes purposefully cut off the edge of the lettu to give it to me.
My dad always gives me the first one, which I pour maple syrup on, or add yogurt and raspberry jam, or sometimes, I’d just eat it plain. The lettu would be warm with a subtle flavouring and with a trace of vanilla and a hint of butter. The perfect start to the morning.
Recipe:
What you need:One large bowl
One whisk Cast iron pan One ladle |
Ingredients:2 Eggs
¾ tsp Salt 1 tsp sugar 2 and 1/2 cups milk 1 cup flour 1/2 tsp vanilla Butter (to grease the pan) |
How to make:
First mix together eggs, sugar, salt, and vanilla, then stop when everything is combined.
Next, pour the milk into the batter and whisk until smooth.
Then spoon flour in and mix everything together until combined.
Butter your pan and ladle a scoop of batter onto your pan. Cook for 1-2 minutes on each side.
Serve with any desired toppings.
