It is a myth universally peddled that Scandinavia has excellent baked goods. The British press, in particular, would have you believe that if you walk into any coffee shop or bakery across the entire Nordic region (they very rarely pause to acknowledge that Finland and Iceland are not, technically, part of Scandinavia) you will be greeted by an exquisite smorgasbord of soft, buttery delights, the gentle waft of cinnamon and cardamom softening the pungent accent of freshly ground coffee. And indeed this would be the case, were you to walk into any bakery across Sweden or Denmark. Norway, however, is another story.
Oh, Norway. Sharing a border with Sweden; once owned by Denmark…how did you get your buns so catastrophically wrong? Dry, doughy, and somehow managing to taste stale even when fresh, what the Norwegian bun lacks in taste and texture it attempts to make up for in size. For these buns are nearly always the size of your head, with a price tag to match: an average bakery bun in Oslo will set you back the best part of £5. Yet they are, universally, a disappointment. Dry, mealy, stale – often the only redeeming feature is a puddle of sumptuous vanilla custard in the centre, but even that starts to cloy after a while. Don’t even get me started on the appalling lack of cardamom. Cinnamon buns (kanelsnurrer or kanelboller) are ten a penny in Norwegian bakeries, but if you want a buttery twist accented by the citrusy rasp of cracked cardamom seeds, sprinkled on so thickly that they’ll cling to the gaps in your teeth afterwards, you’ll have to go over the border to Sweden on what I like to term a ‘bun run’. Cinnamon buns have a universal appeal – an unarguable-with quality that makes them easy to like but not very interesting to eat. Cardamom buns are their edgy, grown-up older cousin, keeping things cool and interesting with their zingy perfume.
I remain mystified by Norway’s inability to produce decent buns – and, believe me, I’ve tried a fair few. Where Denmark excels at feather-light wienerbrød (literally, ‘Viennese bread’, which is what the Danes call our ‘Danish pastries’, because they actually originated via Austrian bakers) and Sweden at buttery knots of spice-flecked dough, Norway lags sadly behind, hoping to score a few points with its cheerful-looking but somewhat saccharine skolebolle (‘school bun’), a snowy ring of coconut-sprinkled dough encasing a lake of golden custard. They go for quantity not quality, which makes no sense because why would I want a more sizeable portion of disappointment?
I was recently made to reconsider all of the above, however. Stopping at the absurdly cute café Anne på Landet on a seaside stroll just outside Oslo a few weeks ago, I made a beeline for a blackcurrant bun. The Norwegians do love their solbær (literally, ‘sun berries’) when in season, which is lucky because so do I, and I am always thinking of new ways to use them. Pillowy soft dough gave way to a light custard flecked with tangy blackcurrants and a sprinkling of crunchy sugar, and I devoured it, enraptured, swinging my legs over the ocean. Most importantly, it was not the size of my head but perfectly proportioned, a glorious harmony of sweet dough and sour currants with nary a morsel of spongy staleness in sight. This was the Norwegian bun grown up, sized down, and given a makeover.
This is my attempt to recreate it. I’ve amped up the quantity of currants, for I am a currant fiend, but otherwise they are fairly close to the original – perhaps slightly less sweet, which is a plus in my opinion because then I can justify eating them for breakfast. I also garnished with a few sprigs of lemon verbena, which works so wonderfully with both blackcurrants and with custards. You could use these as a happy blueprint for experimentation: redcurrants, whitecurrants, raspberries, blueberries or gooseberries would work wonderfully in place of the blackcurrants, or even some thin slices of summer rhubarb. You could flavour the custard with herbs instead of vanilla: lemon thyme, rosemary or blackcurrant sage would work particularly well. You could garnish with those herbs instead of, or in addition to, the verbena. Go wild. They freeze well, so there is no excuse not to let them be a beautiful blank canvas for the bounty of summer.
And if you want the ‘authentic’ Norwegian bun experience, make them double the size, leave them out on the counter for two days and then eat them. But I don’t recommend it.
Blackcurrant custard buns (makes 9):
For the dough:
250ml whole milk
50g butter, plus extra for greasing
1 egg
500g plain flour
75g caster sugar
2 tsp salt
7g instant yeast or 25g fresh yeast
For the filling and garnish:
250ml whole milk
60g caster sugar, divided, plus extra for sprinkling
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 egg
30g cornflour
100ml sour cream
180g blackcurrants, fresh or frozen
A few leaves of lemon verbena or lemon thyme, to garnish (optional)
First, make the dough. Put the milk and butter in a small saucepan and bring to just below the boil, until the milk is steaming and the butter has melted. Set aside and leave to cool to room temperature. Once cool, beat in the egg. Set aside 2 tbsp of this mixture in a small bowl to use as an egg wash later.
Put the flour in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a dough hook (or a large mixing bowl if mixing by hand). Add the sugar and salt to one side of the bowl, and the yeast to the other (crumble it in if using fresh yeast). Pour in the milk, butter and egg mixture and use the mixer, or your hands, to bring together into a dough. Knead for around 5-10 minutes, until the dough is soft, silky and elastic, then cover with a tea towel and leave to rise until doubled in size (1-2 hours).
While the dough is rising, make the custard. Put the milk and half the sugar (so 30g) in a small saucepan and bring to the boil, then remove from the heat and add the vanilla extract. In a small bowl, whisk together the egg and the remaining sugar, then sift in the cornflour and whisk that in too. Add half the warm milk mixture to the egg and flour mixture, whisking constantly, then tip it into the pan with the rest of the warm milk. Put over a medium heat and whisk constantly until it thickens – around 3-5 minutes. Set aside to cool to room temperature (you can cover it with cling film to prevent a skin forming, but I just whisk it before using to get rid of that anyway).
Once the dough has doubled in size, divide it into nine equal pieces. Grease a high-sided oven dish with butter. Roll each piece of dough into a ball and place in the oven dish, with about 2 inches space between each ball. Using your fingers, press to make a hollow in the middle of each ball that you will later fill with the custard. Leave the buns to rise in a warm place, covered with a tea towel, until almost doubled in size (about an hour).
Once they have risen, press down on the hollow in the middle again to open it out (it will have shrunk a little as the buns rose). Pre-heat the oven to 200C. Brush the reserved egg wash mixture onto the buns around the edges of the hollow in the middle. Divide the custard between the buns, spooning it into the hollow in the centre. Divide the sour cream between them too, topping each dollop of custard with around a teaspoon of sour scream. Divide the blackcurrants between the buns, pressing them lightly into the custard and sour cream mixture, and a few into the dough around the edge. Sprinkle the buns with caster sugar.
Bake for 25-30 minutes, until the edges of the buns are golden and the blackcurrants have started to release their inky juice into the custard and dough. Leave to cool before eating, and garnish with the lemon verbena or lemon thyme leaves. They freeze well (without the herb garnish).
