Johansson Linnea - Food for friends: more than 75 easy recipes from a Brooklyn kitchen

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Photography, food: Adrian Mueller Photography, people: Dan McMahon Art Director: Tadeu Magalhes Illustrations: Tove Eklund Repro: Elanders Flth & Hssler US Edition cover design: Laura Klynstra Print ISBN: 978-1-63450-637-3 Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63450-638-0 Printed in China Contents Classics Theres a reason why classics became classicsthey work. BASTA. I loved my time with my grandmother in her kitchen on the tiny island of Tjrn in Sweden. That woman was out of this world, and for her a three-course-meal was not just something you put together for Sunday dinner; it was on the table every night. She served every meal with gusto. Most of the food in her kitchen, from horseradish to grapes, came from her own garden.

You could even call her an 80s precursor to the locovore movement. But dinner wasnt the only meal that came with a dash of overkill from Grandma. Breakfast was sandwiches made from freshly baked bread accompanied by tea. Then, slightly unexpectedly, came breakfast number two, consisting of yogurt and homemade muesli. After what felt like fifteen minutes, a hot lunch was ready. On top of this, she happily threw in a coffee break or two with homemade cinnamon buns or cookiesjust so you wouldnt go hungry for a single second! She was an absolute machine who hated the thought of store-bought foods; she baked her own bread; she canned her own jams; and she roasted her own muesli.

So where the hell did Grandma learn to do all of this? Well, Grandmas mom, my great-grandmother Ebon, was no slouch in the kitchen either. She started working at a young age at the butcher shop in the Bazar Alliance in Gothenburg, Sweden. (Yes, I like to brag that Im a third-generation butcher). After twenty years of working her ass off, Grandma bought the shop, renamed it Ebons, and it became one of the main attractions of Gothenburgs market hall. As irony would have it, Im not the first person in my family to put out a cookbook. Great-Granny Ebon published one as well.

You might think that this would be enough of a food heritage, but no! I inherited even more good food genes from my father, one of the most creative cooks Ive ever met. Jokingly known around town as "Gothenburg Jesus," on account of his luxurious beard. Without second thought to the six-hour time difference, he can call me in the middle of the night in New York and passionately tell me every detail of his latest food pairings, such as lingonberry and avocado compote. Though his combos always sound a bit strange, he swears by them. I spent a lot of time cooking with my dad in his messy kitchen. One of my favorite dishes was his homemade crepes.

The higher he flipped them into the air, the more impressed I was, so naturally some crepes always ended up on the ceiling light. Thus the lamp crepe was born. Here, the feat was that you had to remove the crepes from the fixture while they were still in good enough shape to be cooked on the flip side. Upon our failure, our dog Lord lucked out, as he got to eat the remains. And thus the doggie crepe was born. Lucky, lucky, Lord! With all this in mind, Ive always felt predestined to work with food.

However, my mother didnt want me to be a one-trick pony, and with dyslexia in tow, my academic career was not looking too hot. Nevertheless, being the clever academic that she is, my mother bought me a food lexicon to trick me into reading more and learning how to write properly. Yet, for what Ive lacked in reading and writing ability, Ive compensated for by working harder to develop what I actually enjoy doing: cooking. Good try, Mom, but cooking still wins! So Ill take credit for all the good recipes, but you will have to thank the publisher for spelling and grammar. When my mother realized we would not be forming a mother-daughter, super-scientist team in white lab coats, side by side in front of microscopes, and saving the world together anytime soon, the two of us brokered a peace treaty. I was excused from boring household chores in exchange for having dinner ready and on the table when she arrived home from work.

She was blissfully ignorant of what this would actually entail. Rather than providing nutritionally balanced meals, I was hell-bent on trying new culinary experiments. French chicken liver pat served with a slice of Schwartzwald cake for dinnernothing was wrong with that in my book! Much to my moms dismay, I finished my academic pursuits at the tender age of 16, and went on to pursue a glamorous career in a caf, feeling on top of the world! Who needs college when you can be a master chef trying to change the world one tart at a time? Right? Wrong. I quickly realized that a pastry at a time is exactly that: one pastry. I aspired to become a chef, but as I found myself preparing the same dishes over and over again like some I Love Lucy marathon. The job of my dreams wasnt all that it was cracked up to be.