Dairy Products

Norwegian dairy products, I believe, are far superior to anything we can buy in America.  Even the organic version of milk, cheese and butter from America doesn’t really compare to the quality found in Norway.  Any recipe I made in Norway using their dairy, tasted significantly better than when I’d made the same recipe at home.

The Norwegian government doesn’t allow the use of growth hormones or antibiotics and all the cows are “free range,” so apparently that contributes to the difference.  A happy cow obviously produces good milk, which unfortunately only lasts about a week before it sours in the refrigerator, precisely on its expiration date.  Norwegians don’t pasteurize their dairy products much, either.  I found Norwegian cheese to be pleasantly addicting and I ate it several times every day, otherwise, it started to mold after about a week in the refrigerator. 

The one dairy product I struggled with, however, was whipped cream.  Norwegians are very unconventional when it comes to their whipped cream usage.

I watched Cousin Kari one evening prepare a dinner salad the way her grandmother taught her.  She cut up iceberg lettuce in thin strips and placed it in a bowl.  In another bowl she whipped up a lot of cream, added some sugar and a little bit of white vinegar then mixed that in with the lettuce so it was well coated.  That was all there was to the salad – lettuce and cream.  I actually kinda liked it, but I’m sure it’s because it had sugar mixed in with the cream, which I found out another time, is NOT the norm in Norway.

The first time I discovered the absence of sweetness in the whipped cream was when we were invited to Cousin Birger’s house for dinner.  The dessert was served with a large dollop of whipped cream on top.  After taking the first bite and realizing something was terribly wrong with the topping, I waited until our hosts had momentarily left the table, then I quickly piled on spoonfuls of sugar from the little bowl sitting on the table.  I was in for a bigger shock, however, when I discovered the “sugar bowl” was actually a bowl of salt.  Just when I thought the dessert couldn’t have tasted worse, it did.