Let Them Eat Pulla~
"Almonds."
"No almonds!"
"Come on, just use the stupid almonds, Swe."
"NO! It's not traditional that way [1]! It can't have any almonds on it!"
"Point, but still, it's better with almonds."
The sound of a half hearted argument drifted into the foyer as Norway arrived home. He quirked an eyebrow and continued removing his coat from his shoulders. It was winter now and the weather was becoming frigid.
He followed the noises apparently coming from their kitchen and was greeted with the sight of Denmark, Sweden, and Iceland.
"Oh, hey there, Norge! Didn't know you were back yet!" Denmark looked up from whatever he was doing at that particular moment and gave Norway an open smile. Iceland too had looked up while wielding a rather large knife pointed at what appeared to be an un-roasted coffee bean, which wafted a strangely pleasant smell. Sweden acknowledged his presence with a slight nod of his head and continued stirring a bowl of... well Norway didn't really know what was in the bowl.
"What are you three doing?
"Oh! Well see it's Finland's birthday and-"
"I am aware."
"Geez, Norge. Lemme finish! So, we're baking him his favorite Christmas pastry, pulla [2]!"
"Yeah, 'cept Sweden's the only one who knows how to make it properly." Iceland cut in. "We could use your help with this though, Norway."
It was times like this when Norway would be staring at Denmark, and or Iceland and then inexplicably find himself thrown into a mess not knowing how he had ended up in the situation in the first place.
This was one of those times.
Within fifteen minutes, Norway found himself donning a rather plain black apron with a large pocket at the front, now covered in flour. He stood at the counter with an electric beater in his hand, using his entire arm to hold it steady so as to not either a) spill the contents of said bowl on the floor and consequently irritate both Sweden and Finland. Bad. Or b) chopping his finger off in the whirl of metal, flour and the makings of a dough, although it still had the consistency of a heavy batter. Also bad. He knew in his mind that the mixer couldn't really injure him, or at least not that badly, but he really didn't want to test that theory.
While he stood, wrestling with the beater and bowl, which contained a mixture of eggs, sugar, salt, cardamom [3], (he had discovered this is what the odd bean shaped pod that Iceland had been attacking in attempts to extract the flavorful seeds within) and an overabundance of flour which Denmark was steadily feeding into the bowl.
It rather bothered him that Denmark would add more flour to the batter when he was clearlynot finished mixing in the last cup or six. It was starting to migrate out of the bowl and on to his already dirtied apron as well as his hands, face, and clothes.
"God! Denmark you're getting flour all over me, idiot!" he stated, clearly irritated.
"Sorry, Norge, but we gotta finish before Finland comes home!"
"He's not coming home for 4 hours!"
"Yeah," Iceland cut in "but after you're done mixing the batter you have to wait for at least 2 hours before braiding it." he said distractedly as he examined the recipe for the fifth or sixth time.
"Braiding?" he said as he cocked his head to the side cartoonishly, some of his flaxen hair falling in his face. He tried and failed to remove it from his forehead without getting flour on his face. He had finished mixing and had handed the baton to Sweden who stood over the counter kneading the dough, his entire upper half (as well as the whole kitchen) coated in flour.
"Yeah, after it's done rising, you cut it into thirds and braid the dough and then let it rise some more." Denmark said. In his opinion it was too much waiting and not enough actual involvement.
"It's very time consuming." Iceland said as he lay on the couch, one arm over his face, the other hanging over the side, limp.
"Yeah, and then we gotta bake the loaves too. That also takes about half an hour."
Norway sighed.
"Finland better enjoy this."
"Yes, Norway because you're putting in such an effort." Iceland said, his voice dripping with sarcasm
"Oh like you did anything remotely helpful."
"Shut up."
The next two hours were duly wasted by all except Sweden, Norway retreating to his study to read, Denmark and Iceland to their respective computers, and Sweden attempted to clean the mess they had made of the kitchen single handedly.
Once the two hours had elapsed, the four gathered in the kitchen where a large mound of dough was plopped onto the counter and the braiding commenced.
After three decently neat loaves had been created and placed on a spare nonstick the group disbanded again to wait for another hour.
When they returned an egg was beaten, a basting brush located and one Swede was obliged to explain.
"Ok, so all I have to do is paint the egg onto the top of the loaves and then Icey-"
"Don't call me that."
"-Iceland, has to put some sugar on top, right?"
"Ja." Sweden nodded in conformation.
"Unfortunately," Norway said, his head inside a cupboard, apparently having located something "we do not have any coarse sugar at the moment, so we just have to make do with normal stuff."
"That's ok, it doesn't matter that much." Denmark chimed, already having started painting the loaves.
The rest of the process went surprisingly smoothly, with the exception of Denmark spilling the uncooked eggs onto Iceland's shirt, forcing him to go upstairs and change while cursing Denmark with all his might.
When Finland flung open the door, swirling wind and snow on his tail, he quickly stepped inside and sealed the only escape for the warm air that had collected inside the house. Once he had collected himself and completed the obligatory routine of kicking his soaked shoes and coat off and pausing a minute to regain his senses along with some feeling in his extremities, his attention drifted elsewhere. More specifically to the positively delicious smell wafting from the kitchen. And a very familiar smell at that.
He rounded the corner and froze midway through the doorframe to take in the scene before him.
"Hey, Finland! You're back!" At this, the other three looked up to see Finland staring back at them owlishly, obviously wondering what was going on.
"What's going on? And is that what I think it is?" Finland asked, nodding toward the cookie sheet where the smell had been emanating from.
"Oh see well, it's your birthday and all and so Swe here wanted to make you some pulla so we decided to help and then yeah."
"Sorry about the kitchen." Iceland added nonchalantly, referring to the fact that it looked as though a snowstorm had passed through the house and completely snowed in their kitchen.
"You guys made this?" Finland said as he walked over to the counter where Sweden had placed the cookie sheet, eyeing it with what was interpreted as a critical look but was actually one of disbelief.
"Ja. For m'wife." Sweden said somewhat uncomfortably, he thought Finland was judging his work. Normally, Finland would not approve of Sweden calling him that, especially since December 6 was the official day of his independence [4], but old habits die hard.
"It looks like something from out of a bakery!" Finland said, his face lighting up as he scurried over to get a bread knife.
"So who gets to cut the first piece?" Denmark asked.
"Finland, obviously." Norway stated matter-of-factly while giving him a jab in the side, while Finland cut and served.
[1] Pulla is traditionally served without almonds put on the top (at least in my family), but some recipes call for it causing me and my mother (who has no Finnish decedents) to argue over it. She happens to like it that way. I don't care but am a stickler for tradition.
[2] Pulla (poo-la [+++ on the Finnish accent]) is Finnish coffee bread that is usually made around Christmas time. The loaves are braided which I think makes 'em look fancy. You can also use pulla dough to make pulla parts which is kind of like monkey bread in that you use a bunt pan and roll it into little balls and then cover them in sugar and cinnamon. Either way it's supremely tasty.
[3] In case you weren't aware, cardamom is a little green seed pod that you crack open and get the seeds out which you use as a spice. (They taste awful alone though)
[4] So Finland's national holiday is the day when they basically got fed up of being tossed around by Sweden and Russia (sorta like that scene with Chibitalia being kicked back and forth by Romano, HRE, and France) and declared themselves independent. It's not that Finns can't fight. Oh contra-re, there actually awesome fighters (they have those epic ski troops) and have even fended off for a few Russia after they made the mistake of not letting Helsinki become one with him around the time of the Cold War, but an angry Russia is not someone you want to pick a fight with.
Author's Note: Wow. That was a LONG story. It was pretty much based off of what my experience baking pulla this year was like. We do it every Christmas however we were going away this year so we had to do it early, just in time for Finland's birthday. I brought a loaf to school and it was gone within 15 minutes. Tasty stuff, man.
I apologize profusely for the lack of Sweden in this fic, but writing his accent intimidates me. I'm always worried I'm gonna screw it up some how. But he doesn't talk much anyway. (Funny thing is, i've been to Sweden and heard Swedish accents, but I really don't remember it all that well because I was like 7 and really stupid at the time... I'm still kicking myself...)