For more than 30 years, Rachel Nichols has had a love affair with lefse. “I could eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” she says, without hesitation. Even more than that, Nichols loves the reaction from people who have never tried it before. “They’ll ask, ‘what’s lefse?” she says, scrunching up her face. “But then they try it and they just love it.”

Lefse (pronounced LEHF-suh) is Norwegian in origin. It’s a tortilla-like flatbread made with potatoes, a major commodity in Norway. Lefse is traditionally served as a special occasion dish during the holidays.

Nichols’ grandfather came to America from Norway, settling in Wisconsin. Ironically, Nichols never ate lefse while growing up in the Midwest. “I’m not really sure why,” she says. “We always had lutefisk at Christmas [a Norwegian dish served with a white fish similar to cod], but never lefse.” It wasn’t until Nichol’s younger sister learned how to make it from her mother-in-law that she became hooked. “My sister started sending it to me through the mail, and I loved it,” Nichols says. It wasn’t long before she figured out how to make the Norwegian bread herself.

Nichols usually cooks the potatoes the night before she intends to make the bread. She uses hearty Russets, enough to make eight cups worth. “I made this one time and I used a different potato, and boy did I have a hard time,” she says. “It was just falling apart.”

Nichols boils the potatoes first, then takes off the skins. “It just seems easier that way,” she explains, but you can peel them first. She then sends them through a potato ricer, so the spuds are finely mashed. To that, she adds cold butter, whipping cream, and salt. The mixture then goes into the refrigerator to chill.

“It needs to be cold for this recipe,” Nichols says. Just like pie dough, lefse dough is easier to roll out when chilled. Nichols grabs a large, plastic-wrapped bowl from the fridge of her farmhouse in Troy. “I’ve already added two cups of white flour to this,” she says, “and kneaded it by hand.”

The dough is now very thick in consistency. Nichols grabs a handful from the bowl, and rolls it to the size of a golf ball. The rest of the dough goes back into the fridge to stay cool and the ball goes onto a large, circular particle-board covered with a heavy-duty drill cloth. “My daughter got a lefse making kit for me about five or six Christmases ago,” she says. “I used to just roll it out on my table, but this [board] is the traditional way to do it; this is the real deal.”

Nichols picks up a rolling pin covered in a grooved cloth, which helps to keep the dough from sticking. She sprinkles flour on the pin as well as on the ball of dough. Nichols begins methodically rolling it back and forth, flattening the dough until it’s only as thick as a dime. “You want to get it so it’s really, really thin,” she says.

Nichols puts down the rolling pin and picks up what appears to be a very long paint stirring stick. “This is what I use to get it off the board,” she explains. Starting at the top, Nichols carefully slides the stick back and forth underneath the delicate dough. “The key is to not have it rip.” As if on cue, her creation suddenly comes apart. Nichols starts laughing. “Can you believe it?” she says, gathering up the torn pieces. “Well, now we have to start all over again.”

Her next attempt is a success. Nichols drapes the large piece of flattened dough over the turning stick, as it’s called, and carries it from the table to the stove. A griddle is ready and waiting, heated to 500 degrees. She spreads the uncooked lefse down on it, and within a minute, the bread turns from two dimensional to three, puffing up with hot steam. “Uh oh, we don’t want that, says Nichols. She grabs her turning stick and pounds the air pockets back down. “This needs to be as flat as possible,” she says, “otherwise it doesn’t fold up right.”

She flips the flat bread over on the griddle. “There, that’s what you want,” says Nichols pointing to brown patches spotted around the dough. She hurries back to the table to begin rolling out another ball. “You definitely multi-task when making these,” Nichols says. “Otherwise you’d be here all day.”

It doesn’t take long for the lefse to finish cooking on the other side. Nichols gingerly picks up the piping hot bread and quickly places it on a cloth to cool, and folds the cloth over the top. “You want it to stay moist and soft,” she explains, adding that paper towels work well also.

A typical batch makes about 25 lefse. Nichols usually refrigerates one half and freezes the other half. “I just fold them in fours, and stick them in plastic freezer bags, about four to a bag.” She suggests thawing the lefse at room temperature for best results.

Over the years, Nichols has come up with quite a few ways to enjoy her handed down recipe. “At first, I just ate it with cream cheese,” she says. “Now, I use lefse for so many different things.” She rattles off a number of recipes including mini-pizzas, quesadillas, enchiladas, and sandwich wraps. There’s also the traditional way of eating them, with butter and jam or sprinkled sugar. “I’ve even fried quartered-cut lefse in hot oil and served them as potato chips.”

Nichols has four kids and seven grandchildren, and they all love lefse. “I send some to my son in Missouri all the time.” She has tried teaching her kids how to make lefse, but admits it hasn’t gone over well. “I think they all know that I love making it, so why bother learning how,” she says. “And, they’re right.”

Rachel Nichols’ Lefse

• 8 cups Russet potatoes (about 16-20)
• 1/2 cup whipping cream
• 1/2 cup butter
• 1 Tbsp. salt
• 4 cups flour

Cook potatoes, drain, and peel. Rice potatoes in a potato ricer, then add butter, whipping cream, and salt. Let stand in fridge until the dough is cold throughout.

Mix in flour and roll into ball, about the size of a golf ball. Roll out until paper thin, on a lightly floured board. (Keep rest of dough in fridge to stay cool.)

Bake on griddle at 500°, about two minutes on each side or until lightly browned.