Bunad Giveaway
We have a children’s Bunad to give-away in celebration of this coming Syttende Mai (May 17), Norway’s National Day of Independence. Over the next few weeks we are holding a little competition for one lucky reader to win this traditional dress and have it sent to them for May 17.
A Bunad is a traditional costume of Norway. There are many different designs and decorations depending on where the Bunad comes from. For example, the coastal Bunads for men have a blue blazer with a tern (a seabird) embroided on the back, while a men’s Bunad in Østfold has a long white coat with dark green trim. As Norwegians are very practical, authentic Bunads aren’t for children. This is because a Bunad is very expensive to make (at least US$6000 for a basic one) – they are tailor-made, have lace and silver and jewels embroidered – and children would grow out of them too quickly. A Bunad is for life – once bought you keep it and add to it with items that mark special events, like christening and marriage. Sometimes old Bunads are passed down the family.
The Baby Bunad above is very similar to the one we are giving away but minus the cap and plus a white apron.
However, the children don’t go without on National Day. Many of them wear inexpensive children’s Bunads bought from the supermarket. Most often they have a white blouse with a red vest and black for bottoms. These Bunads are made for a couple of wears but by no means are they cheap and nasty. They are made with strong material that will certainly hold in the cold and snow. These Bunads, in their own right, have also become a traditional dress for children for special events.
About the Bunad
The dress is a babygirl’s generic Bunad. The Bunad is size 2-4 months (EUR 62) which means it will be perfect for a new born baby or to dress a large teddybear. It can also be made into a wall hanging or put into a frame. It has a white blouse, a red vest with a black skirt and white apron. The dress is 100% cotton and features lace trimming on the whites and an embroidered flower pattern on the trim with patterned tin buttons. The dress was designed by Små-troll.
Bunad Giveaway: The collar and buttons on the blouse.
Bunad Giveaway: The red vest, embroidery and button.
Bunad Giveaway: the top of the white apron.
About the Competition
There will be two stages of the competition.
Stage 1:
Tell us in the comments field under this article about a funny Norwegian food story or experience you have had – whether it be in Norway or abroad. There are no limits to how many experiences or stories you can add – just make sure each addition is in a separate comment, as each comment will be considered as a whole. You are most welcome to link to any picture you may have on the net to help your story – one link only as our spam filters will block you.
By Sunday 25th April, midnight, Norwegian standard time, comments will be closed.
Stage 2:
Moose and L-Jay will read all the stories and experiences and will pick five (5) of their favourite. They will post these five in a new article on Monday 26th April. Then you, the reader, will have a chance to read the picks and vote for your favourite to win the children’s Bunad. The way to vote is by commenting on this new article ‘My Little Norway’s Bunad Giveaway‘ stating which story or experience you like the best. Only one vote per reader. You are welcome to express why you like the story you are voting for the best. However, only the number of votes count towards a winner. There will be three days for voting. On Wednesday 28th April midnight, standard Norwegian time, voting will be closed. Votes will be added and an article will be posted the next day announcing the winner. The children’s Bunad will be posted by Friday 30th April.
Rules of the Competition
1. Close family and friends of Moose and L-Jay cannot enter a story or experience. (Sorry guys – it’s just to keep things fair for everyone else as we won’t be influenced by you ;D. But you are welcome to vote!
2. The children’s Bunad includes a blouse and a vest with skirt and apron (brand new). No additional items are included.
3. Readers can submit as many funny stories as they like, however, each one must be in a separate comment (this means you will get more chances to win ;D). Stories written by Trolls will not be published – please keep all stories ‘PG’ rated as children do read this blog regularly. My Little Norway will delete any comment that is distasteful or disrespectful. Please, no swearing – we know you can be more creative than that.
4. The judges decision is final. Of course, the judging will be influenced by Mooses and L-Jay’s taste, but if you have been reading My Little Norway you will likely pick up on their sense of humour. The quality of the story, not the writing such as grammar or spelling, will be judged – but keep in mind that the storytelling (the way the story is told) is what can make or break a story.
5. Reader voting – readers vote on the article My Little Norway’s Bunad Give-away via the comment field section under the article. Readers can only vote once. It is hard to stop double voting but My Little Norway will do its best to ignore double votes from people. Spammers will not be published.
6. The prize includes the Children’s Bunad and postage and handling. Once posted, delivery is out of My Little Norway’s hands. The Bunad will not be replaced if damaged or lost. Delivery will hopefully reach the winner by May 17 – Norway’s National Day, but there are no guarantees.
7. When the winner is published on Thursday 29th April, My Little Norway will contact them via email for a postal address. A quick response will ensure the Children’s Bunad will be posted on that day.
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Large wooden racks called hjell are for drying fish.
In the winter we rest.
Pølse is THE fast food of Norway. When the grilled pølse was first introduced to Norway in the 50s it was eaten naked – without bread.
Lathari beach is the only beach in Alta.
I don’t know if I qualify or not, but since Moose was around for all of this, I thought I might as well share.
When I first arrived in Norway, my Norwegian was severely limited and even in its limitations was exclusively Bokmaal.
The first day I spent in Oslo I was informed that I would be moving up to Alta the next day. So accordingly, the next day I was taken to the old airport at Fornebu and put on a flight to Tromso where I was to catch a connection to Alta. In case of any problems I was given your in-laws phone number and farfar’s name. Well I sat in the plane on the tarmac and waited through a lengthy delay in Oslo. As a result, I missed my connection in Tromso and had to wait for three hours in the Tromso airport.
At this point I decided I had better call your farfar and inform him of the delay. So I called (and I still remember the number to this day, 17 years later) farmor answered and I asked for farfar (who I had never met). He got on the phone and my first question was:
“Snakker du Engelsk?”
farfar: Nei.
Me: Okay, jeg heter Eldste Hinckley. Jeg i Tomso, ikke flyet. Maa vente.
farfar: Ka sier du for nokka?
At this I was completely flummoxed, it certainly didn’t resemble the Norwegian I had been taught.
Me: Hva betyr det? Snakker du Engelsk?
farfar: Nei, nei, men kone mi snakker Engelsk?
Me: Kone? Jeg har ikke kone — jeg er misjonaer?
farfar: Neida! Kona mi – hun kan Engelsk
Me: Jeg forstaar ikke. Jeg kommer ikke nu. Jeg kommer om tre timer.
And with that I hung up hoping that someone would pick me up at the airport when I got to Alta.
Farfar was difficult for me to understand and I hadn’t quite learned to understand him when Christmas rolled around. I spent Julaften with Moose and his family (Moose was only like 15 years old or something). Approaching Julemat, I was a little nervous due to the horrific tales I had heard of Lutefisk, and a desire to not offend anyone by not eating.
On lille Julaften, farmor, who was working at the Post Office at the time, showed up with a package from my family in America – full of food and candy and all day on Julaften I was just eating and stuff so I wasn’t that hungry when Middag rolled around.
We walked up the street to the farm for dinner and dinner was eventually served – this was before the remodel by the way so it was in the old Stue, right off the kitchen. Sure enough it was Lutefisk. I’m not one to criticize farmor’s cooking, but it was not to my liking. Farfar introduced me to the greasy fatty bacon and drippings that the family used to dress the Lutefisk and I learned that it wasn’t half bad if I had enough bacon and potatoes mixed in with my Lutefisk – the bones were still a little troubling however. Essentially the ratio was about 2 to 1, potatoes to fish – and remember, I wasn’t very hungry to begin with. At any rate, when I had finally cleaned my plate, farfar – who I still had difficulty understanding – said something like “Vil du ha litt mer?” Which I understood somehow as him asking me if I had enjoyed the meal so I responded “Ja, takk” and he began to shovel more Lutefisk onto my plate.
I managed again to eat it all, but I was so stuffed (which I know is a word that has Aussie implications) that I think I managed to say as quickly as possible, when farfar offered me even more, “Nei takk, jeg er full” which of course means “No thanks, I’m drunk.” and everyone laughed.
Disclaimer: Lutefisk is a cultural thing. Never in all the times farmor fed me did I dislike anything she ever gave me – starting with the nyppesuppe my first night (after they did come and get me at the airport) to the countless boller and kneipebrod, vafler, supper, and roemmegrot.
I just can’t handle the Lutefisk.
Oh, be still my heart. Those are adorable, and my second daughter is due May 15. If you have a link to where others could be purchased (I also have a nearly 3 year old), I would love to find one for her.
OK, so here is my story. It was often told to me by my mother.
I grew up in north central North Dakota, USA. North Dakota is a state that was mainly settled by Norwegians and Germans, so much so that the current demographic of the state is 49% of Norwegian descent, 50% of German, and 1% Other. (My husband says that’s him.) I am 3/4 Norwegian, 1/4 German, so I fit in well. Since we are a long distance from the nearest ocean and situated in very fertile land, the foods that have become very popular in that area are naturally ones that are easily grown there, like wheat, potatoes, beef, dairy, etc. Meatballs with gravy and lefse (served with butter and sugar) are two of the big ones, and we still make them regularly, especially for holidays or special events. I admit, I make very good meatballs and lefse.
My mother went to college in the nearest bigger town to the family farm, and had a wonderful roommate named Kathy. She introduced him to her brother, and Jim was smitten. They began dating, and one day my grandparents invited Kathy to come over for dinner at the farm. Kathy was German and Catholic, and had come from a town about an hour away where most of the settlers had also been German.
She sat down to dinner, and saw the lefse plate sitting on the table. She asked my uncle Jim what it was, and (being a big practical joker) he told her “a napkin”.
She put it on her lap.
My grandparents laughed until they cried.
Thankfully, she forgave him the embarrassment, and they’ve been married for over 40 years. She remembers being very flattered by his compliment that she had “eyes as lovely as a Brown Swiss”. She later found out that was a cow (but he was sincere.)
Haha, that reminds me of the Braathens Safe ad where the guy mistakes the lefse for a hot towel and wipes his face with it
I’ll have to think about this some more, cos the only story coming to me right now isn’t so much a case of lost-in-translation as it is just poor cooking skills.
My boyfriend Andreas moved here (Australia) a year ago and I decided I wanted to make him feel more at home, so I attempted the bolle recipe from this site.
I excitedly went about getting the ingredients, throwing it all together and even attempted the bolle-dance L-Jay describes. The dance wasn’t entirely successful but I was happy with how the buns looked, so I sprayed the pan and threw them in the oven.
15 mins later they sat cooling on their trays, beautiful and golden brown. I felt very proud and ‘Norwegian’ and couldn’t wait to give Andreas a taste. However, upon trying to take one from the pan I ran into a problem… it wouldn’t budge.
I couldn’t understand it, as I had sprayed the pan with non-stick stuff so this shouldn’t be happening. I struggled to scrape off one after the other and my heart sank as I realised they were all burnt black on the bottoms.
As I cleaned up the kitchen I went over the cooking process in my head to figure out what went wrong. Was the oven too high? Did they stay in too long? Then, as I went to replace the lid on the non-stick spray, it was all suddenly clear:
I had sprayed the pan with insect spray.
Needless to say, that batch went in the bin. Andreas thought it was hilarious, and now only takes a bite of my boller after checking what spray I used
My husband and I had been dating in Australia for around one year when his brother was to be wed. We both thought that this would be a great opportunity for us to travel to Norway (my very first time!) and introduce me to his family, friends and homeland.
For lunch one day, the bride’s family hosted a smorgasbord for the two families – the bride’s family and the groom’s. All the family members were there (siblings and their partners, parents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and grandparents) and all of the bride’s family too.
The smorgasboard was delicious! There was plenty of new yummy things for me to try, and I was enjoying them all. My brother-in-law suggested I should try a particular cheese… as it was a Norwegian specialty. “What’s it called?” I asked. The answer: “Brunost”
At this point, I had no idea that Brunost is a sweet cheese to be eaten with waffles or together with jam!
Righteo, I thought. The cheese looked interesting and I’m not a fussy eater. I will give almost anything a go. So I loaded up my brødskiver with the cheese – and then continued to add a bit more pålegg. I chose salami, gobbled it down and (being the polite person I am) told everyone how delicious it was.
My brother-in-law thought it was hilarious! (Along with the rest of the family). 8 years later and I am still pretending that brunost and salami is a good combination =/
Story #2!
Fast forward a few years. My husband and I have had several trips to Norway, and have started a little tradition of grabbing a hotdog at the airport as soon as we touch down on Norwegian soil. I’m quite fond of the hotdogs and consider them the Norwegian equivalent of the Aussie meat pie – you can’t go to Norway and not have one!
One particular visit to Norway I was dreaming of my Norwegian hotdog for the entire plane trip. Australia to Norway takes around 30 hours of travel, so you can imagine that I was well and truly salivating by the time we arrived!
My husband has been teaching me to speak Norwegian but I am still a beginner. During the flight I was rehearsing what I would say to the hotdog vendor when ordering my hotdog. Over and over I kept practising:
“En vanlig pølse med sprøstekt løk, takk”
“En vanlig pølse med sprøstekt løk, takk”
“En vanlig pølse med sprøstekt løk, takk”
(A plain hotdog with fried onion, please)
When we landed in Norway we went straight to the hotdog seller and I said:
“En vanlig pølse med spøkelse løk, takk”
(A plain hotdog with ghost onion, please)
Gah!! Embarrassing! Husband had a good chuckle though.
My first story took place before I moved to Norway from Ireland.
I’d been seeing my Norwegian boyfriend for a few months and he invited me to ‘Norwegian dinner’. I turned up after work, ready for a delicious and romantic dinner only to be served knekkebrod with brunost and rosehip tea, this, to my mind, was a SNACK, akin to cream crackers + cheddar! And it took a lot of convincing before I believed this sweet, caramel concoction was actually cheese
He still claims that he said ‘Norwegian food’ and that dinner was never mentioned…the same man introduced me to turkish pepper shots which I found a lot more palatable
It was summer of 1966. My father took his two daughters
ages 14 and 11 to meet their Norwegian family in Stavanger Norway. Being from the United States it was a thrill to experience our heritage first hand.
After a month our dear aunt Astrid invited us to her home for lunch to have an “American hamburger ” which she imagined we must be missing so much by now. Walking up the roadway to her home we began to anticipate the burgers. Not that we had missed them or given one iota of a thought to American food while having so many wonderful new experiences and enjoying authentic home cooked Norwegian food. But now we did look forward to burgers that would be waiting for us.
Dear Auntie Astrid set us down at the table and proudly presented a beautiful little tiny meatball on a piece of bread. “There American Hamburger enjoy” It was not the big Mac we were expecting and we were disappointed. Of course we thanked her and did not let her know that was not an American hamburger.
I remember that meal fondly and thought it funny. My sister and I can still smile about it.
Both my husband and I have Norwegian backgrounds, but essentially were pretty unused to things Norwegian, except for lefse and lutefisk (no we didn’t EAT the lutefisk!).
We did pick Norwegian names for our three children. Our first choice for a girl’s name was Kari and we were amazed to discover that when we moved to Virginia that our next door neighbor was a Kari–an “official” Norwegian who worked at the DC Norwegian embassy! Our daughter was born and our neighbor, Kari, took her under her wing. One day, when our daughter was around 2 years old she completely disappeared and we looked and looked for her in our townhouse complex. We were about to call the police when our neighbor came out of her house and told us that Kari was in her house–eating fish balls! There she sat, neat and tidy, and gobbling up fish balls. She has never liked fish before or since, but those fish balls were excellent!
My 92 year old father, Bjarne was born in Lillesand, Norway and immigrated to U.S.A. when he was 11 years old. Being one of four boys, he learned to help out in the kitchen. To this day, he makes the BEST Norwegian meatballs. Last year, my husband (who wishes he was Norwegian) asked my dad to help him make 100 Norwegian meatballs for our Christmas dinner. The two of them worked together an entire Saturday afternoon and made all those meatballs. They were delicious.
When our daughter was 14 years old, we went to Norway with my parents for a vacation. I learned so much about my Norwegian heritage on that trip. Norway is a land of beauty, kind people and wonderful food. The salmon, waffles, coffee and yes, meatballs were enjoyed everywhere we went on our trip. Coffee was always served in china cups and the salmon at the Hotel Norge, in Lillesand was the finest we have every eaten. My dad asked the chef how it was prepared. He gave my dad some seasoning to bring home with us. We aren’t able to duplicate those spices in the U.S. but thankfully we have dear friends who travel back and forth to Norway and purchase replacements for us.
Our daughter and her husband are now expecting their first child…a girl. We would cherish winning the Bunad and it would become a family keepsake.
Tusen tak,
Genie
I went to Norway for the first, and so far only, time in 2008. I was 65. I stayed at the Karmellitt Kloster (Carmelite monastery) in Tromso for my first week in Norway. The first morning I woke up and went downstairs to fix my breakfast. Very interesting cheeses and breads. I had read about them in Rick Steves’ books so I knew what they were. I wanted a fried egg with my bread and cheese. They had eggs, butter, everything I needed, but I couldn’t find a spatula to turn my eggs. I found something that was kind of like a spatula, but not exactly. it worked fine, tho. I later found out it was a Norwegian cheese cutter!
On my last night in Tromso, it was late, and I was downtown hungry. I found a pizza place and went down to a cellar. I ordered a seafood pizza, and went to the rest room. As I was leaving, a man came in and started yelling at me in Norwegian. I was in the wrong one. I had misread the picture sign.
I went back downstairs to wait for my pizza. I was very hungry. When it came, I ate about half of it before I started looking around and noticed that everyone else was eating it like Norwegians eat sandwiches, with knife and fork. I was the American barbarian sitting there eating with my hands!
It’s not terribly funny or remotely Norwegian, but…
One sodden February afternoon last year, after an exceedingly bad week a chirpy girl appeared on my doorstep. Seeing my bemused expression she promptly informed me that she’d come to cheer me up, and knowing of my little Norway obsession had made meat balls, holding up the bag so that i could see. “I got the idea in Ikea yesterday” she said, her face wide with anticipation. “They’re Swedish” I said dully, and as i stepped back to let her in she raised her other hand to reveal a large bottle of wine and said “ah well, they looked disgusting anyway!”
I am 100% Norwegian and am quite proud of it. Both sets of grandparents have roots in Norway. One set is from Bergen area and the other from Hamar. My parents and particularly my father’s parents have given me my love for my heritage by teaching me the traditions of the family along with speaking some Norwegian words. I have two children, Jeff and Emily, who are now 27 and 25. Every Christmas we would have a traditional dinner of pork roast, riced potatoes, korv, lefse, rice pudding, goat cheese and pickled herring. Present at the table were my parents, my two brothers, Curt and Pete, and my husband and kids. Emily was about 6 years old when this took place. I do not like pickled herring. She probably learned that from me as I would not touch it! This particular year, her uncle Curt decided to ask her to try it. She was making a fuss, turning up her nose, saying, “NO!” Then, he said, “I’ll give you a dollar if you take a bite.” Wow! A whole dollar sounded quite exciting to her. We all watched and waited for her reply. She decided to go for it. At age 6, who could pass up a dollar? Curt carefully placed a piece of herring on her fork for her. She slowly put the herring to her mouth and took a decent sized bite of it. Her face was priceless! You should have seen her mouth and the expression! She did NOT like it at all but she swallowed it and swore she would never touch it again. Curt pulled out the dollar and handed it to her! Emily was thrilled and that little bite of herring was worth it. The best part of the story is that she NEVER spent that dollar and it still remains in a little cardboard box in my bedroom labeled, “Emily’s dollar from Uncle Curt for trying her first bite of pickled herring.” I think it is about time I hand over her much deserved dollar. Just think if we would have put it in the bank it might be worth $2.00 by now!
So I have a tiny tale about snus, which I realise doesn’t fit the food category, but I’m going to tell it anyway because I never get the chance to!
One day my then 2yr old daughter happened to spot Andreas disposing of his snus. It was the loose variety, and his method of disposal this particular time was to spit it out into the toilet. Azalia saw him standing there spitting this yucky brown mess into the toilet and drew the obvious conclusion, demanding with wild astonishment “Did you have POO in your mouth?!?!”
She said it loud enough that I heard from the other room and was promptly rolling on the floor!