These iced Danish pastries stuffed with nuts and jam are a speciality of Tim’s hometown of Racine, Wisconsin
K
ringles are a kind of pastry that’s synonymous with my home town of Racine, Wisconsin. Originally introduced by Danish immigrants in the late 19th century, they’re essentially a big ring of flaky Viennese pastry filled with fruit or nuts, then iced and served in little slices. Even bad kringles are pretty delicious, and when out-of-towners try them for the first time, their reaction is usually: ”Where has this been all my life?”
We eat kringles year-round, but I mainly associate them with fall, perhaps because of their common autumnal fillings such as apple or cranberry, or perhaps because of the sense of hygge they provide. I also associate kringles with Thanksgiving – and with uncles. And I don’t think it’s just me; Racine’s biggest kringle baker, O&H Danish Bakery, operates a cafe/shop called “Danish Uncle”. But I also think of Thanksgiving as the most uncle-y American holiday, geared towards watching football and snoozing on the couch.
On Thanksgiving, you get together with your uncles (who all have strong, reliable uncle names such as Steve, Bob and Mike), and you talk about kringles, because you can’t talk about feelings or politics. Kringles are naturally convivial and conversational; Racinians will never eat kringle without debating the merits of various local bakeries (for the record: I’m a Bendtsen’s man until I die). Maybe the conversation never gets that deep with your uncles; maybe you can’t tell them that you love them, or even give them a hug that isn’t unnatural and awkward. But that’s OK, you can give them kringle instead.
