Coming out to my grandma’s kitchen, the smell of melted butter, onion and pork met my nose, I knew exactly what she was making, Frikadeller. I ate Frikadeller before I learned how to walk, both of my grandma’s have always made them every time they know I’m coming.

My mom can make them too, but they will never be as good as my grandma’s.

It’s the night before I’m traveling to U.S, my grandma had invited to frikadeller, she know I not will get them for a whole year, or maybe I will make them, but not as good as my grandma’s. We are eating frikadeller with potatoes and sauce, but to my last Frikadeller I need some rugbrod, rugbrod are some Danish, dark bread. And you can’t get it anywhere else than in Denmark. I know i will miss my rugbrod, I have eaten rugbrod as long I can remember, in kindergarten, middle school and high school, everyday for my lunch. I can eat it to my breakfast too, there is nothing as good as the smell and taste of toasted rugbrod.

Every people in Denmark know what rugbrod and Frikadeller is, not everyone are eating it, but they know what it is. But when I’m sitting there in my grandma’s kitchen 12 hours before I’m taking my flight from Denmark to the U.S, the taste of frikadeller, give me so many memories, especially one i remember clearly. I’m coming home from school and my mom are telling me she are making frikadeller for dinner, and I can smell them, I can see them, they both smell and look like my grandma’s and I’m excited, I’m taking a couple on my plate, and then I taste them, and they don’t taste right, they don´t taste like grandma’s.