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A box sent by my mother just landed on my desk. No note inside, just a foil-wrapped package about the size of my shoe, nestled among a few cold packs. It doesn't smell all that different than my shoe, either, so I instantly know what's inside: rúllupylsa, a Norwegian rolled-meat log my family makes dozens of every year in the weeks before Christmas. As far as we know, nobody in my family has ever written down a formal recipe for rúllupylsa, but an oral history has been pas...
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posted on 01/28/2008
