The Kringle Chronicles

A tried-and-tested recipe for America's finest pastry

Slices of kringle: haskap-nectarine (top) and apple cinnamon (bottom).

I recently had a recipe for kringle published in The Guardian. It’s a pretty good recipe. If followed, it will produce tasty kringle.

But it won’t produce the kringle that’s been permanently imprinted onto the innermost core of my brain. Sense memories like this are uber-specific, and when it comes to recreating the things that trigger them, the mind accepts no substitutes.¹ The kringle has got to be a perfect match, like a lock to a key. This is why, truthfully, I’ve not yet landed on a kringle recipe I am 100% happy with. The same goes for ramen. The same goes for burgers. The dishes we know most intimately are the ones that are the most difficult to nail.

And that’s kind of okay. To paraphrase something I wrote in Ramen Forever, the pursuit of perfect kringle may not yield exactly the results you’re hoping for – but it will still yield delicious kringle.

I went back through my files and found the first kringle recipe I ever wrote down, which was in January 2013. If memory serves, it was based on the only recipe I could find at the time, which is a good one – straight from O&H, Wisconsin’s second-best kringle bakery. Over the years, kringle R&D has taken me on some interesting detours, through Shauna Sever’s very good “shortcut” version and some successful-ish vegan iterations to accommodate my son’s milk and egg allergies. But over time, I’ve come full circle back to laminated dough made with real butter – it just gives the best results (and Felix can now eat cooked milk, so there’s no need for me to mess around with margarine). This is all to say that developing a kringle recipe I’m happy with has been a years-long, ongoing process, and even in the few weeks since I drafted the Guardian recipe, I’ve made some significant tweaks. That version was mk. IV; what follows is mk. IX.

At this point I should probably explain what kringle is. But I can’t help but think of what Louis Armstrong said when someone asked him what jazz is: “If you have to ask, you’ll never know.” Kringle is a Danish pastry, filled with fruit or nuts, formed into an oval ring and served in little slices. But just like jazz, you don’t get to know what kringle is by reading a definition of it. You get to know it by experiencing it and internalizing it. In other words, you just have to eat it. Lots of it!

Kringle has a convoluted history, having originated in Scandinavia and subsequently passed through several nations that have all produced their own unique version. Ten years ago or so, an Estonian variant went low-key viral social media. (It’s delicious, and easy to make, but very different from Wisconsin kringle.) I know of no more thorough account of kringle history than the one Fanny Zanotti compiled earlier this year, accompanied by a gorgeous-looking Swedish-style recipe using both flaky pastry and pâte à choux:

The Swedish kringle that wasn’t

So there are lots of different kinds of kringle, but the kind I’m talking about is made almost exclusively in my hometown of Racine, Wisconsin. As far as I’m concerned, “Racine kringle” should be considered an appellation; kringles of this type produced elsewhere, even in other parts of Wisconsin, are counterfeits.

And with that in mind, maybe it’s misguided to even try to make a perfect facsimile of Racine kringle here in London. After all, most local foods are local for a reason, best enjoyed in the context of the communities, cultures, and climates that created them. And even if you can recreate them faithfully elsewhere, you still can’t beat the originals, you really can’t. (Which is why I’m perpetually annoyed by London’s weird obsession with other people’s pizzas, whether they’re from Napoli or New Haven. Just come up with your own damn pizza already, you copycats!)

So although the kringle I’m now making at home is imperfect by Wisconsin standards, it’s pretty damn good for South London. Perhaps this is the best way to conceptualize my kringle: just as Wisconsin kringle isn’t actually Danish anymore, maybe my kringle isn’t actually American. Though it might be made in Lewisham, it’s still made with love. And that’s the important thing.

This is not my plate. Kringle is not usually so flashy but I must say, it looks good!

Kringle, Mk. IX

Makes 2 kringles; serves up to 20

A notes before we begin:

• Good, flavorful butter makes a huge difference in the finished kringle. I have had very bad luck lately with vegan butters or shortenings – they taste fine, but they often become too soft while laminating. If you use them, make sure it’s very hard when chilled, and keep it cold during the lamination process.

• There is no filling recipe included here, mainly because I don’t have very many, and none that I’m totally sure will work. Start with any good jam – tart, strongly flavoured ones work best. But if you like, I can give you general methods for pumpkin, apple cinnamon, pecan, or cranberry kringles.

• I use oat milk because that’s what we always have at home, but any kind of milk should do.

• Sponge, cake, or pastry flour are speciality flours with a low gluten content and finer milling – I’ve found this makes the most tender pastry, and it’s also easy to roll out, which makes the lamination easier. However, in previous iterations I have included 40g wholegrain flour, which is not typical, but it adds a nice flavor. Use it if you like! The total amount of flour should still be 440g. In the UK, sponge flour is usually self-raising, but this seems to have no effect on the consistency of the finished kringle.

• I use plant-based single cream instead of egg to glaze the dough because my son is allergic to eggs, but a classic egg wash will work as well.

• I don’t have a recipe for icing. You’ll figure it out! Alternatively, you can top the kringles with pearl sugar (and/or nuts, oats, linseeds, etc.) before baking, after brushing with with the cream or eggs.

You will need:

• 200g cold butter

• 240g tepid (body temperature) oat milk

• 25g caster sugar

• 1 packet (7g) dried yeast

• 1 tsp salt

• 440g sponge/cake/pastry flour

• Single cream (or an egg, well beaten with a splash of milk), as needed, for glazing

• Icing sugar, almond extract, and water to make icing; or pearl sugar, linseeds, oats, or similar, to sprinkle on top

You’ll also need scales; two large, flat baking trays; baking paper; and a rolling pin.

1. Make a butter block by cutting the butter into 12 slices (or 24 slices, if using American sticks of butter), then tiling these into a rectangle laid onto a length of baking paper, 2 by 6 slices of butter across. Fold the baking paper over the top of the butter like an envelope, then use a rolling pin to flatten the butter, pressing the edges of each slice together into a thin, solid sheet, about 14 by 32cm. Keep the butter wrapped in the paper, and transfer to the fridge to chill.

   

2. In a large mixing bowl, combine the milk, sugar, yeast, and salt. Whisk well to dissolve the dry ingredients into the milk.

3. Tip the flour into the milk mixture, then mix with a spatula or wooden spoon until the dough comes together – it will be shaggy and sticky at first. Knead the dough in the bowl until it has an even consistency, without any floury or wet patches. It’s okay if the dough looks a little rough – it will not feel smooth until it rests and fully hydrates. Leave the dough in the bowl, loosely covered, to prove for one hour.

   

   Note: this photo is from a version that incorporated whole wheat flour, hence the flecks of grain in the dough.

4. Roll the risen dough out into a large rectangle, about 16 by 66cm. Lightly dust the dough with extra flour if it’s too sticky to roll, but don’t add so much that the dough becomes dry. Lay the butter block in the centre of the dough, then fold the sides over the top, and press down on the edges to enclose the butter.

5. Fold the dough into thirds, like a letter, to make three layers of butter. Place the folded dough in a container and chill in the fridge for 30 minutes.

   

6. Retrieve the dough from the fridge, and set it onto the counter in a “landscape” orientation. Roll it out into a 30 by 20cm rectangle, then fold it into thirds again. You now have nine layers of butter. Return to the fridge for another 30 minutes.

7. Repeat this process once more, so you have 27 layers of butter. Chill once again for 30 minutes.

8. Roll the dough out to a very large rectangle, about 30 by 70cm. Use a pastry cutter or knife to bisect the dough into two long strips, each one 15 by 70cm.

9. Pre-heat the oven to 190ºC (fan). Line two baking trays with baking paper and lightly grease them with baking spray, oil, or butter.

   

   The measurements of the dough don’t have to be 100% precise, but do use a tape measure to make sure you’re at least in the ballpark. Also, this photo shows just one strip of dough because until very recently I used to roll each kringle out separately (which is dumb).

10. Spoon the filling of your choice (jam, compote, nut paste, etc. – see notes, below) in a line down the centre of each strip of dough. You will need about 120g of filling per kringle, so 240g total.

11. Fold the far edge of the dough over the filling, and then the near edge over the top of that, forming a long tube that encloses the filling. Firmly pinch the upper edge of the dough together with the dough beneath to form a seal.

12. Curl the tube of dough into a ring, tucking one end into the other. Carefully transfer the rings to the prepared trays. Brush of each kringle with cream (or beaten egg), ensuring that the entire surface is well-coated, including the sides.

    

13. Transfer the kringles to the oven and bake for 11 minutes. At this point, the kringles will have puffed up quite a bit and exposed new layers of dough. Re-glaze the lighter parts of the dough with more cream, then return them to the oven, rotating the kringles top-to-bottom and back-to-front to ensure even browning. Bake for another 11 minutes.

14. Remove the kringles from the oven, then leave to cool.

    

    I didn’t seal this kringle very well, but don’t worry too much if some of the filling leaks out like this. The best kringles are slightly chaotic. If you’re lucky, the sugars will caramelize and form a lacy, crunchy crust extending beyond the boundaries of the kringle. This is a characteristic of my favorite kringle bakery, Bendtsen’s – a sign that the product is reassuringly hand-made.

15. Flatten each kringle by laying another tray onto its surface, and pressing down firmly (this might sound odd, but it is necessary – kringles should be flat and compact, not puffy like a croissant).

16. Drizzle with icing made from icing sugar, almond extract, and water, then leave to harden and set before slicing and serving.

Perfection (almost).

A few more notes:

• It is important that the butter doesn’t get too warm during lamination; this will cause it to be smushed into the dough, rather than staying separate in distinct layers. However, if the butter is too cold, it can be hard to roll out, and may tear the dough. You will be able to see and feel how the butter is behaving as you roll it, especially as the dough becomes translucent. If the butter is too firm, and starts to break into chunks or poke through the dough, let it sit at room temperature for 10 minutes to warm up. If the butter is too soft and you notice the dough is becoming greasy, put it back in the fridge for 20 mintues or so until it is well chilled. You may have to play around with these timings, especially as active fermentation generates heat, so it can make the butter soft even when it’s in the fridge. I have found 30 minutes between rolls to be a good ‘sweet spot’ where the butter is pliable but not soft, but of course this all depends on the temperature of your fridge, your kitchen, and the dough itself.

• Cast-iron bakeware, if you have it, makes a delightfully bronzed bottom crust.

• Kringle can be enjoyed for up to a few days after it’s made, but it’s really at its best within a few hours of baking. If you are making kringle to serve in the afternoon, I recommend laminating the dough fully the night before, refrigerating it, then rolling it out, filling, and baking in the morning.

1. If you’re curious, I wrote a bit about why sense memories are so powerful in this Pellicle article about miso.