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I first learned about the Swedish coffee break tradition, fika, while reading a post on the charming and beautifully photographed blog Pantry Confidential. It was a Q&A with the Brooklyn-based Swedish illustrator, Johanna Kindvall, who—along with her friend and countrywoman, food writer Anna Brones—had recently written and illustrated a whimsical, gorgeously instructive little book on the subject.
The book's baked goods—things like havreflarn med choklad (oat crisp chocolate sandwich cookies) and fikonrutor (fig squares)—drew me in immediately. But what really hooked me was the whole concept of fika (pronounced fee-ka): Taking a break with a cup of coffee or tea and some sort of (ideally homemade) baked good or savory snack alongside.
If you're American and a "coffee break" sounds familiar, take note. To fika does not mean to down a paper cup of joe at your local espresso joint or in front of that all-too-familiar screen you likely stare at all day. To the Swedes, the point is to slow down and truly pause. You might fika with a friend or co-worker, at the office during a busy workday, at home on a relaxed weekend, or even on the road while traveling. But the point is to fika, and fika daily.
I thought I'd try hosting my own fika here at Epicurious. We had just launched our massive Thanksgiving package—an epic undertaking in which we answered the 50 biggest questions people ask about cooking the year's most important feast. My colleagues and I had been working night and day, stuffing vegetables within vegetables to create vegducken (the ultimate vegetarian entree), dreaming up luscious and surprisingly easy pies, doggedly researching the ins and outs of what size bird to order and the perfect cocktail to kick off the meal.
It seemed like the ideal moment to turn our little lounge into a fikarum (fika room) and take a breather together. I considered baking pepparkakor (Swedish ginger cookies), or putting together a smoked salmon smørrebrød, but ultimately settled on a batch of Swedish cardamom rolls.
But would my coworkers show up at my fika? If they did, would it be anything more than a grab and run?
Turned out not only did they drop in, they stayed! At fikarast (the appointed time), our whole crew gathered. Anna brewed a pot of fresh coffee and I put out the fresh warm rolls. We sat together, hands wrapped around steaming mugs, talking about everything from where to find the best Viennese cakes in New York City to where to eat traditional German wurst; where some of us went to culinary school—some here in NYC, others as far away as Paris. We laughed, learned a little something new about each other, recharged, and after the last crumb was cleared, went back to our various work tasks.
As I got up to leave, I heard one of our staffers, Tommy Werner, enthusiastically declare, "We should fika more often!" I smiled. Perhaps we will.
