Folklore: Foodways, saying, a food thief/ house sprite

Genre: Folk Saying/Foodways, Norwegian (myself)
December 4, 2001
“Toofta took it”

Our next-door neighbor Agnes, in Forest Knolls, West Marin Co., Ca, was Norwegian-American and in the mid-1950s, when I was a young child, I learned many Norwegian customs from her. Agnes Haugen Vincilione, in her late 40s, was married to a sea captain, Lucien Vincilione, who was away at sea most of the year, and so to occupy herself, she took solace in the afternoon with bourbon on the rocks.

Whenever her drink got low, which it invariably did, she always blamed an invisible Norwegian troll called Toofta, for stealing, or finishing her drink. Of course, this was an excuse to crack open the bourbon jug that was kept under the sink, to pour herself another drink, to raise her glass to Toofta and say, “Skøl pifiskin,” (a salutation that means cheers/ health & fish!). Apparently Toofta had a powerful thirst. Since I was only five years old at the time, I thought Toofta was real, and though I tried to keep my eyes open for this thieving drink-napper, I never spotted him.

Agnes had an elder sister, Borghild, or Borg Haugen, who lived in San Jose; she visited every weekend and she too blamed Toofta for stealing things, not only drinks but food as well—especially Norwegian cookies. I knew Toofta had a sweet tooth and liked his bourbon, but not lutefisk (jellied fish). I imagined he looked like a leprechaun but stockier, because he was a troll; he dressed in Norwegian clothes.

Borg “adopted” me and I remember visiting the family home in Seattle. Borg and Agnes had two sisters, and a brother, Einer; it was a Norwegian-speaking household—their parents and uncle Otto didn’t speak any English. Janet and her mentally retarded sister, Sally lived at the family summer home on Vashon Island, and Einer, in Seattle. They too blamed Toofta for missing things.

Though I was skeptical, Toofta stood a good chance of being more real than Santa Claus—whom I knew was a fraud, because there was a Santa was on every street corner in the City ringing bells at the same time. (Besides, he couldn’t fit down the stovepipe).

Toofta was especially busy during the holidays when there was baking to be done. We made krumkaker, a thin, rolled conical waffle with scrolled designs embedded in the wafer, which he seemed especially fond of; wreath-shaped spritz, and cardamom-flavored fatiman twists—which I hated the flavor of. As far as I was concerned, Toofta could have them all. Naturally, with his sweet tooth, Toofta also took my first tooth, but he didn’t leave me a kroner under the pillow.

When I was 9, Borg gave me a krumkaker iron she brought back from Norway, and some 30 Christmases later, I’m still making krumkakers for my aunts & cousins. Since my family is Irish-American, it’s odd that we’ve picked up a Norwegian custom and adopted it as a family tradition. My cousins insists that eating krumkaker is an integral part of their Christmas experience.