I grew up with Saturdays as porridge for lunch days. Mostly rice porridge, but from time to time, especially if the day was a special day, we had rømmegrøt, or sour cream porridge. Grandma Olga was the queen of rømmegrøt, and we kids loved it. I remember once, my parents were away and we three oldest kids took care of our little brother Torodd for a few days. While we were at school, a neighbour looked after Torodd, and one day, when my brother Frode came to pick Torodd up, the neighbour said: "Your grandma called, she has made rømmegrøt, and you are welcome over to eat with her." Both boys smiled, "Yes, rømmegrøt!" and took the bus to grandma Ragna Josefine, not knowing that both them and the neighbour mixed it all up. It was not grandma Ragna Josefine who had made the rømmegrøt, but grandma Olga. Grandma Ragna Josefine was a little surprised when the boys came, it was a long bus ride from our house to hers, but she was happy to have them over, she imagined they must be hungry and put out some bread, jam and cheese for them. The boys didn´t quite know what to think, but ate the bread, had a nice time with grandma Ragna Josefine and grandpa Johannes, and took the long ride back home again. Grandma Olga had big pot of left overs that night.
Terje and I had planned to have just plain bread and jam and cheese for lunch today. Before the meal Terje went over to the grocery store to do some weekend shopping, and suddenly I felt an immense craving for rømmegrøt. I phoned Terje, "Are you still in the store?" "Yes" he answered. "Oh, please, will you buy some sour cream and an extra bottle of milk. I want to make rømmegrøt for lunch" I almost cried into the cell phone. I could hear Terje smiling. He loves, simply loves rømmegrøt (as he loves all what I serve him, but that´s another tale).
By the way, I often hear Americans serving what they call rømmegrøt, but believe mw, if it is not made out of rich sour cream it is not the real thing. Then it is what we in Norway call fløyelsgrøt, velvet porridge, or smørgrøt, butter porridge.
Nothing beats the real rømmegrøt. Though I have family tale about the real, real stuff, but that´s another tale as well. I am sure my mother will smile and remember when she reads this :-)