Maria Smedstad: Grytlapp

For the past few years, I have tried to get my British husband to learn just two words in Swedish. This is because I use them frequently and struggle to think of the English equivalent. The first word is huggkubbe (chopping block), because every winter I lament the fact that we don’t have one. I’ve ended up taking chunks out of our patio, chopping logs straight onto it during moments of rushed lunacy. The second word is stjärnklart, which describes a clear, starry sky. This is because every winter I come in from evening walks, wishing enthusiastically to declare how beautiful and stjärnklart it is outside.

Now I have a third word, grytlapp. A grytlapp is what you craft in school when you are aged ten, an ugly but useful little crocheted square. Essentially, it is just a plain old potholder, except it is (to me at least) very specifically that limp, crocheted thing. You can’t buy a grytlapp, because everyone uses the one that someone in their family made when they were ten. So when ours sadly burnt to a crisp, and my husband failed to understand my cries of “where can I get a grytlapp?” I was left to try to make my own.

One trip to the haberdashery and a handful of instructional videos later, I completed one wonky grytlapp, feeling very proudly Swedish, until I realised I had made it too thick. “What’s that,” my husband asked, which would have been the perfect moment to remind him of that word I so keenly wanted him to learn. Except the potholder in question was not able to hold a pot. Remembering that I’m no longer just Swedish but also British, I explained; “It’s a teapot stand,” and that will be the end of the language lessons for now.