Growing up, I was surrounded by a family with a love for food.

My mom’s family loves to bake. During the holidays, the counters and tables at my grandparents’ house were piled half-way to the ceiling with sugary delights that could cause every last tooth in your mouth to fall out on contact.

If that was the case, I would have had dentures by the time I was 13 and most likely a severe case of diabetes.

There were cookies, pies, cakes, peanut butter balls, bars, candies and every sweet dessert that you could imagine. It was all there.

My mom’s grandma even made a batch of chocolate chip cookies every week of her life that she saved for visitors or my father, who has the biggest sweet tooth I’ve ever seen.
That’s how into sweets my mom’s family is, and, surprisingly, all of us have our natural teeth.

My father’s side at least knows self-control when making sweets unlike my mom’s side.

But there is one dessert that I look forward to at my father’s family get-togethers every year: Grandma Jeannine’s ostakaka, pronounced OOs-tah-kah-kah.

Ostakaka is indeed an acquired taste. When I was little, I hated the hell out of it, but I tried it again in my teens and I’ve loved it ever since then.

It’s a Swedish cheesecake. It’s browned on the top and custard-like in the middle, but my grandma puts every ounce of magic that all grandmas have that make their food the best.

She starts to make it the day before our family Christmas so the rennet tablets can curdle the milk, then she finishes and bakes it the day next day before our holiday festivities begin at noon.

I’ve never made it with her, but someday I’ll learn so I can take up the gauntlet to make ostakaka for Christmas.

It’s such a treasured thing in our family that my uncle, who is a dairy farmer, brings in fresh milk just for this ostakaka recipe.

So, needless to say, it’s pretty darn special.

Whenever my cousins bring a significant other to Christmas, the true test to get in good with the family is to try ostakaka.

It’s daunting because we watch them eat it. We stare when they shovel a huge piece of ostakaka covered in strawberries into their unsuspecting mouth. We wait for their response.

We cheer when they declare they like it. They were probably lying to us, but we don’t care.