The Skillingsbolle, Bergen’s Bun

The raisins that never came back

The original skillingsbolle had raisins in it. They disappeared during the ingredient shortages of the Second World War and were never restored. What Bergen has been eating ever since is a wartime version of its own pastry, kept out of habit long after the reason expired — which is a more interesting fact about a cinnamon bun than a cinnamon bun has any right to.

An import that stayed

The Hanseatic merchants who ran the trading quarter at Bryggen from the 1230s brought their own food with them, and this one stuck. Five hundred years later nobody in Bergen thinks of it as foreign. It is a useful thing to hold in your head while people tell you what is and is not “authentic” here. The Hanseatic quarter.

Buying one

I spent four years behind a bakery counter on Nordnes where the skillingsboller came out at half past six in the morning and were gone by nine. That is the whole tactic: early. A bun that has sat under lights since breakfast is a different object. Bakeries are also the cheapest honest meal in this city, which matters more here than in most places. Eating cheaply in Bergen.

Not the kringle, either

Pretzel-form baking reached Scandinavia by way of Roman Catholic monks in Denmark in the 13th century, and the word comes from the Old Norse kringla, meaning ring. It is a Nordic shape with a Danish route, not a Bergen invention. The rest of the sweet shelf.

A walk that ends with cake above the city

Thirteen tastings across five cafés and restaurants in three and a half hours, including award-winning local chocolate and a brown-cheese cheesecake, finishing at Fløirestauranten on Mount Fløyen with return Fløibanen tickets included. Maximum eight people, wheelchair accessible. The listing is marked not suitable for vegans or vegetarians, and vegetarian and vegan options are available with 24 hours’ notice on an adjusted offering. Both halves of that are true and you need the second one before you book.

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