There’s something magical about pulling a beet from Norwegian soil on a crisp morning, its leaves still glistening with dew, its crimson heart hidden beneath layers of earth. That first bite – sweet, earthy, alive – changed everything I thought I knew about vegetables.

Let me tell you a secret: Norwegians have had a passionate affair with beets since the 1400s.

While many other European countries were still suspicious of these strange, blood-red orbs, our ancestors were already discovering what happens when you combine Nordic soil, endless summer light, and the kind of patience that comes from surviving long, dark winters.

My aunt (who I often thought of as my grandmother because she was much older) used to say that beets were like Norwegians themselves – tough on the outside, surprisingly sweet within, and absolutely essential when times get hard.

She’d pull them from her garden with hands that had seen eighty winters, choosing the smaller, tender ones that were perfect from May through November, knowing they’d store beautifully through the long winter months ahead.

This natural preservation quality made beets absolutely vital in Norwegian households – fresh sweetness when you needed it most, stored sunshine for the darkest days.

The truth is, while we learned to cook with beets out of necessity, we also fell in love with them.

The way they bleed their ruby juice across a cutting board.

How they smell like earth and rain when you roast them.

The satisfaction of that first sweet bite after months of preservation and patience.

The Burger That Made Me Believe

Years ago, after I had folded my catering company Fork and Glass, I had what I can only describe as a culinary crisis.

I’d stopped eating meat, but I missed that primal satisfaction of biting into something substantial, something that fought back just a little. I’d tried every veggie burger on the market, and frankly, most tasted like disappointment between two buns.
Then one evening, staring at a pile of fresh beets from the farmer’s market, something clicked.

Instead of treating them like delicate vegetables, what if I cooked them like I was preparing the most important meal of my life? What if I gave them the respect they deserved?

I started with half the beets raw, shredding them into thin strips that reminded me of preparing hash browns. The other half I roasted until their edges caramelized and their centers became tender jewels of concentrated sweetness.

But here’s where the magic truly happened – I reached for the spices that told the story of Nordic forests and ancient traditions. Juniper berries, ground to release their piney, gin-like essence that tastes like walking through a Norwegian forest after rain.

Caraway seeds, toasted until fragrant, carrying the warmth of Scandinavian rye bread and centuries of comfort food.

Fresh dill, that bright green herb that grows wild along our coastlines and transforms everything it touches.

These didn’t merely represent seasonings to me – they were memories, heritage, the very soul of Nordic cooking captured in a handful of aromatics.

The juniper is perhaps the most important. In Norway, we’ve been flavoring our food with these wild berries since time immemorial, their resinous notes complementing game meats and root vegetables in a way that speaks of survival, adaptation, and the deep connection between land and table.

The caraway brings warmth and earthiness, while the dill adds that fresh, almost oceanic brightness that makes Nordic food so distinctive.

After experimenting with this recipe quite a bit, the first bite of the finished burger was a revelation. The crispy exterior gave way to layers of flavor that seemed to tell the story of the soil, the forest, and the love and care I put into them.

It wasn’t trying to be meat – it was boldly, unapologetically Nordic, and it was magnificent.

The Alchemy of Avoiding Mushiness

Here’s where I need to share something that might sound obvious but took me years to truly understand:

The enemy of a great veggie burger isn’t lack of flavor – it’s water.

Every soggy, disappointing plant-based patty I’d ever encountered had one thing in common: too much moisture and not enough thought behind creating texture.

The revelation came when I started treating my burger mixture like I was making lefse dough. My mother taught me that the secret to perfect lefse was knowing when to be gentle and when to be firm.

With beets, you need to be ruthless about removing moisture. I learned to squeeze those shredded beets between my hands like I was wringing out a dishcloth, watching the pink juice run between my fingers until I could squeeze no more.

The beans needed similar treatment. Instead of using them straight from the can, I spread them on a baking sheet and let the oven work its magic, drying them until they had just the slightest crunch, concentrating their essence.

Then came the lesson about patience.

Just as Norwegian fjords weren’t carved in a day, these burgers needed time to come together.

I’d form the patties with the same care my mother used to shape her Christmas cookies, then let them rest in the refrigerator while flavors mingled and textures found their harmony.

Thirty minutes minimum, though I recommend even leaving them overnight, allowing for a slow courtship between ingredients.

The Dance of Fire and Time

There’s something deeply satisfying about cooking these burgers over an open flame – it connects us to the most primal Norwegian cooking traditions, when our ancestors cooked over wood fires in their mountain cabins.

I suggest preheating your grill to medium-high heat, then oil the grates well because these beauties need that initial sear to hold together.

When the first patty hits the metal, that immediate sizzle tells me everything is right with the world. The flames lick at the edges, creating those gorgeous char marks that speak of summer evenings and good company.

The hardest part comes next: waiting. In our age of instant everything, there’s something almost revolutionary about letting food take its time.

Watch the edges firm up, listen to the gentle sizzling as moisture evaporates and flavors concentrate. Only when the patties release themselves from the grill—when they have developed that beautiful crust that speaks of proper technique—should you dare to flip them.

If you find this difficult, you can also place them on tin foil and cook them that way, although they won’t gain those beautiful grill marks on the outside.

Of course, if the weather doesn’t cooperate or you’re cooking indoors, a hot cast-iron pan works beautifully too.
The same principles apply: proper heat, patience, and trust in the process. Heat the pan until it’s properly hot— not the tentative warmth of impatience, but the confident heat that sears and seals.

The first time I served these to my carnivorous husband, I watched his face transform from polite skepticism to genuine surprise to something approaching reverence.

“What is this?” he asked, and I realized I’d created something that didn’t need to apologize for what it wasn’t. It was proudly, brilliantly itself.

How a humble root carries the soul of Norway

This recipe has become the bridge between the Norway of my childhood and the America I now call home.
It carries the wisdom of generations who knew that sometimes the most humble ingredients can create the most extraordinary meals.

Every time I make these burgers, I’m connecting with something deeper than just feeding myself and others, fueled by a tradition that stretches back through centuries of Norwegian kitchens, where resourcefulness and creativity turned simple roots into something magical.

The next time you bite into one of these burgers, I hope it transports you to Norway, that you taste the sweetness of Nordic summers, and bathe in the satisfaction that comes from doing something slowly and well.

Extra flavor tip: Serve on my Seeded Nordic Rye Hamburger Buns to take these over the top!

So go ahead, take that first bite. Let the flavors tell you a story. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll understand why we Norwegians have been in love with these dirt-covered rubies for so very long.

Nordic Forest Beet Burger

Makes 4-6 patties

Ingredients

For the burger base:
2 small red beets, divided
2 small yellow beets, divided
1 x 15 oz can(425 g) black beans (from can, drained and rinsed)
7 oz (200g) mixed mushrooms (cremini and shiitake work well)
4 shallots, finely diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
½ cup (50 g)rolled oats, ground into flour
½ cup (30-50 g) breadcrumbs
2 tablespoons ground flaxseed mixed with 5 tablespoons water (let sit 10 minutes)
2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 tablespoons Lingonberry jam
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
Salt and black pepper to taste

For the Nordic spice mix:
1 tablespoon juniper berries, ground (or 1 tablespoon gin)
1 tablespoon caraway seeds, toasted and ground
2 tablespoons fresh dill, chopped
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves, chopped
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 tablespoon soy sauce or tamari
1 tablespoon nutritional yeast

For the Horseradish Cream:
1 cup (227g) non-dairy Greek Yogurt
1 tablespoon grated horseradish (fresh or jarred)
Juice of 1 small lemon
Pinch each of sea salt and sugar
Fresh dill, finely chopped

For serving:
Seeded rye hamburger buns
Additional lingonberry jam or cranberry sauce
Pickled cucumbers
Pickled red onions
Fresh dill sprigs
Horseradish cream
Lettuce, tomatoes
Mustard, mayo, ketchup (optional)

Directions

To prepare the beets:

Wrap 1 red and 1 yellow beet in foil with a drizzle of oil and a generous sprinkle of kosher or sea salt, and roast at 400°F (200°C) for about 60 minutes until tender. Cool, peel, and dice into small cubes.

Peel and coarsely grate the remaining 2 beets separately. Place in a clean kitchen towel and squeeze firmly to remove excess moisture. Sprinkle with salt, let sit for 15-20 minutes, then squeeze again to extract more liquid.

To prepare the beans:

Spread drained beans on a baking sheet and roast at 375°F (190°C) for 15-20 minutes until slightly dried and firmed up. Let cool, then roughly mash with a fork, leaving some texture.

To prepare the mushrooms:

Dice the mushrooms, place them on a sheet tray in a single layer (don’t crowd them) and roast at 425°F (220°C) for 20-25 minutes until golden and the moisture has evaporated. Season with salt.

To prepare the aromatics:

Add a touch of olive oil in a medium sauté pan over medium heat, add the diced shallots with a pinch of kosher salt and sauté until golden, add the garlic for the last minute.

To build the burger mix:

In a large bowl, combine the mashed beans, roasted beet cubes, squeezed grated beets, roasted mushrooms, and sautéed shallot-garlic mixture.

Add ground juniper berries, caraway seeds, dill, thyme, smoked paprika, soy sauce, and nutritional yeast. Mix well.

Stir in the flax egg, tomato paste, lingonberry jam and Dijon mustard.

Gradually add the oat flour and bread crumbs until the mixture holds together when squeezed but isn’t too dry. Season generously with salt and pepper.

Form the mixture into 4-6 patties, making them slightly larger than your buns as they’ll shrink slightly.

Place the buns on a parchment-lined tray and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes (or up to 24 hours covered).

To grill the burgers:

Pre-heat grill to medium-high heat and oil the grates well.

Brush the patties lightly with oil on both sides.

Grill 4-5 minutes per side without pressing down or moving them prematurely.

Look for a firm crust before flipping – this prevents breaking.

To serve the burgers:

Add lettuce and tomato on to your prepared, toasted rye bun (spread with mustard or mayo if you prefer), then the patty and top with pickled cucumbers, fresh dill and /or pickled red onion and drizzle with the horseradish yogurt before placing the “lid’ of the bun on top.

Serve with home fries (optional).

Enjoy!!

More Recipes To Try…

Norwegian New Potato Salad

Pinnebrød – The Best Bonfire Bread

Radish and Cucumber Salad