The bakery on vår gård

Ten years ago, when Patimakorn Padtum Söderström moved from Thailand to Sweden, she had never eaten bread. Today, she is Vår Gård 's pastry chef and Swedish master of baking. Patimakorn, which is called Eight of all tells me to provide myself with the abundant coffee buffet.

It's half an hour until the conference guests will tuck in to relieve the afternoon dip of sweetness.

The table shines with pristine delights: petit choux with vanilla cream and raspberry jam, banana cake with chocolate mousseline, roll cake with buttercream... For those who want to be a little more healthy, there are sugar-free chocolate balls made with cocoa, coconut, pumpkin seeds, dates and vanilla. It feels sinful to be the first - but I heed the author's call - and take it.

The cream completely pours out when I sink my teeth into her petit choux. Sweden's foremost baker looks on with the humble horror of the perfectionist. "Did it taste good?" she asks. It tastes more than good. It's high-class coffee, which I'm also talking about. As a 27-year-old, seizing the title Baker of the Year is remarkable in itself.

But Ått's journey is even more astonishing: Ten years ago, when she moved to Sweden from Bangkok, she had never eaten bread. Today there is certainly a decent range of Thai restaurants in Borlänge.

Ten years ago, the situation was different. If the youngster wanted to eat Thai food, she had to cook it herself. She started whipping up fried rice and other dishes she missed from her homeland, and discovered to her surprise that she liked cooking. She applied to the hotel and restaurant program, but the grades weren't enough. A teacher advised her to look for the food line instead: "It's kind of like a restaurant, but you bake cakes and bread."

Eight was tagged the first week when she and her classmates were given the task of baking a cream cake. And her pep grew in strength when she noted the rudeness of her classmates: - Half of the students didn't even want to be there.

They took the training only because they hadn't got in anywhere else and were mostly throwing dough at each other, she says. Patimakorn "Eight" Padtum Söderström
Age: 27 years.
Make: Baker and pastry chef.
Lives: Apartment in Tumba.
Family: Husband Adam Söderström and two-year-old son Anthony.

"I'm going to make the best cake," thought Ått, and she was so proud of succeeding at the idea that she posted the result on Facebook.

The drive, the desire to be the best as quickly as possible, had a lot to do with her underdog role. While the spoiled classmates grew up with cinnamon buns and mazarines, she hardly knew what wheat flour looked like. She was completely wiped out, and it wasn't just out of spite. - Cinnamon roll, what is it?

Cinnamon, it's something we have in the food in Thailand. We don't have a bread culture but I liked that challenge. I am stubborn and easy to learn and went in very hard to learn quickly. The I'll-show-you feeling took her far. She made the most progress during the internship periods. In the third year of high school, she went from considering baking as an exciting job, to seeing it as an art form.


In previous internships, she had seen semi-finished products being assembled into something "homemade"; saw margarine replace real butter... At Tösse Bageri in Stockholm, she finally realized what professional pride is. Att had a small notebook with her, which she filled with reflections, recipes and insights. It was also there that she expanded her interest in pastries to bread.
Among innovations such as sourdough and stone ovens, Attt developed hyper-rapidly. But language was still a problem. When she was asked to get a stool, she didn't know what it was. "Unfortunately, there was none," she lied shamefully. "But it's right there!" growled the confused colleague. The Swedish language was difficult in itself; on top of that, trying to decipher the lingo of bakers and confectioners felt like a fat premium task.

But Ått learned, word for word, and soon threw around expressions like "plåtolle" (technical language for the transparent plastic bag that is put on the baking sheet before it is placed in the freezer). At the food line's final test, she offered the jury Tösse-inspired buns, wreaths, pastries and bread.

The students had to choose a pastry themselves, to show what they had learned, and the vast majority chose to excel with a wedding cake. Eight instead made a sophisticated bouquet of brittle chocolate roses. Once again, the cat among the ermines was named best in class. "Thailand doesn't have a bread culture right away. I liked the challenge."


Sinking into the sofa, with his gaze directed at the autumn leaves swirling outside the window, Ått thinks back to the first ten years in Sweden.

On the dazzling white chef's coat is her full name: Patimakorn Padtum Söderström. That's her name, not Att. That everyone still calls her that, that it even says Eight on her Baker of the Year diploma, is a long story. When Patimakorn explains that "Ått" is a Swedish translation of "Oat", oats, she often gets the reaction: "Aha! Baker – oats – I get it.” But the fact is that the nickname stuck with her since childhood. In Thailand, where light-hearted nicknames are common, her mother called her "Oat" for the simple reason that she liked oat milk. The surname is more easily explained. Söderström comes from her husband Adam – he has also won Baker of the Year – whom she met during an internship with Magnus Johansson in Hammarby sjöstad. They rolled croissants together, baked puff pastry for the Nobel dinner. And fell in love. That Ått also fell in love with Vår Gård is mainly due to two things. One: The beautiful surroundings. Two: She gets to be both a baker and pastry chef, a luxury that few are afforded. In the morning she bakes rolls for the breakfast buffet, then buns for morning coffee, then she makes two types of bread for lunch and the evening's dinner.

After that, she takes on the role of pastry chef and prepares the delicacies that crowd the coffee table in front of the bar.
The conference guests' afternoon chatter becomes considerably more cheerful when they see her creations. Att stands in the wings and smiles when she hears it. - The advantage of having guests who have already paid is that I can decide what they will get to try, she says.
- It gives me free rein to experiment!
She has always liked to weave the flavors of her native Thailand into the original Swedish.

Uses ingredients like mango, cashew nuts and coconut extensively.

She is concerned that there should always be something for everyone, and therefore bakes increasingly healthy coffee, very raw food-inspired. For example, the raw balls with chocolate flavor can be eaten by everyone, even vegans, lactose intolerant and gluten allergy sufferers. Despite his comet career, Ått gives a prudent impression. She remains cautious when it comes to introducing her own innovations. Her specialty, a long-fermented sourdough bread on spelled with toasted sesame seeds, is a good example. Only after she won the SM with the bread on the menu, did she dare to serve it to Vår Gård 's guests. Swedish champion, yes. The development curve has been steep. Eight laughs as she thinks back to that cream cake she baked during the first week of high school. A few days ago, she saw the picture again on Facebook.

- Ugh!

It looks like something an amateur has done. The fruit lies strangely and the cream is too thick and has cracked. It's too much of everything. After ten years in Sweden, I have learned what just means. Everything in moderation?


Not automatically, but definitely when the Baker of the Year puts on the apron. Text: Christian Daun