København var stille på denne kølige eftermiddag. Lars var ude i byen sammen med Signe og Sofie. De satte sig på en café ved strøget. Lars smilede, hans blå øjne lyste op af spænding, "Jeg har en ide," sagde han.

Copenhagen was quiet on this cool afternoon. Lars was out in the city with Signe and Sofie. They sat down at a café by the main shopping street. Lars smiled, his blue eyes lighting up with excitement, "I have an idea," he said.

Signe og Sofie kiggede på ham. Sofie stillede sit kaffe kop fra sig, "Hvad er det?" spurgte hun. Lars lænede sig tilbage i sin stol. "Lad os spille et spil," svarede han.

Signe and Sofie looked at him. Sofie put down her coffee cup, "What is it?" she asked. Lars leaned back in his chair. "Let's play a game," he replied.

Spillet var enkelt: Prøv at sige "rødgrød med fløde" uden fejl. Alle tre skulle forsøge sig. Lars begyndte. Han brød sig ikke meget om fløde, men han elskede udfordringer. Han løftede hagen, trak vejret dybt ind og sagde: "Rødgrød med fløde."

The game was simple: Try to say "rødgrød med fløde" without making a mistake. All three of them would give it a try. Lars started. He didn't care much for cream, but he loved challenges. He lifted his chin, took a deep breath, and said, "Rødgrød med fløde."

Korrekt udtalt. Signe og Sofie klappede. Det var Sofies tur. Hun var bedst til dansk, men ordet var svært. Hun tog en tår af sit kaffe, åndede dybt ud og prøvede: "Rødgrød med flø." Hun glemte "de" i enden. De andre grinte.

Correctly pronounced. Signe and Sofie clapped. Now it was Sofie's turn. She was the best at Danish, but the word was difficult. She took a sip of her coffee, breathed deeply, and tried: "Rødgrød med flø." She forgot the "de" at the end. The others laughed.

Så var det Signes tur. Hun lyste op, klar til at prøve. Hun tog en dyb indånding og sagde: "Rød... rød... med fløde." Hun havde sagt det forkert. De grinede endnu mere.

Then it was Signe's turn. She brightened, ready to try. She took a deep breath and said, "Rød... rød... med fløde." She said it wrong. They laughed even more.

Eftermiddagen gik, mens de prøvede at mestre udtalen af "rødgrød med fløde." Det blev aften, de fandt aldrig ud af, hvordan man sagde det korrekt. Men de havde det sjovt sammen.

The afternoon went by as they tried to master the pronunciation of "rødgrød med fløde." It turned into evening, and they never figured out how to say it correctly. But they had fun together.

Næste dag mødtes de igen, klar til at prøve. Deres møder om "rødgrød med fløde" blev en fast ting. Det blev deres ting. Uanset hvad der skete i deres liv, ville de altid samles i København og sige: "Rødgrød med fløde."

The next day they met again, ready to try. Their meetings about "rødgrød med fløde" became a regular thing. It became their thing. No matter what happened in their lives, they would always gather in Copenhagen and say, "Rødgrød med fløde."

De blev aldrig gode til det, men det gjorde ikke noget. Hvad der betød mest, var det venskab de havde, det grin de delte over et enkelt dansk ord. Og København vil altid huske dem, tre venner, der forsøgte at sige "rødgrød med fløde."

They never got good at it, but it didn't matter. What mattered most was the friendship they had, the laughter they shared over a simple Danish word. And Copenhagen would always remember them, three friends trying to say "rødgrød med fløde."