Lutefisk

Yes, I eat lutefisk. I’m not ashamed of it. My mother taught me. After all, it’s only lye soaked codfish. When I was a child, every Christmas we had lutefisk (happily, that was the only time it was available). In those carefree bygone days cooking lutefisk was a big deal. You had to buy it dried and then soak it for what seemed like forever. Then you had to rinse it, also for a long time. But then, happy day, you could either boil it or bake it or steam it. And after just a short time you were rewarded with this gelatinous piece of dessicated codfish basking there in a bath of melted butter. Granted the texture was a bit odd. Not at all like a nice firm, flaky piece of cod, it was more like a kind of fish mush that shook like jelly on a plate. Nowadays lutefisk is available more often and, frozen; I guess you could have some whenever you wanted. People still eat it only once a year. Curious, that. This may have something to do with what you have to endure to even buy lutefisk. It’s like buying pig’s feet, people stare at you and the supermarket checkers treat you with obvious disdain. At the very mention of lutefisk people make the most horrid expressions and they immediately make remarks about how bad it smells. I ask my friend Alice if she would like to come to a dinner of lutefisk and she recoils in absolute horror. It makes me feel like I’ve ruined her day just by mentioning it. Alice is not a very adventurous eater. She won’t eat squid or octopus either, or lamb, or heart, or liver, or ox tails, and certainly not brains or tripe. No, Alice is strictly a pork and beef eater, and only the choicest cuts. With Alice it’s only pork chops or t-bone steaks.

When I visit our local supermarket (we only have one) I always go to the same checker. I call her Ms. Perfect. That’s because whenever I ask her how she is, she says “perfect.” She keeps an eye on me. When I bought pig’s feet she looked thoughtfully at the two little pink trotters, and then at me very suspiciously and asked, “what are you going to do with them?” There was an emphasis on the “you.” I think she believes that only Mexicans buy pig’s feet, and as I don’t look like a Mexican she was understandably suspicious. I lied, I said I was cooking a chicken dish and it called for a pig’s trotter. I didn’t do any better when I bought the Lutefisk. “What’s that,” she demanded. “Lutefisk,” I replied defensively..“ “What do you do with it?” she continued. “Boil it,” I said. I didn’t want to make it complicated. The person in front of me who was still bagging her collection of all canned goods said, “it stinks to high heaven. He’s buying lutefisk,” she announced in a loud voice for all to hear. Fortunately, no one seems to be paying attention. “What’s it like?” Ms. Perfect continued. “Ambrosia,” I said, as I took my change and left as quickly as I could. Anyway, as my wife, the Frau Professor Doctor Cookie, was at work I baked my lutefisk in the oven for an hour in foil, ate it with potatoes and peas, the whole thing covered with melted butter. It’s hard to find a wine to have with lutefisk so I settled on a 2008 Gallo Sauvignon Blanc in the big bottle. It was a resounding success. Very lutefisk-like.

It’s nice to have a checker that has your best interest at heart and keeps close tabs on what you buy. I love the seal of approval she gives when she thinks I’ve done well with my groceries. Every once in a while I buy dog bones. She asked me once what kind of dog I had. I said I didn’t have a dog. She looked puzzled. I didn’t explain. I could explain I buy them for Alice’s dog but I don’t. I’m sure she thinks I secretly cook and eat them myself. I can remember when dog bones were free. I can even remember when liver was free. I can…..oh, never mind.

LKBIQ:
“Our great democracies still tend to think that a stupid man is more likely to be honest than a clever man.”
Bertrand Russell