Have Fiddle, Will Travel #4: The Day of White Food

Lutefisk is not food, it is a weapon of mass destruction.
--Jeff Steingarten, as quoted in the Norwegian newspaper, Dagbladet


Last Saturday was the annual Lutefisk Dinner at the First Lutheran Church of Poulsbo, Washington, for which my Scandinavian band, the Clover Blossom Band, provided the afternoon entertainment. Though lutefisk is little eaten anymore in Scandinavia, due to newer (and more palatable) methods of transporting and preserving food, here and in many Scandinavian communities of the U.S. it is a yearly obligation to pay your dues to your heritage by force-feeding yourself this stuff either at a family event or at a church fund-raiser (I didn't grow up with it, though I was confronted with sill, which is pickled herring, eeuu, at holiday dinners). It is supposed to fortify you and put hair on your chest, according to ancient folk wisdom. Would you believe that hundreds of people actually buy tickets in advance to partake of lutefisk? Then line up for it as for flu shots*, sporting Norwegian sweaters, at a pre-arranged time? It must have something to do with Lutheran guilt…..

If you aren’t acquainted with lutefisk, it is codfish, air-dried until it resembles a rough-sawn board in appearance and texture, then re-hydrated and treated with lye in a week-long ritual of cleansing baths, the secrets of which are known only to Scandinavian shamanesses, who have passed down their knowledge from mother to daughter since Viking times. The final cooking process involves steaming, so as not to thoroughly destroy the delicate consistency of the codfish, which becomes that of jello; translucent white jello. Supposedly there is no lye left in the cod by the time it reaches the table. Other accompaniments to the lutefisk include white apple/cabbage slaw, white (anemic) sliced tomatoes, white potatoes, white rolls, and add white lefse flatbread if you are Norwegian. To aid palatability, white cream sauce or melted butter are available. For those who refuse to stomach the lutefisk, or if you want both, meatballs in gravy are also served. Unless you bring your own accompaniments, such as syltebar (Norwegian term for Swedish lingonberries, heh heh, similar to cranberries in color and taste), the meatballs will be the only spot of color on your plate. Dessert is another white food with a touch of color: vanilla ice cream teamed with orange sherbet, into which a rolled white cookie has been inserted.

Despite the presence of hundreds of people, our audience for this event consists of plus or minus twenty people at a time, waiting to be seated at tables. You could call them a captive audience. They are confined to a holding area on one side of the huge multi-purpose room, separated from the diners by a few movable dividers. Even with a sound system, the cacophony of cheerful chatting voices, gagging, and dish-banging prevents the sound from reaching the ears of the diners, and possibly our audience as well. There is room to dance in front of our portable stage, but not many people do that. They do like the music, or appear to. Along with the lutefisk, this is probably the only day all year that they hear Scandinavian music. So they know they’d better like it.

I have played with my band for 11 of these dinners, but the number of annual Lutefisk Dinner occasions that the band has played for stretches into the deep, dark primeval past, like maybe the Iron Age. We do not get paid for this performance, except in food, if you can call it that. We consider it to be one of those bonding experiences that brings us together to celebrate our common ancestry, no matter that (or perhaps because) these Norwegian, Danish and Swedish ancestors were traditionally enemies. Nevertheless, every time we get a new member, we gleefully watch them get “initiated” into the experience. This year we didn’t have any new members, but because some were ill, or claimed to be ill, the wife of one of our fiddlers got a free ticket, and was initiated into the Lutefisk Club. She was definitely NOT impressed by fish jello. Her return to this noteworthy occasion is in doubt.

As you may have learned from a former story of mine, the Clover Blossom Band has been going through some stress. Our practices have been so depressing that I forgot to go to the practice before the lutefisk dinner. REALLY, I did! (I think my subconscious was protecting me.) In the past we have often had all ten band members in attendance for Lutefisk. But with three members leaving the band, two ill, and one birdwatching in Ecuador and the Galapagos (where we would all rather be), we were it: two fiddlers, a clarinet, and a banjo. Our banjo player, the lone back-up musician, wanted to melt into the woodwork as he usually has the guitar, bass and accordion players at his side, bolstering the sound. But surprisingly, we all rose to the occasion, and pounded out our hambos, schottisches, polkas, polskas, polses, snoas and waltzes with confidence, and even some melody and harmony. People smiled, clapped, some danced, and some actually bought some CD’s. Another year, another Lutefisk…..

*Metaphor stolen from Skip