The Time Capsule: Of lutefisk, vikings and Methodists
There is irrefutable evidence Vikings visited North America long before Columbus. This raises a question: why did their exploration of the new world so abruptly end? Why, after seeing the fruited plains, beautiful sea coasts, abundance of fur-bearing wildlife, did they suspend their voyages?
Dr. Gertha Thornkiln, a noted Swedish historian, has recently advanced an interesting theory; a theory having to do with lutefisk. She points out when Viking exploration was at its peak, lutefisk was available only to the elite upper class. The nobility had their lutefisk, the less privileged did not. Then, in 1393, King Olaf XII assumed the throne. Olaf was a Liberal Democrat. He redistributed wealth, including lutefisk. Lower classes, among them rowdy, sea-faring adventurers, were suddenly up to their under-tunics in free lutefisk.
Thornkiln establishes this bit of background, then points out lutefisk, when taken in excess, has an effect on the digestive tract similar to that of green apples and motor oil. Otherwise daring Vikings feared to venture more than a short sprint from the biffy, and their proud ships rotted in the harbor.
Whether the Thornkiln theory has merit or not, Swedes eventually returned. Droves of them in the 1870s and 80s settled in and around Montgomery County’s Halland settlement. Thornkiln tells us while a few Swedes fled their homeland to escape the cursed lutefisk, the majority went forth to induce other cultures to at least taste it.
In Stanton, on one mystical evening each year, people dress in strange costumes, revel in lutefisk and urge the unwitting to at least taste it. In their midst is Kathy Hart, the “Lutefisk Queen.” Of English, German and Scotch descent, she carries not a drop of Swedish blood. Regardless, she is an outstanding cook and deserves the title.
Kathy has prepared and served hundreds of pounds of lutefisk. I helped her in the kitchen last year, then watched as lines formed. Through the buffet passed people from as far away as North Platte, Neb.
They came to the Little White City, picked up large white plates, piled on mounds of steaming white mashed potatoes, smothered them with worm-like slivers of snow-white cod swimming in a glistening white sauce, then added pale green cucumbers and slices of white onion, also in a white sauce, dotted the pale mass with Swedish beans, laid on a slice or two of Swedish rye. Most returned for seconds, then topped it all off with a pastel dessert called ostakaka.
As their hips grew larger they spoke of youth, of how their parents fixed lutefisk, of seeing the lutefisk crock on grandma’s back porch. I heard a spirited debate regarding the proper spelling. One lady said only the “durn Norveegans” would spell lutefisk with an “e” in the center. Another argued. The word, she said, is properly pronounced “lute-uh-fisk,” so the “e” belongs regardless.
Of Scandinavian heritage or not, the adventuresome should sample lutefisk at least once. I’m thinking, in part, of Methodists from Red Oak. We not only bought their church cookbook, we forced our grandchildren to eat their “spammies.” They should man up and try our lutefisk.
I’ve sampled both. Frankly, I’ll take the “spammies.” You, however, might be pleasantly surprised. Try just a sliver, and if it doesn’t work there’ll be plenty of ham.
This year the event, at $10 per person, begins with a welcome and appetizers at 5 p.m. this Saturday, Nov. 23, at the Swedish Heritage Center. If you’re a first-timer, and of legal age, I’d recommend starting off with the glogg (pronounced “glug”). Methodists might want to double up.
Roy Marshall is a local historian and columnist for the Red Oak Express. He can be contacted at news@redoakexpress.com.