Lutefisk

How, how did I let the holiday season slip by without a single mention of lutefisk? My Norwegian friends here, up nort (the omission of the h is intentional) have lutefisk at least once a year, usually at a Lutheran church dinner. They claim they love or loathe lutefisk and that indifference is impossible. The churches serve meatballs, too. Just in case. I went along because one cannot claim to be a Minnesotan here, up nort, unless one has had lutefisk. I had mine dipped in butter, but the butter didn't give it the texture or taste of Maine lobster. I didn't love it. I didn't loathe it. I was indifferent to it.

Lutefisk begins as cod. In days gone by, the cod was soaked in lye until days had gone by. When the smell was right, the lutefisk was done. Different methods are used in Modern Times, but the cod ends up as lutefisk just the same. I'd rather have lutefisk than a deep fried grasshopper or the eye of a goat. Wouldn't you? I'd rather have a steak than lutefisk.

One of Mother's friends named her cat Lutefisk.