Lutefisk & Lefse

One of our favorite things is food, whether it's making a meal at home or dining out. From time to time we'll post pictures from an experience we've had eating together. On October 16 of this year we attended our first Lutefisk Dinner at the Vermont Lutheran Church in western Dane County. Lutefisk doesn't have a very good reputation and we thought we'd find out for ourselves!

Vermont Lutheran Church is located in the rolling hills of the area known as the Driftless Area between the towns of Mt. Horeb to the south and Black Earth to the north. We arrive early and decide to take in the beautiful foliage on this seasonably warm October afternoon. As we drive through the winding backroads, it's easy to notice the many farms that dot the landscape. Many still bear the names of their long dead ancestors, having been passed down through the generations. The warm sunshine feels wonderful on our faces and we know days like this will soon be replaced by winter's chill. But today those frigid days seem far away and we head for the church as our reservation time draws near. 

We are ushered into the bustling basement of the 97 year old church and we pick out two seats at the end of an open table. Formed in 1861 by Norwegian immigrants, this is only the second building used by the congregation and lies about a quarter mile to the west of the original church that was erected in 1864.

Cooked and served by members of the congregation, this traditional Norwegian meal is served every year in mid-October and the room is packed with diners of all ages. It is served family-style with heaping bowls of boiled potatoes, french-cut green beans, cranberries, Norwegian meatballs and of course lutefisk. Also on the table is a short stack of lefse, butter and brown & white sugar (the sugar is for the babies who think that simple buttered lefse is too bland!). The dinner rolls and relish bowl are hardly touched at the end of the meal in favor of the other tasty treats.

As our server brings each item fresh and piping hot from the kitchen, we quickly serve ourselves and pass each dish to the right. When our plates are full, we dig in! The lutefisk, at first glance, appears like baked cod and is served with melted butter. The problem, we quickly find, isn't with it's appearance but with it's taste and texture. It has a fishy flavor and has an odd consistency, almost gelatinous. There are also several small bones in nearly every bite. I guess that's why they say "The Great Chefs of Norway" would be a pretty thin book. We quickly directed our attention to the rest of the meal.

We've had potatoes, green beans and cranberries before and these didn't disappoint. The favorites of the evening are the meatballs and the lefse. The dark brown meatballs are good, but lack the nutmeg and allspice used in the version made by my mother and grandmother every Christmas Eve. The homemade lefse doesn't compare in texture and taste to the store bought version we're stuck with on those occasional times that we crave it. After being buttered and rolled, it disappears quickly in two or three bites. We are soon stuffed after seconds of everything (except the lutefisk).

The server returns with a bowl of a thick, white substance that is almost cream of wheat-like in consistency. A stack of styrofoam bowls has made it to our end of the table and we serve ourselves a small sample. As I'm about to try a small spoonful, once glance at my date makes me reconsider. The look on her face is as if she's just been forced to eat wallpaper paste and as I sample mine, I can see that's an accurate description. Some of the other diners are adding sugar, which we try, but it doesn't make it much more appealing. A large tray of Norwegian cookies makes it's way to us and the rosettes, sandbakkels and lemon bars soon erase any lingering taste from whatever it is we just ate.

On the way back to the car, we decide to take a drive to catch the last remaining sunlight in this beautiful country setting. We find an what looks like an abandoned driveway and turn the van in, making our way down the grassy road. On either side, the bright orange setting sun streams through the trees and bushes lining the road. When we reach the end, there are several piles of wood, the collapsed remains of the buildings of what was once another busy farm. A lonely concrete silo rises skyward, soon to be the only reminder of the work that took place here many years ago. You come out of the driver's seat and reach into the overhead storage in the back of the van. There is a box of truffles that I had hidden the day before. We open the box and share one, a nightcap to the end of a wonderful day together. In the setting sun, you sit on my lap and we kiss deeply and passionately. The taste of your chocolate is distinctly different than mine and as our tongues intertwine, the creaminess blends into one flavor, unique only to you and I.....I love you.

Who killed Carol?

I was thinking about my friend Carol who was killed about five years ago when she was hit by car walking to work in the rain. I miss her and all she brought to the world. She was total unconditional love. I had the good luck to have her as a babysitter for my four kids for about five years when they were little. I was overwhelmed by all the work involved in raising them and she came about three times a week to give me some relief and play with the kids while she cleaned and straightened up. She was amazing. A fifty year old whirlwind who seemed to be able to juggle all the kids, making grilled cheese sandwiches, folding clothes and playing grocery store all at the same time. Now here I am, fifty years old, those kids are almost grown and I wish I could tell Carol all about them. She loved my son Aaron when most people thought he was naughty and too energetic. She blamed the teacher for not bringing out the best in him, Carol said this was the teacher's job that Aaron wasn't to blame. Now Aaron is in the army and she would be so proud of who he is becoming. She marveled at the way my daughter Stephanie would follow her around the house and how she was so creative with colors and patterns. But the younger two kids really got the most out of Carol. They were still at home when she started with us and the older two in kindergarten and preschool. Carol told Melanie how she was "fifty years older that her". She never forgot it. She would be 66 now and Melanie 16 and in love. How Carol would enjoy seeing these girls grown up and so beautiful. Monica was the six week old infant when Carol started with us. She was with us until she went to kindergarten. She sat with them through chickenpox, fed them crackers and sprite and watch cartoons. Carol loved Tom and Jerry Kids. Now Monica is 14 with long black hair and a runner. Carol wouldn't even know her.
When I was thinking about Carol tonight and all she missed it occurred to me that I don't know who hit her with their car that rainy morning. I wonder if they think much about what happened. I bet it was the single most traumatic thing that ever happened to them. We lost Carol and we miss her but who ever killed Carol never even knew her. They missed it all.