So it turns out that the seafood restaurant on my way to work stocks lutefisk during the holidays, so I didn’t have to drive all the way out to Cranfills Gap after all. Unfortunately, while they sell lutefisk at a very reasonable price, they only sell it in 2.5 pound increments, which is far more lutefisk than a normal human being could possibly eat.
So I invited Jeremiah and his lovely wife to come over for a lovely lutefisk dinner with me and my food-frakking deputy Julia.
But wait, that’s from the end of the dinner, while we had desert of more lovely krumkake.
Before I can show you how we got to this point, a point of satiation after a more or less Scandinavian-American-themed dinner, I have to start from the beginning of the lutefisk story.
When purchased, the lutefisk was an unappealing solid block of frozen re-processed cod.
This is what it looks like thawed.
You can see that the cod has undergone a miraculous process of gelification.
I asked around my family, who keep an oral tradition of lutefisk-preparation lore the way that African bushmen keep the tribe’s knowledge of watering holes and lion-repelling scents. I was told that wrapping the lutefisk in tinfoil and baking in a tray with a thin layer of water will keep the stink to a minimum.
While the lutefisk was in the oven, I put together some of the side dishes, like boiled rutabaga and mashed potatoes.
Here I am, moments before the guests arrive, realizing that I don’t literally own any serving platters.
It looks even more gelatinous after some steaming in the oven.
The spread included white sauce and melted butter for the lutefisk. Lefse and two varieties of pickled herring made the meal extra authentic.
You mash up some boiled rutabaga with some mashed potatoes and butter, and it’s not so bad.
How was it, Jeremiah?