Bestemor and the Pot of Lutefisk

 

Bestemor is Norwegian for Grandmother, as in the bumper sticker “Norwegian Bestemor and Proud of it!”  Our Bestemor was an unusual woman, unusual in many ways.  On the surface was a practiced charm that cloaked her pursuit of personal dominance. She loomed large; a 275 pound fighting Brunhilde fearsome to men and fearsome to her family.  She enjoyed intimidation, but especially intimidation of men. 

In her search for personal power she wandered from Lutheranism through Pentecostalism, Astrology and Fortune Telling in a Chicago Tea Room, to the older forms of New Age religion; those cults of American gnosticism that we know of as Unity Truth and Christian Science.  If Bestemor were alive today she would be wearing crystals, pentagrams, channeling ancient beings from the spirit world and still intimidating people.  She loved that stuff because it gave her an illusion of mastery and control over life. 

She was actually my step-mother’s mother; Bestemor by adoption.  The threat of a week-long visit from Bestemor set the family on edge.  My step-mother went into a frenzy of scrubbing and cleaning.  My father helplessly flitted around.  We kids were plunged into confusion by the threat of her pending visit.  On the surface she was all charm, but in her wake she left a trail of devastation.

Ah, but this visit was destined to be unique in the annals of our family history.  My step-mother used to say, “Fish and relatives spoil three days,” but it never took that long.  It all began innocuously enough.  Within a few hours Bestemor announced that she was going to cook.  She only really cooked one thing, a dreadful soup made of pork, cabbage and black peppercorns, but this time it was to be a Norwegian specialty.  Bestemor announced that she was going to make Lutefisk and she began to make loud demands on my father to find the almost impossible to find ingredients.  She demanded dried cod, slaked lime, and maple ashes.  Finding dried cod was going to be bad enough, but just where was my father going to find slaked lime or maple ashes?  At least he would be out of the house for a while.

Eventually the ingredients were assembled.  Bestemor commandeered the kitchen, the heaviest large pot she could find and spent hours assembling the ingredients.  While this was going on my step-mother tiptoed timidly around the kitchen trying to assemble a simple family meal.  Here is the recipe along with my childhood memory of the process

Lutefisk          (dried Cod)

 2 1/2 lb Lutfisk

 1 c  Slaked lime

 2 qt Oak or maple ashes

Saw fish into 3 parts, clean thoroughly and place in a wooden bowl or pail.  Add water to cover and set in a cool place for 5 to 6 days.  Change water each day.  Remove fish and thoroughly clean wooden bowl.

The problem was the she didn’t have 5 or 6 days, so she sawed the fish into three parts and skipped the rest of this step and went on to the next.

 

The ashes are tied in a cotton or cheesecloth bag, and the ashes, slaked lime and water are boiled to produce a strong lye solution. The cooled lye solution is poured over to cover the fish and the fish is sprinkled with some more slaked lime and allow to stand and set in a cool place for 7 days.  

I suspect that the impending problem was right here.  It was summer and placing the covered pot of lutefisk on the back porch in the summer heat was not exactly what the recipe called for.  As a result the next instruction, the devoutly to be hoped delicacy of lutefisk, was beyond reach.

When the fish is soft, remove from solution, scrub bowl well and soak fish for several days in cold clear water.  Cook in boiling salted water at simmering temperature for about 20 minutes.  Drain well and serve with melted butter.

Well, to be honest, the recipe is a little confused when compared with other recipes for lutefisk.  Whatever the variances between recipes Bestemor did her own thing.

The moment of truth arrived.  The pot was placed on the kitchen table and my father and step-mother came obediently for the magnificent uncovering of Bestemor’s Lutefisk.  We three children hovered around the kitchen door.  Children should be seen and not heard, and if the truth be told, not seen either.  Bestemor with a flourish removed the lid and the warm and powerful stench of rotten fish filled the kitchen. 

The gag reflex is irresistible even over the passage of years.  My father rose to the occasion and thrust the lid onto the pot with solid clang, grabbed the pot of lutefisk and rushed it outside, ran to the garage and seized a shovel and marched the pot of lutefisk and the shovel down to the back of the garden and after some furious digging buried the Lutefisk, pot and all as deep down as he possibly could.  Bestemor’s moment of glory had passed.  The intimidator was intimidated by her own failure.  Bestemor left the next day.

The Epilogue:

A few years later Bestemor had a stroke and later died.  Eventually the house was sold and as the years passed sold and sold again. Fifty years had come and gone and the pot remained buried until last fall.  A new family that loved gardening moved in and things took their natural course.  Digging at the bottom of the garden they struck metal.  How odd!  Who would bury a kitchen pot, lid and all, in the garden?  The lid was rusted on and it took a chisel and a hammer to loosen it.  As it was pried off a plume of livid green fume rose out of the pot and the stench of rotten lutefisk filled the air.  Spiraling up in the livid green fume was a wild horn-helmeted figure, a 275 pound Brunhilde wielding her trident in a threatening manner.  As she rose in the air she was met by a small gust of autumn air that dissipated both the stench and the apparition.

In telling the story of the inglorious past, only one thing I regret. Too bad we don't have smellavision. Oh well, the time will come.