Mychal Wilmes: Some find adventure in a casserole dish
By Mychal Wilmes
Date Modified: 01/14/2010 12:26 PM
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I approached the meat counter -- misnamed because it also displayed oysters, clams and lobsters kept bound in a tank -- with great trepidation. The grocery store swarmed with people buying gourmet items for the holiday celebration.
The harried attendant nonetheless offered a warm smile. Not wanting to offend the meticulously dressed woman behind me, I asked in a low voice if he happened to have lutefisk. He didn't know, but the older gentleman beside him did.
"It's over there," he said, pointing to a small case some distance from the meat counter. "We've sold a lot of it this year."
"I had it once at a town celebration," the young man volunteered. "It was awful."
I don't think the attendant would have felt so free to offer an opinion like that if I wanted a big T-bone or shrimp, but I thanked him while explaining that I had never made lutefisk before. The older fellow said not to cook it too long or too little and recommended pouring liberal amounts of butter over the fillet when it came out of the oven.
"Anything tastes good with enough butter on it," he said.
I selected a small package, knowing that the cat might eat what we didn't eat. It was the last item placed on the counter, which drew the cashier's immediate attention.
"Yuck," she said, adding that although she hadn't actually eaten it herself, she had heard horror stories about it.
"Old people seem to like it," she said, perhaps unaware that although the AARP card indicates otherwise, I don't consider myself old.
I had eaten lutefisk one time 30 years ago during a rather unique Norwegian buffet. It wasn't horrible. Besides, mashed potatoes, rutabagas and lefse more than made up for its shortcomings. To stay true to my German heritage, I purchased a small jar of pickled pigs feet and a pint of herring.
Lutefisk plans
Pigs feet are on Kathy's list of banned foods along with sauerkraut and beef tongue. Because lutefisk might well be on the list, I secretly placed my purchase in the fridge's crisper and announced that I would need the oven for about 40 minutes.
"What are you up to now?" Kathy said, adding that she would need the oven for New Year's pie.
I explained that it's good for people to try something new. I pre-heated the oven, emptied the normal-looking fish fillet from its package and doused it with pepper before wrapping it in aluminum foil and putting it in a casserole dish.
Swift reaction
Kathy's good holiday mood turned sour.
"You're going to stink up the whole house with that."
She would not eat lutefisk under any conditions. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich would be sufficient.
Sam was more open-minded about it. He melted two sticks of butter while the timer ticked down to the final seconds. We dumped the lutefisk in a bowl and drowned it in butter. It had the consistency of Jell-O.
"It doesn't stink," Sam said.
I didn't hate it, exactly.
"How can you hate something that has no taste," Sam asked. "All I can taste is butter."
Kathy appeared from her plush hideout in the bedroom, looked at us and the lutefisk and commanded that the leftovers must be thrown outside lest tomorrow's guest conclude that we don't have a clean house.
It was a most worthy effort. I'll brag to my lutefisk-loving friends -- if there are any -- that we had the guts to try it.
Some people climb mountains, and others explore the ocean's deepest depths. Other adventurers find an adrenaline rush at the bottom of a casserole dish.
Besides, Kathy was so upset with the lutefisk she has yet to notice the pickled pigs feet jar that shares space with the mustard, ketchup and grape jelly.
Mychal Wilmes is managing editor of Agri News.