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Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?
(Only if They Weren’t Penciled in at the Beginning of the Year)
With Christmas and New Year being over, you would think one could breathe a sigh of relief. Not.
In our family January is the beginning of a long series of birthdays and anniversary celebrations. How it worked out that way, God only knows but right after New Year’s, the partying really kicks in!
First up to bat was my parent’s wedding anniversary on January 4th; always a grand dinner party to be had here. When I was starting my cooking career, I liked to cater it myself and spoil them rotten. Following on its heels is father’s birthday January 8th, which was a more subdued occasion, in keeping with his Scandinavian phlegmatic disposition. He never wanted a big to-do about himself. However, all the culinary home favorites were served. Rollpulse, a veal and pork rolled, sliced thinly; pickled herring; braised lamb and cabbage, with potatoes and caraway seed and last but not least, lutefisk, an exorable national dish made of cured dry cod. The unsalted cod has to be soaked for eight days, then on the ninth and tenth days it is soaked in water with potash and lye and dried. When ready to use, it is soaked for two days in fresh water, changing it frequently. After all of this it is cooked for 25 minutes, until translucent, and quickly served with a white sauce, a pinch of allspice, salt, pepper and maybe chopped hardboiled eggs, and parsley.
If anything can move a Scandinavian passion, it is lutefisk.
It’s the one provision that made the Vikings so formidable and far-reaching. I believe they were so desperate to find new ways of cooking dried cod, (or get away from their wives’ cooking of it) that if they didn’t find any recipes in a new-found settlement, they would become quite annoyed at having come all that way for nothing, then they rape and pillage and burn it to the ground. These were desperate men! They needed more than jewels to bring home to their wives! But I digress.
After father’s birthday, came mother’s on January 21st. She knew how to celebrate did our mum. She went shopping. Then she made a reservation at one of the better restaurants in Vancouver (this was before we moved to the Island and opened our own restaurant). Champagne flowed and was followed by dancing ‘till the wee hours.
Speaking of wee hours, more dancing followed on 25th of January “Robbie Burns Day”, it being important to us because my maternal grandmother was Scottish, a MacKinnon from Skye, and took the Bard of Scotland’s birthday very seriously. Many is the haggis I’ve consumed; in fact during my High School days I held the record for eating the most helpings of haggis – nine. My peers, bless didn’t understand the nature of haggis. You have to eat is slowly, and patiently – two good Scottish traits. You can’t wolf it down, because it starts to swell. By three helpings you are replete, by six, you are rendered immobile, and a seventh or eighth (if you even get that far) will render you comatose, and you could permanently damage yourself.
However, by chewing slowly and with reflection, you can, if you are ambitious and even like the stuff, reach nine or ten servings. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME without a professional ‘Burns’ coach to supervise you unless you have been brought up in the tradition.
Then, around the same time, is Lenin’s death (somewhere in the family background of a Marxist-Leninist side of the family- I cut my teeth on the Manifesto). We used to celebrate our Comrade’s glory and demise with iced vodka and zakuski (Russian hors d’oeuvres, of the proletarian kind – nothing elitist) Sturgeon caviar was out – but dyed lumpfish eggs were quite acceptably working class, and one hundredth of the price.
As for me, I ate through all of this, and I still had great anticipation of my own birthday, coming finally on January 29th. This usually entailed a massive effort on my mother’s part to keep the surprise guests a surprise. Depending on the position of the planets, her mood, and the status of her credit cards she would either cook my favourite dishes, or make reservations again. What else!
Of the two, she proved champion of the latter. On my 21st birthday she made reservations for a surprise (to me) party for fifteen at the Island Hall, the best around then. Even old Mrs. Sutherland (the owner and nearly 90) came to the table to wish me Happy 21st. I was overwhelmed; I think more with the wine. Father had a good fishing season, so the credit card was flush, and after all the champagne and wine, so were we. One of my best memories.
After that we slow down and experience the quietude of daily routine for eleven months, then all the festive Hell breaks loose again!
Excuse me I have to go change the water on the lutefisk.