Over the river and through the woods…

So the other day on his blog, Jon wrote about the visit to our friend Roland’s summer stuga (click here to catch up), and asked me to talk about the amazing dinner we had.  Our hosts Roland and Kerstin served us a traditional Swedish meal with multiple courses, complete with the customary drink that accompanies each course. We started with matjesill (see above), served with boiled potatoes, sour cream, and chives. Sill is the Swedish word for herring, and this is a specially-seasoned type of herring typically served for Midsummer parties. I was surprised that the herring is cold and the potatoes are hot, but the combination is entirely delicious. Jon and I had seconds and then thirds. Really.

To be totally honest, I hadn’t cared for the fish served at breakfast which I thought had been herring, so I was worried that this would be awful. Apparently the Swedes thought we’d hate it, too. Turns out the breakfast was anchovies, sort of like the boquerones (fried anchovies) we’d had in Spain. There are about 25 thousand bones in one of those bad boys, and they were so disgusting to chew. Crunchy and prickly on my tongue. But anyway, this was the good fish, and it came with a shot of flavored vodka that Roland had made. He’d infused plain vodka with special herbs and spices and then let it steep for a week in preparation for our traditional meal, even giving Sara a glass. It tasted like dirt engulfed in flames. 

Next came a glass of beer while Roland grilled the pork and we made room on the table for round two.  They’d told me that the pork came from the local farmer we’d driven by that afternoon. Since I’m mostly vegetarian, I wasn’t too interested in dinner’s back story, so I might have had two glasses of beer. When the pork was ready they passed around huge bowls of green salad and a potato salad made with apples that Jon said reminded him of his childhood. Roland ducked back to the grill at least one more time to refill the serving platter, and we drank wine and ate lots of potato salad. You know, you start to feel kind of full after eating about 10 potatoes.

Nobody had said Uncle yet, so again we cleared and re-set the table for round three: dessert. Kerstin brought out a cake covered in whipped cream and fresh raspberries that Roland had picked early that morning. We had strong Swedish coffee and Roland poured cordials, asking me if I wanted the kind for the men (Remy Martin) or the one for the women (not Remy Martin). When I said men, he told me he’d been sure of it. How had he known I grew up on that stuff? You know, Q-R-S-T-U-VSOP. Anyway, Jon wasn’t quite able to refuse the Remy, and when nobody was looking he stealthily poured it into the plant. Just kidding, there wasn’t a plant, but he did pour it into his coffee. When Kerstin and her friend Agnette were in the kitchen,the men snuck me some of the drink for the women, which it turns out was a Swedish version of Robitussin. Not good.

We had a wonderful evening with Roland and his friends, and were honored that they had gone to such lengths to show us a true Swedish good time. We’ve invited them to our (!!) house for dinner this week, and then to our real house for a visit to Florida. It’s been such a pleasure to meet Roland, and we hope to stay in touch with him long after we leave Sweden. If I can have Spanish sister, it’s only fair that the kids get a Swedish grandfather, right?

In a good way!

Aside from Nestle instant Latte (embarassingly I am hooked!), there are other Norwegian influences that I wish we could bring back to the States with us. I'm not talking about the candy by the kilogram that's available in every grocery store and, delightfully, every gas station, but that's pretty good too. When I was at the community playground with Sam one morning, I had a chance to sit and look around the neighborhood a bit while he was playing. The majority of the houses here have porches or decks, and they all have little swings hanging down, or a set of rings. There are DIY ladders nailed to trees, huge nets to climb on, and even a ropes course behind one house.  At first this didn't seem so unusual, but after spending some time here I noticed a difference.  The kids were actually playing outside on this stuff.  For a long time.  Every day. Gradually it dawned on me what was so different: at home the houses have swing sets and playgrounds and all that good stuff too, but the kids aren't there very often.  They are too busy with school, gymnastics class, 30 channels of cartoons, piano lessons, Little League, video games, piano practice, homework, and babysitting.  They don't have copious amounts of free time; instead they have "free time."  They are shuttled around and managed by harried parents who rely on McDonald's for a quick dinner (no time!). Here it's different.  The school encourages play and exploration, and the kids have 3 recess periods a day, regardless of weather.  There aren't options for drive-by dinners, so families slow down and eat together at home, and an occasional dinner at a restaurant is considered a treat. The TV offerings are very limited, maybe 10 channels, so kids don't have much interest in sticking around in front of the tube.  Due to the fun income taxes the Norwegians pay, many mothers are able to stay home until their kids are 5 or 6 (with some help from the government), and even the Dads get home from work early by American standards.  It took us a while to figure it out, but now we know exactly what it feels like: America, circa 1975.