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A multi-cultural, gross-out contest

It’s not exactly a coffee group. It’s more like when all the planets are aligned, and we inadvertently stumbled into Gert & Erma’s for a cup of coffee at the same time.
There is my Norwegian-American friend, who wears pride of that fact like lutefisk around his neck. Then there’s my Swedish-American friend who says little, but laughs a lot. Then there is me, and my Finnish-American heritage. It’s like a Scandinavian smorgasbord.
Recently, the topic of the day was what we ate as kids. Kids, meaning at least 60 years ago and, in some cases, longer. You see, we’re all retirees.
The conversation was dominated by my Norwegian-American friend. It was more of a gross-out contest. Who ate the worst stuff, you know, as only old retired guys can talk about.
My Norwegian-American friend won hands down. He likes lutefisk … really.
I told him Finns often use the raw, jiggly fish as sole inserts in their boots. Can’t smell any worse, can it? Not sure he appreciated that.
The Swedish-American just laughed. But he nodded his approval of not wanting to eat any lye-soaked raw fish anytime soon.
Then there was blood sausage. My Norwegian-American friend liked that, too.
My Swedish-American friend also agreed with me that was not very appetizing.
“It’s only ground up stuff and blood,” my Norwegian-American friend emphasized.
“I don’t eat organs,” I replied, implying some of that “stuff” may include pig’s feet, cow’s tongue and anything else other than the pig’s squeal or cow’s moo.
But my Swedish-American friend paused ... “I like liver, if prepared just right.” He added pickled herring as well. I looked at him and then questioned the sanity of anyone of Swedish heritage, too.
The Norwegian-American  nodded in agreement with our Swedish-American coffee mate. I have the feeling my Norwegian-American friend would eat just about anything.
I suggested to my Norwegian-American friend that perhaps he would really enjoy a slab of blood sausage sandwiched between two pieces of lutefisk. You know, a lutefisk-sausage sandwich. They can wiggle and jiggle in unison and tickle all the way down.
That was the first time my Norwegian-American friend paused. Not sure that combination was even appetizing to him.
Trying to not be outdone, I mentioned the Scottish delicacy called haggis. It’s a combination of … well, a lot of stuff stuffed inside a sheep’s stomach. It is a tradition to hoist a tankard of ale and eat haggis during Bobby Burns Night in Canada and elsewhere around the world. For the uninformed, Bobby Burns is a famous Scottish poet.
I tried haggis without knowing what I was eating when I lived in Fort Frances, Ontario. Apparently, it was a requirement when living among Canadians. Thankfully, there was an ample supply of ale available to wash it down.
Back to lutefisk. I can say I tried lutefisk … once. I was invited to the home of some family friends, who happened to be a combination of Norwegian and Swedish heritage. Lutefisk was served.
My mother always expected my brothers and me to try different foods, even though she was a picky eater. So out of politeness, I ate a helping of lutefisk.
It is not polite to spit food out onto your plate, so I swallowed it … quickly. As if there were any other way. The real surprise is that it did not come back up.
My hosts understood from the horrified look on my face, and got a big charge out of my foray into the world of lutefisk. The rest of the meal involved Swedish meatballs and mashed potatoes. What a relief.
So I can say I’ve actually tried some of these “ethnic” foods. What I didn’t tell my Scandinavian-American coffee buddies is the Finnish delicacy of kala mojakka, or fish head soup.
As a youngster, the first time I opened my Finnish grandmother’s soup pot, I saw fish eyes staring back at me. Scared me straight into becoming a meat-and-potatoes guy.
Rich Glennie was the editor of The Chronicle for 23 years. He retired Aug. 1, but still plans to submit an occasional column.