Ya, I gotta' tell you now. It don't get no better than this weekend. Ya sure, you betcha. Everybody, put on your best winter long johns, insulated boots and clothing, throw in some Rolaids or Pepto-Bismol if you're not of Norwegian descent, and head for Westby, Wisconsin.
The big annual Snowflake Ski Jumping Tournament is Saturday and Sunday, and Our Savior's Lutheran Church has their annual MOOS's (Men Of Our Savior's) Lutefisk and Meatball Dinner on Saturday. As I said, it don't get no better than that. Now before all you English teachers get on my back about fracturing the English language, when we get a big weekend like this, it brings out a not so dormant accent that can still be found in the area.
Some of you may not think that ski jumping and Lutefisk have anything in common. I beg to differ. It takes a great amount of personal fortitude to tackle either of them. At least that appears to be the case, especially among people of non-Scandinavian descent. There are even those whose veins run red with Scandinavian blood, but when it comes to eating Lutefisk, it tends to turn yellow. They would rather slide down a ski scaffold and fling themselves through the air, at great personal peril, than put that foul-smelling, quivering jelly called a fish in their mouth. I've got one thing to say to those timid souls. Good! That leaves more Lutefisk for those of us who like the stuff.
I'll admit that I've had some Lutefisk that made me question why I was eating it too. If it's cooked right, it has a flakiness that makes you want to dig into second and third helpings. If it sits there on your plate like a white, slimy, nondescript creature dredged up from the ocean depths, and quivers when you touch it, ask for a big helping of meatballs instead. I would too.
Lutefisk dinners can be an adventure for everyone involved. My brother David, remembered a memorable Lutefisk dinner held at the Coon Prairie Lutheran Church when he was in 8th grade and the confirmation class helped serve the dinner. He said, "We were assigned tables in the church basement and served the platters of Lutefisk, meatballs, and trimmings. One of the trimmings was a platter of sliced, canned cranberries. I carried my tray of juicy, red cranberries to my table, slid the platter unto the table amongst all the seated church folks, and the cranberries slid off the platter and continued down the slippery table to everyone's amazement. When you're in 8th grade this can be a pretty embarrassing moment. I'm sure there were gasps and laughs. Can't remember if I just scooped them up onto the plate again. I can't imagine I'd have tossed them away. We weren't that wasteful. I guess you could call it my Lutefisk lament."
I remember serving those dinners too, but don't recall having any adventures to match that. I wasn't very fond of the smell of Lutefisk back then. I wonder if they ever managed to get the "stink" out of the basement from one year to the next?
One thing I seem to recall is Lutefisk being sold out of large, wooden barrels at Skundberg's Grocery Store, or maybe it was Storbakkens in Westby. Or is that just a nightmare from my youth? Does anyone in the readership areas of Across the Fence remember Lutefisk being sold out of open barrels in stores? I know there are lots of Scandinavians in those areas. Where you find Scandinavians you find Lutefisk, even if some of you won't admit it, and secretly eat it in the closet. Just remember, you can't hide the smell.
If you head for Westby this weekend, after enjoying the Lutefisk dinner at Our Savior's, you can drive down to the big ski jump in Timber Coulee to watch the daredevil jumpers in action. Don't be surprised if someone comments as you walk by, "You were at the Lutefisk dinner weren't you?" I told you it's hard to mask that wonderful smell! And if you try sneaking off to the Lutefisk dinner without your wife in order to save a few bucks, don't try to tell her you were at the ski tournament instead. She'll know where you were the minute you walk in the door with Lutefisk on your breath.
Now just in case you think I don't like Lutefisk, that's not the case. I learned to like it when I was young. We had it at home too, not just at church dinners. I have to admit, it's an acquired taste. I didn't just pop a forkful of the slithering, quivering fish in my mouth and say, "Man, I love this stuff!" Ma didn't like preparing it, but Dad loved it. After she died, Dad, who didn't know how to boil water top make coffee, eventually learned to cook himself a meal of Lutefisk.
We lovers of Lutefisk will scale mountains, ford raging rivers, venture out in a blizzard, and wait in long lines, if there's a Lutefisk dinner within driving distance. Men who won't step foot in church except for Christmas and Easter, are the first in line. The only thing most of us won't do, is tackle that ski jump down in Timber Coulee. Even a brave Lutefisk lover knows, some things are best left to the professionals.
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I'll be at the Crawford Country Independent and Kickapoo Scout's open house in Gays Mills on Valentine's Day, February 14 from 10-4. Stop by and we can visit across the fence. I'll have all three books available if you want one.
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