A Child of Texas Follows Her Tastebuds North

by Lisa Ludwigsen

With a few rare exceptions, Scandinavian food is not known to be particularly inspiring. Originating in a harsh land with heavy winters, the food at hand traditionally consisted mostly of meat, fish, dairy, and a few grains. I’ve always pictured my ancestors, who originated in the southwestern region of Norway, relying on the sea and a trusty cow in the barn to sustain them through the long, dark winters. That arrangement sounds pretty good to me. I could eat fish, cheese, and dairy every day—as long as I have my coffee.

In Scandinavia and other northern climes, the year’s food consisted of what could be harvested or procured in the short summer season, and preserving food for the long dark months was paramount. Along the long coast of Norway, fish reigned supreme, and air-drying, pickling, fermenting, and smoking the catch ensured nourishment all year. The famously slimy, gelatinous lutefisk is a whitefish, like cod, that is preserved by air-drying it to the point that it looks and feels like corrugated cardboard. This treatment results in a product that water alone can’t sufficiently rehydrate, so lye must be added to the soaking solution for several days. Multiple rinses in fresh water are then required to make it edible. Eating lutefisk certainly conjures dark, desperate days of limited food and few alternatives. Even smothered in the traditional melted butter and white sauce, it is one of the worst foods I have ever eaten.

Delicious smoked

Growing up in Texas in the 1970s, meat, mostly beef, was our main food group. It was a time when the federal government, no doubt in coordination with the powerful beef lobby, told Americans to eat meat with every meal. My mother hated fish, and Hamburger Helper was much more our style. But everything changed for me during a visit with my Norwegian grandparents, Ev and Lud. Both were raised in the tiny northern town of Bayfield, Wisconsin, on the shores of Lake Superior, where Lud’s father, a Norwegian immigrant, had fished commercially. They harvested lake trout, whitefish, salmon, burbot, and herring, among others, navigating bulky, enclosed wooden boats, constructed so the nets could be pulled into the hull without exposing the fishermen to the extremely rough weather of Lake Superior.

On a fortuitous sunny day when my sister and I were visiting, we watched Grandma Ev work in her small kitchen. She placed a chunk of smoked whitefish into the blender, along with a healthy plop of Hellman’s mayonnaise and a handful of chopped scallions. That was it. What emerged from the blender was a homogenous, thick, white smoky paste that we spread on saltines or made into sandwiches with the fabulous mushy white Wonder bread of the day. Smoked fish spread is still a staple in the Great Lakes region, with specific recipes attributed to influences of the person making it. Capers, onions, and herbs can be added, though I remain a purist, preferring my grandma’s recipe. I could still eat it every day, and can only attribute my continued preference for strong, smelly fish to my Norwegian ancestry. I would argue that fish spread is appropriate at all times of the day or night.

During a visit with my parents in Bayfield this past summer, France Miller, a well-known painter and distant relative, stopped by with a small, precious container of her fish spread. It was different than Grandma Ev’s—chunky, with perfectly balanced ingredients and a bit of acidity. Luckily, we had saltines on hand, and that’s how my Dad and I ate that yummy snack, with a glass of sauvignon blanc.

France makes her version in large quantities for art openings and big parties. “Luckily, it freezes beautifully,” she shared. Though her recipe might seem heavy on the dairy, the finished product was not overly creamy or rich. “Even though I grew up on Lake Superior, I’m not a big fish eater,” said France. “I created the recipe for a gallery opening about 20 years ago, and it was so good that I continue to make it.”

Of course, whitefish spreads aren’t limited to Scandinavian cuisine. Jewish whitefish spread is also delicious and quite common, though France will tell you that the best whitefish or lake trout comes from Lake Superior. I might just agree with her.

France Miller’s Smoked Trout or Whitefish Dip

Try France’s recipe with any locally caught, mild smoked fish. This recipe is for a crowd, but can be halved, as desired.

Ingredients

• 6 lbs trout or whitefish fillets, smoked, bones removed

• 2 lemons, juiced

• 2 packages cream cheese, softened

• 1-pint sour cream

• 1 cup Hellman’s mayonnaise (Best Foods in the west)

• 1 Tbsp Frank’s red hot sauce (or your hot sauce of choice)

• 1 large onion, finely chopped

• ½ c fresh chives, chopped

• 2 Tbsp minced garlic

• 1 Tbsp salt

• 1 tsp pepper

Instructions

All ingredients, except the fish, should be at room temperature. This is best made a day ahead. Break up and skin the fillets, removing any bones. Set aside. Mix remaining ingredients, then fold the mixture into the cold fish. Combine thoroughly. Add additional salt and pepper, to taste. Serve with hearty crackers such as Triscuits. It also makes a great sandwich.

Find France Miller’s work at www.austinmillerstudio.com.
Fish photo by John Werner courtesy of Unsplash
All other photos by Lisa Ludwigsen