Posted on 11/26/2003 4:32:37 PM PST by SJackson
DAY, MINN. - There's something fishy in Day. Hundreds of people make an annual pilgrimage to this tiny Minnesota town in search of an ethnic treat that many of them have waited all year to feast on at Christmas dinner.
You either love it or you loathe it: It's lutefisk. In an old creamery facility -- miles off the beaten path in rural Isanti County -- Roy Bolling, along with his brother, Walter, and nephew, Dave, are in the business of making sure hungry Scandinavians get their lutefisk fix.
The Bollings have been processing lutefisk since 1968 and, in recent years, they have soaked 50 tons of the stuff per year.
In the next few weeks, their fish company - which is the only business in this rural town -- will spur a temporary population explosion as Scandinavian cooks from near and far come to buy the seafood that so many others love to hate.
"It has a flavor all its own, I guess," Mr. Bolling said diplomatically. "It kind of grows on you."
It's his opinion that strong-smelling, peculiar-tasting lutefisk has gotten a bad rap. As a full Swede, he was raised on it and still asks for seconds. But, he said, it's okay that people make fun of it, or there wouldn't be enough of it to go around.
The Day Fish Co. is among just a handful of companies in the United States that still soaks lutefisk, which means lye fish, according to Mr. Bolling, a retired truck driver who commutes from his home in the Twin Cities suburb of Golden Valley.
Each September, they receive their annual shipment of the kiln-dried fish, which starts out as cod caught off the coast of Norway's Lofoten Islands. The boxed fish travels by steamboat to New York City and "piggy-backs" by rail to Minneapolis, where it boards a truck for Day. Once there, it is stored in a walk-in cooler until it's time to rehydrate it through a series of baths. From start to finish, the process of turning stiff, dry cod into soft, pliable lutefisk takes about two weeks. At this, the peak of their season, 20 stock tanks are lined up in the processing room, each with capacity to hold more than 1,000 pounds of lutefisk.
After sitting a few days in water, the lutefisk is transferred to a tub of caustic acid for several days. After soaking in the caustic acid, which has replaced the lye it used to be soaked in, the lutefisk bathes in fresh water for another week.
Then, it's ready to go, and it goes fast. Over the next few weeks, eager customers will crowd into the Day Fish Co.'s small sales area to stock up for holiday gatherings. Mr. Bolling said some retirees even take the pungent product with them to Florida for the winter. Gloria Olmstead of Ogilvie, Minn., has worked at the Day Fish Co. for more than a decade and is among the shrinking segment of the population who can't get enough lutefisk.
She serves it to her family every Christmas, and even her youngest grandchildren learn to tolerate, if not like, it.
"I could live on it," she confesses.
But there are days when she feels she's spending too much time around the aromatic fish.
"If you stop at the grocery store after work, everybody knows you work here," she said.
And it can get chilly in the 38-degree soaking room: "This is one job you definitely have to wear long johns to work for," she said.
The demand for lutefisk has fallen off over the years with the passing away of the older Scandinavians who kept up the tradition -- for some of their earlier ancestors, lutefisk was a survival food and a tradition passed down through centuries. There continues to be a sizeable market for it with Scandinavian Christmases and yearly church dinners.
Along with retail sales, the Day Fish Co. works through distributors. They recently took an order for 700 pounds of lutefisk from the Minneapolis-based Swedish Institute. Most church dinners order skinless lutefisk, but it's also available with skin on.
The company provides the main course for more than 15 church dinners each fall -- most in Minnesota and Wisconsin -- and recently provided 1,500 pounds for a church in Osceola.
"I didn't see anybody on the news, so they must've lived through it," jokes Mr. Bolling, who, since childhood, has liked his lutefisk smothered in cream sauce or butter.
"Every Christmas, we had it, like it or not. And we liked it," he said.
Growing up near Milaca, he and his brother, a retired dairy farmer, developed such a taste for lutefisk that, when the Day creamery building opened up in the late 1960s, it didn't take the pair long to come up with a plan for it.
"We were looking for a place with a good well," Mr. Bolling said, adding that clean water and a deep well are must-haves in lutefisk processing.
Their retail sales are based in the former locker plant next-door to the creamery. They built an addition to the locker plant to house their soaking tubs. For now, the creamery is used for storage, but it won't hold out many more years.
"We're going to take it down one of these days," Mr. Bolling said.
Even though the company offers no advertising on nearby main highways, die-hard lutefisk lovers manage to find their way to Day. Most business comes by word of mouth. "You have to have good stuff," he said.
But for choosier palates, the Day Fish Co. has more to offer than just lutefisk. In fact, their price board reads like one out of an international marketplace: There's lefsa and lingonberries; shrimp from Vietnam; hazelnut crème wafers from Australia; and Swedish farm cheese, or Bond-Ost, to name a few rare delicacies. Walleye is brought in from Canada and oysters from the East Coast.
Heidi Clausen may be reached at clausen@spacestar.net.
I had it every Christmas Eve, growing up in Chicago. Grandma Henrickson did the whole days-long soaking process. She served it with a choice of mustard sauce or cream sauce (the bland leading the bland?).
Guess what? I liked it!
Worse, call for the berserk fjoesnisse.
Like the Viking Kittens didn't wash their socks....
It tastes just like it smells, and it smells like a piece of fish that's been allowed to rot in a rancid lye bath for about 24 to 48 hours, cuz... that's how its made. I'm Norwegian, and it was always around during the holidays when I was a kid.
Once it gets going, there's no mystery among the neighbors about who's fixing lutefisk.
Lye Jello.
Heeeeelp.
PING
So9
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