Date: Sun, 18 Apr 1999 11:47:53 -0700 (PDT) From: Deirdre Saoirse To: Rick Moen Subject: Lutfisk lament (fwd) _Deirdre * http://www.linuxcabal.org * http://www.deirdre.net "At a risk of being called sexist, ageist and French, if you put multimedia, a leather skirt and lipstick on a grandmother and take her to a night club, she's still not going to get lucky." -- Jean Louis Gassee (of Be) on Windows 2000 being "multimedia." ---------- Forwarded message ---------- Date: Sun, 18 Apr 1999 07:04:38 -0700 From: Cheryl Morris To: deirdre@deirdre.net Subject: Lutfisk lament All this talk of lutfisk reminds me of "The Lutfisk Lament" which Boone & Erickson used to play on their Twin Cities radio program during the Christmas season. It's too long to post all of it, but a few verses go: Twas the night before Christmas, with things all a-bustle, As Mama got set for the Christmas Eve tussle. Aunts, uncles, and cousins soon would be arriving With stomachs all ready for Christmas Eve dining, While I sat alone with a feeling of dread, As visions of lutfisk danced in my head. The thought of the smell made my eyeballs start burning; The thought of the taste set my stomach to churning, For I'm one of those whom good Swedes rebuff A Scandihuvian boy who can't stand the stuff....... Then Papa lifted the cover on the steaming dish And I was face to face with that quivering fish. "Me first," I heard Uncle Kermit call, While I watched the paint peel off the wall......... And with reckless abandon that lutfisk I ate; Within twenty seconds, I cleaned up that plate. Uncle Kermit flashed me an ear-to-ear grin, As butter and cream sauce dripped from his chin. Then, to my great shock, he whispered in my ear, "I'm so glad that's over For another year!" It was then I learned a great and wonderful truth That Swedes and Norwegians from old men to youth Must each pay their dues to have the great yoy Of being known as a good Scandihuvian boy. Featuring the Great White Fleet 1907-1909 http://mars.ark.com/~camorris/gwfleet/gwfleet1.htm And Swedish-American genealogy http://mars.ark.com/~camorris/Sweden/gen1.html [Archivist's note: Here is the complete version, from http://fp.firstinter.net/jell/recipes.htm .] Twas the night before Christmas, with things all a-bustle, As Mama got set for the Christmas Eve tussle. Aunts, uncles, and cousins soon would be arriving With stomachs all ready for Christmas Eve dining, While I sat alone with a feeling of dread, As visions of lutfisk danced in my head. The thought of the smell made my eyeballs start burning; The thought of the taste set my stomach to churning, For I'm one of those whom good Swedes rebuff A Scandihuvian boy who can't stand the stuff. Each year, however, I played at the game to spare Mama and Papa the undying shame. I must bear up bravely; I can't take the risk of relatives knowing I hate lutfisk. Then out in the dark I heard such a clatter I yumped up to see what was the matter. There in the snow all in a yumble Three of my uncles had taken a tumble. My aunt, as usual, gave them what for and they soon were up and through the door. Then, from out in the kitchen, an odor came stealing that fairly set my senses to reeling. The smells of lutfisk creeped down the hall, and wilted a plant in a pot on the wall. The others reacted as though they were smitten, While the aroma laid low my small, helpless kitten. Uncle Oscar and Lars said, "Oh, that is yummy!" And Kermit said, "That's good for the tummy!" And then, "Dinner time," Said Mama, ringing a bell, As they rushed to the table with a whoop and a yell. I lifted my eyes to heaven and sighed, And a rose on the wallpaper withered and died. With my legs full of lead, I found my chair and sat in silence with unseeing stare. Most of the food was already in place; there remained only to fill the lutfisk's space. "Var så god" and Papa came proudly with a bowl on a trivet you would have thought the crown jewels were in it. Then Papa lifted the cover on the steaming dish and I was face to face with that quivering fish. "Me first," I heard Uncle Kermit call, While I watched the paint peel off the wall. The plates were passed for Papa to fill. I waited in agony between fever and chill. He would dip in a spoon and all in a pile It oozed onto the plate - I thought I would die. Then came my plate and to my fevered brain, There seemed enough lutfisk to derail a train. With butter and cream sauce I tried to conceal it; I salted and peppered but the smell would reveal it. I drummed up my courage; I tried to be bold- Mama said, "Eat it before it gets cold." I decided to face it - "Uffda," I sighed. "Uffda, indeed," my stomach replied. Then I summoned that resolve for which us Vikings is known, My hand took the fork with a mind of its own, And with reckless abandon that lutfisk I ate; within twenty seconds I cleaned up that plate. Uncle Kermit flashed me an ear-to-ear grin, As butter and cream sauce dripped from his chin. Then, to my great shock, he whispered in my ear, "I'm so glad that's over for another year!" It was then I learned a great and wonderful truth That Swedes and Norwegians from old men to youth must each pay their dues to have the great yoy of being known as a good Scandihuvian boy. So to all of you, as you face the great test, Happy Christmas to you and to you all my best.