Food in Norway, 1911
A British perspective on Norwegian cuisine in the early 20th century.
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
“Food” from Home Life in Norway by H. K. Daniels, 1911
Norwegian food will not appeal to the Britisher who objects to the German kitchen and the "greasy kickshaws" of Continentals in general. The Continental, however, likes it, and the German in particular, for its tendencies are all in the direction of the lubricious bakemeats of das grosse Vaterland, My own opinion about it is that it is admirably adapted for the premature formation of adipose tissue. That is to say, it is less strength-giving than nourishing. Yet if indulged in with moderation, say no more than three times a day, and from dishes of your own choosing, it is as wholesome and well-tasting a regimen as one can possibly wish to have.
I am here alluding, of course, to the food of the towns. That of the cereal-eating peasantry is quite another matter, and should not be taken into general account in this treatise. The Norwegian's opinion about our food and its preparation is pretty much on the lines of most foreign views on the subject.
It is not flattering to our pride of practicalness. Yet he will admit that as a nation we are above all things practical. He makes an exception, however, in the case of our upper middle class cookery, which he says is tolerable enough, if a little wasteful and watery, but that anything beneath that class, in the food line, is beneath contempt. Thus the Norwegian, and he is a good hand at the noble art of hitting back. He is tolerant and non-disputatious to a degree in the presence of the foreigner, but there are limits even to his complaisance, and audible comments on his buttery sauces or the glimpse of a tin of "Keating" will often as not (and very reasonably) send him flying over the line; and then you must read him in the vernacular of his patriotic journals to appreciate your own true nothingness and the vituperative powers of the Dano-Norsk idiom. Therefore must I proceed very cautiously, and with some amount of diffidence; for the way is thorn-full and at times exceeding rough.
I take it that in this matter of food taste, or taste in food, the inherited trend of the individual is the main point governing the dispute. From time immemorial my forebears have been of the flesh-eaters most fleshly, and they have undoubtedly transmitted their carnivorous prejudices to me. In Norway I have rebelled against this hereditary instinct, and for years have subsisted among the upland peasantry on a diet of fresh and sour milk, eggs, oatmeal porridge, flat bread and potatoes, with an occasional Sunday reversion to flesh in the form of soup from salted beef or mutton; and I throve and waxed exceeding fat, though not particularly tough, thereon. But the meat hunger was always upon me, and I longed beyond all description for the chop and the steak-and-onions and the cut from the joints which were not.
Therefore when I have gone into the towns and put up at the cosy little privat hotels, with which Norway abounds, I have telephoned my coming in advance, together with the nature and preparation of the fresh meats which I would expect to find ready for the table on my arrival. And never did meat taste so deliciously, or appear to me to be so strength-imparting, as on those shameful occasions of moral lapse. Certainly the steak, and the chop, contained no fat to speak of, and the leg of mutton was no larger than that of a Southdown lamb, but then the chop and the leg were of the mountain, and the steak was home-bred and killed, which were things to conjure with so far as the appetite was concerned.
Continuing in my downward course, like the drunkard of the tract, I have, then, for a period of fourteen days lived, literally speaking, on the fat of the town, absorbing every diurnal meal, its courses and its side-dishes, without exception or demur, from the early morning kaffe og kager to the 10.30 p.m. wine and fruit; and it was all very delightful, if very various, while it lasted.
But it produced the inevitable reaction; and I have fled post-haste out to my mountain fastnesses for my eggs, and my milk, and my porridge, and my potatoes: there to revel in them (eschewing all meats, salt or otherwise) until the old hereditary gnawing sent me back into town again for that miserable steak-and- onions and the bottle of bok öl—which we call stout.
All of which foregoing is of the nature of a very tactful allegory designed to meet the convictions of meat-eaters and vegetarians alike, without trespassing unduly on the feelings of my worthy old friend the Herr Grosserer.
Therefore is the Norwegian, in his inclination towards the things that are fatty, hereditarily correct; and he is, moreover, correct In his contention that fats in Arctic countries are indispensable for human food. But he has no more right to point the finger of scorn (which he hardly ever does) at my blue-rare steak than have I to sneer (which I never do) when at Hammerfest he, in the person of a fisherman, drinks me “skaal" in a glass of cod-liver oil.
But to the Britisher who elects to reside in Norway there is always a middle course open—the easiest course in the world. He has only to state what he really wants (in English or in German) in the matter of the meat and vegetables, and their cooking, and he will be catered for at hotel or pensionat with unfailing patience and good temper. But he must exercise a similar degree of forbearance when tabulating his requirements or they will not materialize. In Norway, and especially peasant Norway, where time is really of no particular consequence, patience is the one primal virtue, and the father, as it were, of all the others. Any ebullition of temper is considered the worst possible form, and a person so indulging is noted as vond (angry)—a term usually applied to a dog or any other animal of uncertain disposition. To be known as snil (kind), on the other hand, is a safe passport to the Norwegian's good graces, always provided that you are not for snil (too kind) or alt for snil (altogether too kind)—terms usually considered to be more referable to a fool, in the comparative and superlative.
Most of the better-class hotels in Norway have already anticipated the Britisher's conservatism on the food question, and have provided for him accordingly; and should he have his own house or flat, he will find that his cook is very amenable to be taught plain English cooking. Then, after a friendly intimidation of the butcher (who has certainly some extraordinary cross-country methods of jointing meat), he will be able, with a little stretch of imagination, to fancy he is at his own table in the old home across the sea.
The chief objection which the touring Briton has to the food of the country is the scarcity of meat and vegetables, and, when met with, the questionable and saucey guises in which they are presented to him; and assuming that he is infallible in his conclusions as to what constitutes a reasonable diet, he is undoubtedly in the right. With the exception of potatoes, which often form the staple of the evening meal, there are practically no vegetables (in the British sense of their uses) to be found among the peasants of the interior. A little cabbage or carrot is occasionally grown for the purposes of the infrequent salt-meat soup; but I have never seen them, or cauliflower, to say nothing of salad or celery, served plain as a separate dish, though I have reason to believe that I have often partaken of them without having had the faintest conception as to their identity—all inquiry being, from reasons of etiquette, strictly barred. So far as the peasant is concerned, this general lack of green food is absolutely inexcusable, and can be only attributed to an ingrained dislike of anything proximating to luxury.
Il mange mats il ne dine pas applies with peculiar force to him and his humble table, though it will probably take a few more centuries to awaken him to the significance of the bon mot. Though far from having reached the degenerate stage, a large and varied experience of him has convinced me that, to bring him back to his pristine vigour and hardihood, the following three requisites are worthy of his undivided attention: fresh meat and vegetables, a return to his neglected oatmeal porridge, and a better ventilation of his rooms. And when it is considered that he is practically the only raw material of which the cult of the towns is formed, the question is less a provincial than a national one.
There is a belief among Englishmen in the country that after the first three years' residence in Norway the winter cold is borne with less equanimity than that of the first period of domicile; and as a reason for this disability it is advanced that the predominance of the white foods (fish, pork, veal, etc.), together with the spasmodic supply of green-stuffs, is productive of that poverty of blood which the abundant beefs and muttons and vegetables of his homeland go to obviate. Whether or not this be the case I must leave to the Herr Doktor and the Herr Professor to decide. It has not occurred to me from personal observation that the people of the towns are any less full-blooded than those of, say Germany; though, as in the case of the latter, two-thirds at least of the men one sees about town appear to be a great deal fatter than they have any right to be, and of a fat, moreover, which their own doctors have dubbed bleg fed (white fat), which unhealthy condition of obesity is seldom met with among beef-fed Englishmen.
A corpulent Norwegian lady, on the other hand, is rather an exception; and this has given occasion to the unkind suggestion of their ungallant country-man that the Norwegian man was over-coddled, over-fed, and entirely spoilt by his self-denying sister, to her own physical detriment, a libel which has just sufficient truth in it to make it all the more libellous. Among the peasants (who could certainly not maintain a "fat man's club ") there is a far better case for this theory of poor food and its resultant poverty of blood. Blod forgiftning (blood-poisoning) is very prevalent with them, especially among the I and labourers. Whitlow is a common trouble, and any slight scratch or cut on the hand in winter is apt to set up a dangerous inflammation extending to the armpit and necessitating severe operations. The perennial appearance in early spring also of sores at the corner of the mouths of the poorer children—sores which disappear with the better summer food—likewise tells a tale which points its own moral.
In many of the off-lying valleys fresh meat is seldom or never eaten, and the only vegetable encouraged is the potato. In these places veal will on rare occasions constitute a day's meal before it is salted down; but as the calf is frequently killed at an age that is very far removed from discretion, its flesh will not, and does not, appeal to the townsman or the foreigner. The peasant as a rule keeps his cows solely for milking and manurial purposes, and the occasional supply of veal for salting; and with the exception of a few sheep-breeding districts the latter animal is seldom kept for food alone.
Butter and fresh cream take the place of dripping, and enter largely into the scope of Norwegian cooking. Butter when fresh and good will cost about 11d. a pound, and the best cream 9d. a liter. As one moves away into the interior fresh butter is less in evidence than is margarine, the peasant preferring to sell his butter to the towns and purchase his margarine at anything under 7d. His tastes are always for the things that are not particularly fresh. When thirsty he will infinitely prefer a drink of over-sour milk to that he may at any time obtain direct from his cow, and fresh trout are quickly transferred to the salting tub. This applies equally to his inclinations in the matter of meat, though there are signs of late that he is beginning to appreciate the flesh that is sweet, and the day may yet come when he will eat the game with which his forests abound, instead of sending it into the towns as a sort of offal for debased city taste.
In the meantime the towns benefit by his prejudices in the latter respect. A capercailzie may be had for half-a-crown, and black game at about the same price a pair. Grouse and woodcock average 7d. and lod. respectively. Thrushes and blackbirds are sold at about the rate of a penny apiece; but when it comes to the lark and the pigeon the Norwegian draws the line, sparing the former for its song and the latter for ornamental purposes. A hare will cost you a kroner (is. ijd.), but a wild rabbit cannot be had for love or money, they, like the English daisy, not being indigenous to the country.
Vegetables are fairly plentiful in the towns, and are considered by Norwegians to be dear enough. They are certainly much dearer in the North than in Southern Norway. Potatoes average about 2d. for 3 kilos, cauliflower from 3d. to 8d. per head. Cabbage, 1 ½d. to 3 ½d., and carrots about a penny a bundle. Celery, lettuce, and rhubarb are to be had in their season, as is also karvekaal, which is much used in soups. It is a species of wild carraway, and its leaves are gathered on hill and field in the early spring, and dried for yearly use. It is, in my opinion, far superior to spinach when boiled in its native freshness and served with poached eggs, and as an ingredient in soup its delicate mint-like flavour is much appreciated by Scandinavians. Its cultivation for export purposes should be encouraged, for I am certain that it would be appreciated by the British housewife if only as an occasional change from the eternal parsley, mint, and sage of daily use.
Fish, in the tin, and fresh from the river or sea, is, as might be reasonably expected, cheap enough. Soles are not easily to be had, but among the numerous other kinds of flat-fish the large golden flounder, costing about 6d. each, is much prized. Cod, haddock, and whiting take an easy first place as the staple fish food. Live cod sells at about 4d. a kilo, and, when salted, at about half that price. Silver whiting are often retailed at a penny apiece, haddock at 2½d. and 3½d. a pound, and fresh mackerel from a penny to 3d. apiece, according to size. You can get seven large-sized fresh herrings for a penny, and, when salted, a fine specimen for a halfpenny.
Fresh salmon varies very much in price, ranging as it does from 8d. to 2s. 3d. a pound, but the smoked fish usually maintains its price at about lod. a pound.
Peasants as a rule prefer to dispose of their salmon catches in rivers and along the coasts to a local company for export, and as most of the best rivers are let to Englishmen and others, this fish is less in general evidence at table than it otherwise might be. Trout fishing in the numberless brooks, rivers, and lakes of Norway being practically free to one and all, the fish is an inexpensive and frequent summer commodity in town and country.
Turbot, for some strange reason, not unconnected probably with its warty and general unlovely appearance, is not a favourite in the market. Whether or not it is considered to be of the category of the devil-fish, and unclean, I cannot say; but I have a vivid recollection of inducing fishermen, not so many years ago, to give them to me rather than throw them overboard, and even at this date they may be had for a mere song. There is no accounting for the vagaries of a people’s taste in such matters. Kidneys, for instance, are considered in the light of offal, and I have never paid my butcher anything for them, nor for liver, nor sweetbread. Sheeps' heads and brains are anathema, though pigs' feet are, in a small way, a marketable commodity. Mushrooms, other than the champignon of the bottle, are regarded also with the gravest suspicion, and the peasant's aversion to game of any kind is notorious.
Halibut at about 9d. a kilo is much eaten by the working classes, as is also ludfisk, though the latter is likewise much favoured among the “upper ten." Indeed, it is as indispensable on the table at Christmas Eve as is our turkey or plum-pudding. And of all the British-contemned dishes of Norway I don't suppose there are any that have been so gratuitously abused as the harmless, if unnecessary, ludjisk. It is in reality dry salt cod which has been soaked for about eight days in a lye, or potash, from birchwood, and then boiled. It is served up hot, and eaten with the usual sauce of melted butter. In its cooked state it presents a semi-transparent and gelatinous appearance, and its taste is really not at all bad when you have overcome the notion that you are dealing with putrid fish—which it is not. But the odour which it emits during the boiling process, to say nothing of the after-smell—a sort of “choke-damp" as it were—has effectually damned it in the eyes, or rather the nose, of the Britisher, and rarely will he tolerate its preparation in his kitchen for the use of his servants. It is usually retailed at 2d. or 3d. a pound.
In the same category, and from a similar exotic point of view, the gammel ost (old cheese) may be safely placed; for it is a comestible that has furnished as much food for depreciatory fun as the famous, or infamous, Limburger of the American humorist. Yet it is, in my opinion, no worse than Roquefort in its more advanced period of life. It is merely an ordinary cheese, made from ordinary cows' milk, and kept for an extraordinary length of time.
The legend that peasants bury it under, the threshold of their doors and keep it there until it is impossible for any person to enter the house, when it is considered to be ripe, has no foundation in fact—chiefly because it would never occur to a Norwegian peasant to bury it at any time. It is a common object on all hotel and pensionat tables, and I have yet to learn that its presence has produced any disruptive effect on the company assembled. It is so very easy to be funny at the expense of cheeses—of the maturer brands.
Returning to our fish, it should be mentioned that if one lives near the sea (where everybody who is anybody in Norway usually resides) your summer supply need cost you no more than the time and trouble in getting it. On the more populous south and south-east coasts there is practically no tide, and very little current to speak of. In summer your boat, steam launch, or yacht are always to be found floating where you left them, and fish abound literally up to your very door. I have often, seated in a basket-chair on the lawn, within a few yards of the hall door, caught all the whiting, flounder, and even cod necessary for the day's supply to the household, and my average daily take one summer in a neighbouring creek, resorted to by fish as a feeding ground, was six dozen of all sorts, among which haddock and the silver whiting predominated: and this within a stone’s throw of the cliffs, in fifteen fathoms of water, and very often without once having shifted my ground.
It will be readily surmised that with so bountiful a supply of fish the poor (who are never so poor that they cannot possess, or borrow, a boat—I have seen second-hand and serviceable prams change hands for six shillings) have all the fresh fish they want either for the home or for sale. Many better-class families residing in good fishing districts keep a standing supply of live cod in large perforated wooden cases. The latter are taken up out of the sea by hand or by a winch from their boat-piers, and the fish are fed daily until they are required; and so tame and used to the new life do some of the earlier lodgers become that I have seen them readily swim up and take the food from the hand held under the water. When fish is required the owner has only to step down to his private pier at the end of his garden, haul up his weighted box, select his cod and take it out with a hand-net, alive and fresh for the table.
During the winter season, when the fjords are frozen over, the poorer classes on the coast engage in line-fishing for herring and cod. A canvas weather-shield, or tent, is erected on the ice, a hole is made in the latter, and a line with a dozen or more bright and unbaited hooks is lowered. The upper end of the line is secured to a supple twig set in the ice, whose office it is to indicate when a bite occurs. As many as a dozen herrings are often hauled out at one time, with possibly a large cod dangling from an occasional baited hook. Needless to say that this fishing is free to native and foreigner alike.
Fresh fish is plainly cooked and well served in all hotels, pensionats, and private houses. Cod, haddock, and salmon are usually sent to the table plain, with a separate sauce of good melted butter—the first two often appearing at other times as a kedjeree. Whiting, flounder, herring, and mackerel, when not boiled, are fried in the usual way, with this exception, that only the best butter is used in the process, the same butter appearing separately afterwards as a sauce.The Norwegian cook (almost always a woman) is an adept in her treatment of fish, and, so far as that comestible is concerned, the Britisher can have no solid grounds for grumbling. Nor should her soups fail to appeal to his palate. But he must put up with the absence of clear soups, which are considered to be too watery for Norwegian taste. The chief ingredients of Norwegian soups are stock, flour, butter, an egg, and a couple of spoonfuls of good cream; and they are equally applicable for asparagus soup, cauliflower soup, champignon, and even lobster soup. The latter crustacean and crabs are of the good things that are far cheaper than with us, but oysters, alas! do not belong to the category.
Beef and mutton are retailed in the towns at about 7½d. a pound, and pork, which is considered very dear (though a universal favourite), at 9d. About the cooking of these and their sauces the Britisher, fresh from the home methods of his own country, will have a good deal to say that will not be flattering to the Norwegian cuisine. He will probably tell you that the joint in its entirety is never in evidence upon the table; that the dishes and plates are not heated to the burning-point standard of his native land; that the meat is brought in luke-warm, in gobbets, and baked, or fried, or boiled to shreds; and that all this, together with the non-nutritious and bile-inducing properties of the sauces and the numberless cold side-dishes, leave him, after the meal, with a general feeling as of not having got any “forrarder," in other words, that there is a lack of finality about the whole thing to which his national sense of solidity objects.
Granted, for the sake of argument, if not peace, that his experiences have been confined to a class of hostelries catering solely for a native clientele, and with a proper allowance for some measure of national spleen, the interests of truth compel me to admit that, from his point of view, there is possibly some basis of fact in his contention. The only consolation that I can offer to him is that already given in the earlier portion of this chapter, viz., that if he confine his attentions to first-class hotels both in town and country, and state his case with courtesy, he will find that his homely wants (with due consideration for the wants of other nationalities) will be carefully considered and provided for.
Daniels, H. K. Home Life in Norway. The MacMillan Company, 1911.
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