“If It Isn’t White, We Cream It”

Tasting Norwegian Christmas in Decorah

Decorah’s holiday pleasures are best approached at night. The Westside Bridge is lit up like an amusement park ride, a prelude to the dazzling lights that outline the downtown buildings. The courthouse is adorned with lighted wreaths and crowds keep the outdoor skating rink busy until 10 p.m.

Small towns are not supposed to bustle, but Decorah is a non conformist. In this part of Winneshiek County, geography is oddly un-Iowan. Mountains and valleys, rivers and rocks have discouraged the large scale clearing and planting that characterizes the state. It also attracted a spirit of free thinking.

Elsewhere in Iowa, one would be stunned to see satyrs running through banks of snow, but here, goat-people are an old holiday tradition. Such julebukker are ancient Norwegian spirits, fond of wreaking havoc at Christmas time, unless appeased with food and alcohol. So some folks masquerade, as goats and other things, and barge in on neighbors.

Norwegian immigrants brought julebukking to Decorah. The custom remained quite popular until the mid 20th century, when people became less trusting. Julebukking is one of several Christmas traditions revived by the the Vesterheim Norwegian-American Museum, the oldest and largest ethnic museum in the United States. Their “Norwegian Christmas” (Dec. 4-5, 2004) brings julebukker and nisser (elves) together with fiddlers, choirs, artisans and artists. Workshops in klostersom (satin stitching), hedebosom (lace ornaments), tapestry weaving, rosemailing (ceramic painting) and kolrosing (wood carving) mix with ones where children make nisse costumes. Vesterheim curator Tova Brandt explained the museum’s reason for being.

“In Norway, during the first half of the 19th century, the potato, the small pox vaccination and peace all conspired in a population explosion. Soon there were too many people for what the land could produce and when the potato famine hit Norway, it caused havoc. Emigration was a way out.

“As one of the late immigrant groups to America, at least by 19th century standards, Norwegians could sense how ethnic identity was swallowed up in the melting pot of America. So they determined to preserve their identity,” she said.

Darlene Fossum-Martin of Luther College explained how Norwegian foods became a focus of that resolve.

“For pioneers, recipes were a way to hold onto a culture and to connect to what they had been. Sights, aromas and tastes connect us to memories. I was fortunate to grow up in a family where all the recipes used were the ones that great grandparents used. Born on a farm, I remember making rendered lard. I remember watching great grandma baking, most of my knowledge of Norwegian foods comes from my family, though I lived in Norway for five years,” she said.

In her book “Keeping Christmas,” Kathleen Stokker explains that Norwegian Christmas traditions survived social pressures for 2000 years, on both sides of the Atlantic. Many local customs evolved from the Viking festival of jol, but the Christian church discouraged these, or tried to convert them, by ordering drinking toasts to the Virgin Mary for instance. The Midnight Mass of the Dead was outlawed, but ghost stories replaced it, as in Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” When Advent fasting came to Norway in 480 AD, lutefisk was Christianized, as acceptable fasting food.

At the annual “Taste of Norway,” in the Vesterheim’s Bethania Lutheran Church, a kitchen full of venerable Norwegian-American cooks educated us on traditions of food and humor.

The Gift of Cod

Some visitors wore sweatshirts that caught our eye:

“Lutefisk : The gift of Cod that passeth all understanding.”

The lady chefs explained that lutefisk is such “an acquired taste” that most families don’t prepare it anymore. It has gone underground, to church basements, where it “represents the immigrant experience - courage, hardship and small rewards.”

Yet, more lutefisk is exported to America, from Norway’s Lofoten Islands, than is consumed in all Scandinavia. Stokker wrote that Norwegians consider it historical peasant food, but Norwegian-Americans need it to connect to that history.

It’s prepared by soaking dried cod in lye, which breaks amino acids down into a jelly of protein. Humor is central to the ritual, the ladies insist. “Lutefisk reminds us that the crucifixion is the central tenet of our religion,” laughed one of them, quickly adding, “Don‘t quote me.”


The Christmas Pig

Pioneers in Iowa butchered animals in early winter, for salting and drying. Thus, Christmas was often the only time to enjoy fresh meat, a festive occasion for sharing. We were told that women were in charge of collecting blood, for pudding and sausage, and of making headcheese.

A Christmas pig was fattened until the last waxing moon before Christmas, in accord with an ancient Norwegian folk belief. Blodpolse (blood pudding) was made immediately. Modern conveniences have simplified the ritual. Doris Barnaal goes to the Isen Locker for pig blood pudding, which doesn‘t clot as fast as cow‘s blood. Leona Rosendahl makes blodpolse from beef blood that she buys at the Waukon Grocery. Agnes Forde admitted “I make it, but I never taste the stuff.”

Headcheese is made by alternating layers of meat and fat, picked off the skull, and cured in its own brine. The ladies all remember it, but few miss it.

“Headcheese was how our family made sure we used every part of the animal, ” explained Fossum-Martin.


The Sweet Seven

According to Stokker, the baking of sju slags (7 cookies) is an old Norse custom. In America the chosen cookies became fattigmann, sandbakkels, krumkakker, Berlinerkranser, goro, strull and rosetter. All include flour, sugar, butter, eggs, cardamon and almonds. Distinction is in their different forms.

Goro is the oldest, mentioned in classic Norse poetry as a symbol of wealth. Doris Barnaal says the thick rectangles are only good in theory. “They don’t work out in reality, there is too much butter in them for the high temperature they takes. Anyone who makes them has to open windows to let out the smoke,” she observed.

Krumkakker are thin rounds curled into a cone. The hardware to make them came to America in dowries, and was handed down as heirlooms. “There are three generations of krumkakke irons: long handled; stove top and now we have electric ones,” Barnaal explained.

Strull are made the same way, but twisted into cylinders. Rosettes require special wheel-shaped irons, with long handles. Berlinerkranser blend hard boiled and raw egg yolks in the different recipes. Sandbakkels are named for their crushed almond texture. Fattigmannbakkels were the ultimate status symbol on the prairie, because of the lavish use of egg yolks, sugar and cream.

Fossum-Martin remembered another cookie as the lutefisk of desserts, because of their odd aroma. “I will never forget great grandma’s harts’ horn cookies, which were made with baking ammonia, from harts’ horn salt, from the antlers of deer,” she said.


The Pudding Queen

All the cooks agreed, Agnes Forde is “the queen of rommegrot.” She earned the title when King Olav V visited Decorah in 1987 and Agnes made her special version of Norway’s national dish.

“We were told not to try to make any kind of contact with the king, unless he initiated it. After he ate my rommegrot, he came and extended his hand to me,” she recalled.

She had been anxious, knowing that in Norway the pudding is made with fresh, unprocessed sour cream. Agnes used sweet cream as is customary in Iowa.

“I couldn’t eat it in Norway, it didn’t taste right at all,” recalled Carrie Solberg, going on to say that her grandmother used a toro, cut from the very top of a pine tree, to roll the cream over the lowest heat, lest the fat burn or scorch, a seven hour process in her day.

“My grandma took her kettle and skimmed the cream with a toddle stick, making a cross on the bottom. So whenever we children saw grandma walking to the barn with her kettle we got excited; we knew we were going to get rommegrot for dinner,” she recalled.


The Anti-Lutefisk

Lefse (potato flatbread) is as popular as lutefisk is unpopular. The ladies agreed it should be made with a grooved rolling pin. Marj Hove uses her grandmothers’ pin to make the ultimate lefse, from homegrown garden potatoes. The cooks disagreed about whether to boil, or mash, them before ricing, and whether butter, margarine, or a 70-30 mix is best. They argued whether the butter should be melted.

Barnaal filled us in on some lefse history that lives in infamy.

“The museum had a lefse contest, with five judges, including a Better Homes and Garden editor, and some Norwegian food purists. It turned out that the winner used instant lefse mix. That caused a lot of long faces.”

If It Isn’t White, We Cream It

Klubb, also called kumla, are dumplings made with flour boiled in beef stock. Stokker called them a constant food from all regions of Norway, which forged a common bond among Norwegian immigrants. Such is not the case in 21st century Iowa. The “Taste of Norway” chefs said that they vary wildly. Sometimes bacon or salt pork is stuck in the center; other times minced potatoes are the main ingredient. Rosendahl said the latter are typical in Story City. Solberg claimed they are best with side pork and museum literature said that the dish is popular with boiled rutabagas, ham, pork sausage, syrup and melted tallow.

Carrie Solberg made them sound like lutefisk’s soul mate: “They look like baseballs left outdoors all winter. You have to slice them to serve them.”

They chefs agreed they should be made with blood, suet, water and flour. Rosendahl admitted, “I make them with potatoes instead of suet, but you can eat it with cream or butter.”

Karen Guttebo laughed, “Everything we Norwegians eat is white, and if it isn’t white, we cream it.”

Visiting Decorah

The magnificently restored Hotel Winneshiek’s and its Opera House and Conference Center are among Iowa’s best kept secrets. At Christmas, it dresses in Victorian splendor. Last year, Nutcracker characters adorned trees and mantles. A grand tree centered the lobby, surrounded by a sumptuous buffet. The Opera House was draped with a 150 foot garland, its stage book-ended by dazzling trees decorated in 19th century style. On Christmas Eve, the hotel placed a Nutcracker ornament on each guest’s bed. www.hotelwinn.com ; 800-998-4864.

Decorah is one of the best restaurant towns in Iowa. Many, such as the Hotel Winneshiek’s Victorian Rose, the Dayton House, La Rana and the Café Deluxe, use fresh raised meats, poultry and vegetables, from the area’s many organic and organic method farmers.

Agnes Forde’s Rommegrot makes 10 servings

1 quart milk
1 cup half & half
1 cup butter (or margarine)
¾ cup flour
½ cup sugar

¼ cup melted butter or margarine
Sugar and cinnamon

Heat milk and half & half, stirring often to prevent scorching. In a large heavy pan, melt butter and add flour; cook about 5 minutes, stirring constantly with wire whisk. Pour in milk and half & half and cook, stirring frequently until mixture bubbles and thickens. Stir in sugar. Pour in bowls
and pour melted butter on top. Sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon.

Rommegrot make be kept warm and served from a crock pot on low. It may be refrigerated and reheated in microwave.

This story was originally published in The Iowan