The World's Stinkiest Food

So, last Friday night we had a Swedish party. Perhaps it took me a week to blog about it because the experience was so traumatic my conscious mind tried to block it. Just kidding. But look at my expression in the photo above—that's not a happy camper. Why? Sturströmming. The rotten, revolting, ammonia/ass-scented edible practical joke. But we had to try it—we had to. John opened the container of fish very slowly at a 45-degree angle as per the instructions on the shrink-wrapped can (it needed to be shrink-wrapped to keep it from bulging and potentially bursting before consumption).

The contents of the can bubbled and fizzed and a pressurized spray of the foulest-smelling substance known to man erupted into the evening air. The cat ran away in panic. And when the cat runs away from fish, something is wrong. A few seconds passed and we all said things like "Oh, it's not that bad." And then, WHAM, the stench hit us like a brick. A brick made of rotting fish flesh. John decided to triple-bag and throw the stuff out immediately, but I thought we should taste it first. Imagine driving past Three Mile Island, smelling the putrid toxic waste fumes, and then saying, "wait, stop the car, we've gotta taste that." Yeah, that was me.

But, as promised by the dear Swedes who told me so much about their odiferous delicacy and then presented me with a can at my going-away party in Stockholm, it actually didn't taste that bad. It was just very, very salty and fishy. But the garden continued to reek of the fish juice that sprayed everywhere when John opened the can. Our guests wondered if something had died in our yard. Maybe our neighbors worried that we had murdered someone and buried him under the yucca plants. John hosed down the patio the next morning.

Anyway, in addition to the sturströmming, I made three kinds of pickled herring: tomato-caper, mustard, and red wine. I also made skagen using little shrimpies mixed with herb aoli, a spoonful of yogurt and a generous amount of fresh dill. And for desert I baked "nut tops," the delightful hazelnut cookies from the Rosendal Cafe. To drink, we served Carlsberg (Danish, but close enough?) and I made aquavit by infusing vodka with anise, cardamom and cumin. I'm not sure cumin belonged in there, though—or maybe I just added too much. My friends called the spirit "challenging." And they wondered why I was wearing a schlumpy blue and yellow t-shirt that said "Sverige" (because they didn't know what "Sverige" means).

But despite just being sort of confusing to most of the guests, the party was fun. I was surprised how hard it was to find basic ingredients for making Swedish food, though. I couldn't find fresh herring or even salted herring, so I started with pre-pickled herring and soaked it to get rid of the copious amount of sugar and vinegar in the store-bought marinade, and then started over with my own sauces. I couldn't find bleak roe (or any cheap fish roe) and I also couldn't find any Swedish cheeses. Luckily, it turns out herring tastes pretty good with sharp, white cheddar and fingerling potatoes.

I did find knackebröd at a European grocery, and that made me happy. But next time I'll probably just make Swedish meatballs and call it a day. Everyone likes Swedish meatballs!