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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Clark: Sometimes heritage is hard to swallow

 Doug Clark winces as he tries a mouthful of lutefisk prepared by Reba Haugen Jewell and Ron Rolla on Wednesday at the Tordenskjold Lodge of the Sons of Norway in Spokane.  (Dan Pelle)

“Soon from the kitchen an odor came stealing.

“An odor that set my senses to reeling.

“The smell of lutefisk crept down the hall.

“And wilted a plant in a pot on the wall.”

– Excerpt from a Norwegian

“Night Before Christmas” parody

Wednesday morning found me in the kitchen of Spokane’s Sons of Norway lodge, where a few of the kind members tried to kill me with lutefisk.

“Yaargh!!” I muttered after finally choking down a forkful of the gelatinous codfish that is either loved or loathed, depending on your sanity.

“You’re just a wuss,” accused Reba Haugen Jewell, one of the lutefisk assassins.

That’s me, all right.

Some might not think I’d be the best person to promote the group’s 103rd annual Lutefisk Dinner, which will be held noon to 3 p.m. Sunday in the lodge, 6710 N. Country Homes Blvd. (Call (509) 326-9211 for reservations.)

But I’ve been twice. Each time I’ve found the event something that the whole family can enjoy.

The Sons of Norway members are terrific hosts. And whatever might be lacking in the fish department is countered by some very tasty meatballs. They also serve a wonderful flatbread called lefse. And the traditional cookies called krumkaker are simply to die for.

But lutefisk?

There’s good reason this pale fish dish is a worldwide punch line.

That fishy Jell-O texture jump-starts my gag reflex. And knowing lutefisk is cured in lye before being simmered and served doesn’t help my appetite, either.

Now some folks swear that lutefisk is as tasty as apple pie.

Ron Rolla, for example. He is the publicity/social director for the Sons of Norway district 2, which includes all the lodges in Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Alaska and Wyoming.

He did admit that the lutefisk I attempted to eat Wednesday wasn’t Grade A. In fact, he estimated my lutefisk to be about a 7 on a scale of 10.

But Ron, it’s lutefisk. How would anyone know?

A more Valhalla-worthy lutefisk is what diners will be enjoying on Sunday, he promised.

This will be the lodge’s first lutefisk dinner held in November. In the past this has always been a February event.

The benefit is obvious.

After surviving a lutefisk dinner, “just think of all the thanks you’ll have at Thanksgiving this year,” joked Ron.

That’s what I love about these Sons of Norway. Nobody cracks more lutefisk jokes than they do.

Some other improvements have been made to enhance the lutefisk dinner.

For example, Rolla said all the work to rinse the lye out of the codfish has been done ahead of time.

That’s a plus because making lutefisk fit to eat is a pungent proposition.

Let’s just say that the last lutefisk dinner I attended had a certain “air” about it.

I didn’t know whether to sit down and eat or run out and rent a gas mask.

“You better be nice to us,” warned Reba.

I’m trying. I’m trying.

Just about every culture has certain food items that are easy to laugh at.

The Scots have haggis, a mess of oats and minced organ meats cooked in a sheep’s stomach.

I once attended a Rocky Mountain oyster festival in Montana where cowboys chewed on deep-fried bull testicles.

During a visit to Tokyo my gracious hosts fed me spongy slabs of uncooked cow tongue.

Yuck, yuck and yuck.

There’s something really off-putting about lutefisk. I poked a slab with my fork. It jiggled more than a “Mike and Molly” sex scene.

Look, I don’t want to come off sounding like a picky eater.

Let’s say I were a Chilean miner trapped deep underground with nothing to eat but a big barrel of lutefisk.

Sure, I’d dig in.

On about, oh, Day 23 or 24, perhaps. But I’m pretty sure I’d eventually find the courage to choke some down.

Doug Clark is a columnist for The Spokesman-Review. He can be reached at (509)459-5432 or by e-mail at dougc@spokesman.com.