“So have you ever had lutefisk before?” someone at the end of
the table asked. I was looking the other
way and didn’t see who was being asked but everyone else at the table was a was
at least 30 years older than me and they had all just finished working their
volunteer shift. It was the first time I had helped with the supper so I could
only assume they were asking me.
Around us the church basement buzzed with conversations.
Servers dressed in the traditional red and white Norwegian garb moved swiftly carrying
full platters of food to the tables and whisking away empties. Pitchers of
water, plates of lefse (something that looked like tortillas only made from
potatoes), sugar bowls and sticks of butter were already on the table. Ceramic plates
and coffee cups, mismatched silverware, paper napkins and small clear water
glasses completed each place setting. As we waited for the first round of food
my tablemates began spreading butter and sugar on pieces of the lefse and
rolling them up into small tubes.
“Nope. Never,” I said. “In fact I’d never really heard about
it until we moved here.”
