A root canal performed many years ago had likely gone bad. Consequently jaw bone issues arose beneath the roots of the upper molars  #13 and #14. And now tipped back in a dental chair, I was at the brink of losing those teeth as I faced the friendly oral surgeon. The surgical team’s banter relaxed me. I recall asking, “I suppose this might hamper my Christmas Eve dining.” The surgeon replied, “It might mean no peanut brittle but. . . .”  And just like that I slipped away to slumberland without hearing him finish the sentence.

Later, as my wife Nancy chauffeured my groggy self  back home she thought aloud of possible meals I could handle for supper.  I had forgone breakfast and coffee so fresh dental caverns be damned I was looking forward to some food.

“Hmmm maybe a bowl of hot soup?”  With a smile she added, “There’s always jello.” Luckily we have none in the house. 

But wait! “How about we pull that frozen lutefisk out of the freezer?” Now she had my full attention. Not only was this going to be an early Christmas but it would be a delicate meal on my tender mouth!

My relationship with the sacred cod goes back a long ways. My grandmother used to make it every Christmas Eve. I recall entering their big steamy farmhouse kitchen and feeling the ordinance of odor hit me. Luckily I knew beyond the kitchen was a bedecked Christmas tree with a berm of presents propping it up. So it’s no surprise that to this day the smell of lutefisk pleasantly carries me to past yuletides. 

In my boyhood, I might have put a meager forkful of the fish on my white sauce covered potatoes, but that was it. Luckily protein was abundant in the form of Swedish meatballs and sausage. Mostly it was the meal-concluding rice pudding that carried smiles from the table to the Christmas tree. 

It was somewhere in my mid-teens that my traditional fork full of fish grew to a plural nature and then there was the leap to where I relished the reconstituted cod.

After being netted in the cold water sea, cod are shipped to shore and  hung on wooden racks to dry. Fully dried they resemble leather or a piece of cardboard that has been soaked and then dried. Somewhere along the line, early Scandinavians learned that water alone cannot soften the flesh. Lye, in the form of ashes, had to be added to the water. A number of rinses were required to wash away any vestiges of lye.

These days modern techniques that include large drying kilns make the process far less smelly for the consumers. 

Far too many jokes are made of lutefisk. Most dwell on the smell of preparing it and others grimace at the gelatinous texture of the cooked fish.  As a self-proclaimed expert, I am here to tell you that if your fish becomes of that sloppy, wriggly nature, you have overcooked it. There is no greater compliment made to a church or cafe that serves lutefisk than to nod and say, “You do good fish.”

Lutefisk in the old country of Norway and Sweden was considered a simple dish, almost a survival food, and hence it was accessible to lower income folks. Recently, I saw a package of lutefisk at the grocery store selling for $18. That is a far cry from its inexpensive origins. 

Over a hundred years ago cod fisheries were abundant in the Barents Sea off the Arctic coast of Norway and in the Outer Banks off of New England and the Maritime provinces. Severe overfishing has threatened cod populations in all of their birth waters. Warming oceans are also hampering their reproduction. 

In 2007, I had the opportunity to boat among the Lofoten Islands in Norway.  We saw harvested cod split and draped to air dry on long wooden racks. But there were many empty racks.

We spoke with some residents of a small island community about the cod. They told us that the fishing industry has shifted its focus to king crab, a species which has only in recent decades established itself in these northern waters.

A 2024 story in National Fisherman reported that in 2019 Fisheries and Oceans Canada issued a warning that the cod’s extinction in the St. Lawrence was probable. “Federal Fisheries and Oceans biologist Daniel Richard claims that between 60% and 70% of cod in the southern Gulf do not survive past the age of five and are likely eaten by vast herds of gray seals in the region.”

CBC Canada reported that in the past, “when cod were abundant, large numbers of seals were not a problem. Overfishing from humans has put existing cod stocks more at risk from seal predation and preventing the recovery.”

Another threat to Barents Sea cod fisheries has been the introduction of the non-native red king crab. Introduced from Pacific waters in the 1960s by Russia, these large crabs have made their way westward to the Barents Sea. Native populations of cod began to decline as the crab populations skyrocketed. The crustaceans threaten cod fisheries by competing with cod for bottom dwelling food such as clams and worms. 

Besides competing with native species the crab’s large size can wreak havoc on fishing gill nets. 

I carefully removed the gauze compress from the tooth extraction site and sat down with my less-than-full smile and uttered a quiet, “Tack så mycket.”  (Thank you very much.)