I thought I’d thrill myself today with a soup (or suppe) from a cookbook called The Lost Norwegian. I should have known when the recipe said to add a cup of barley that the results would confirm my long-held fears — kindled originally by my Norske Grandmother Ruby, who actually considered Kringlas (sp.?) a type of cookie — that if you take the worst of English and German cooking, eliminate anything even vaguely resembling flavor, then you have Norwegian fare.
Oops, a friend just wrote that Norwegian “Lutefisk” has incredible flavor. May be, but any fish you have to hammer to death and soak in lye for a day is right up there on my list of wants. No wonder the Vikings took off looking for new homes.