Herring Salad, Part II

In a letter dated June 12, 1883, Ibsen revealed that he was "struggling with the draft of a new play in four acts.  As time passes, various odd ideas settle in one's head, and one must find some outlet for them.  Though it won't deal with the High Court, or the absolute veto, or even the 'pure' flag, it is hardly likely to arouse any interest in Norway.  However, I hope it may obtain a hearing in other quarters."*

The play Ibsen was contemplating was "The Wild Duck," but he wouldn't start writing it until Spring of 1884, blaming a preoccupation with the "political complications in Norway" (as he put it in a letter to his publisher*) for his lack of progress.  

Ibsen said he wasn't going to write about the "pure" flag, but he did, sort of.  Gina makes herring salad for her guests. 

I would guess that most modern American readers would miss this interesting reference.  I, for one, knew nothing of the history of Norway's flag.  To be really honest, I didn't really know about the history of Norway's independence either.  So it was a delightful discovery to find herring salad "sandwiched" in Act III of a play that, otherwise, has nothing to do with Norwegian nationalism.  

"Herring salad" (sildesalaten) is the nickname for the Norwegian flag from 1844-1899.  The former Norwegian flag was combined with the Swedish flag to reflect the Norway/Sweden union (1814-1899), making a mish-mash flag which resembled herring salad.  Personally, I don't see it.  I "get" it -- the salad is a mish-mash and so is the combined flag.  But I don't quite see herring salad when I look at the combined flag.  

I understand the red (the beets), but the red was on the previous Norwegian flag.  And there was already blue and white, too.  Maybe the blue is supposed to be the herring, and the white is the onion?  But they didn't call the old Norwegian flag "herring salad."  

So when you add the Swedish flag, all you add, color-wise, is yellow.  I'll guess that the yellow is the egg in the salad.  Or the apple?  

If you're the kind of person who trusts wikipedia, you can read the article on the Flag of Norway here and the union between Norway and Sweden here.  

  

* Quoted in the Introduction to Michael Meyer's translation (Norton, 1961).

What's He Up To?

I've been wondering what Old Ekdal is doing with the hot water.

I guess I've already established that I'm not a big drinker, so I don't really know much about the rituals of drinking.  

We know that Petterson gives him a bottle of brandy, and he's got big plans to settle in his room for the night and indulge.  He goes into the kitchen for some hot water, but I couldn't figure how that factored in, because I always thought that brandy was drunk in snifters, cupped in the hand,  warmed by body heat.  

A little research reveals that Old Ekdal could be using the water for one of two reasons.  First, he could be using it to warm his cup -- either by putting hot water in the cup and then dumping it out or by putting his brandy in a glass and then setting the glass in a basin of hot water.  It seems that most serious, modern-day brandy drinkers would consider this a travesty, since it overheats the brandy and ruins the bouquet.

If he's all about the ritual of drinking, and is willing to take his time, then this would make sense.  Knowing what we know about him, though, I'm betting he's not the type to lock himself in his room and sip slowly.  And I'm betting he wouldn't much care about the bouquet.

The second reason he could want the hot water is to mix into his brandy.  As far as I can tell, this is for the same purpose, to warm the drink to maximize the flavor.  I don't know what those who appreciate brandy would say about this.  Sure, it cuts the potency of the alcohol, but the advantage is that it seems like a quicker way to get the warming job done, with the added bonus of stretching the  total amount of sips Ekdal gets out of the bottle.  If he's planning to finish the bottle tonight, he can make the bottle last longer this way, without having to wait for body heat to warm his drink.

That's my bet, but I don't know anything about Norwegian brandy/cognac drinking traditions.  Anyone?

An Adventure in Herring Salad

Cubed a granny smith apple.

Added a hard-boiled egg.

Added some canned sliced white potatoes.

So far so good.  I've eaten all those things separately, so combined they shouldn't be a problem.

Next come the beets.  I'm not a big fan of beets, but I've had them before.  I bought a jar of sliced beets and stirred in a few.  Everything turned pink.  

Then it was time for herring.  I opened the tin and got my first look at the herring.  Uhh....  Not particularly appealing. 

I tried to scrape off all the black part (skin?), then broke the herring into chunks, added it to the salad with a bit of mayo and a bit of sour cream.  

After 24 hours in the fridge, hidden in the veggie crisper behind some carrots, I scooped some out onto some rye bread I bought just for this occasion at the local organic food store.

It wasn't bad.  Seeing as how I had 80% things I didn't really mind eating, and 20% herring, it wasn't as hard to eat as it could have been if I'd loaded up on the herring.  But I was trying to do it like they would have in Hjalmar's house, so I made the "stretch" version of the recipe, with more filling than herring.   (Okay, maybe it's because I didn't really want a herring-heavy salad, but I can always say that it was part of my quest to be Ibsen-authentic.)

I ate the sandwich, washed it down with a Diet Pepsi, and then took the rest of it over to my neighbor, a gourmand from Minnesota who was delighted with the surprise, since she hadn't had it since she was a kid, more than 40 years ago.  

Getting Ready for Act III

I'm nervous already.  The herring salad is up next.

Hjalmar informs Gina that he's invited not just their new tenant, Gregers, ("we could hardly avoid it") but also their two downstairs neighbors, Relling and Molvik, for lunch "(just the tiniest little midday snack").  Gina, the steward of the family funds, is unpleasantly surprised.  Hjalmar, oblivious, warns her not to make it too skimpy.  "Good Lord, a couple sandwiches more or less, what's the difference?"

My younger brother and sister and I were best friends with our next door neighbors (Jenny, Mandy and Jay) who, conveniently, were each one year younger than we were.  All summer long, the six of us picnicked outside.  At our house, we'd eat on our back deck; at theirs we'd eat on their kiddie picnic table.  At the time, I was a fan of open-face peanut butter sandwiches, and I can recall bringing a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter outside for everyone to share.  

We had tuna salad sometimes.  Not often, after my little sister got hives from eating it too much.  But tuna salad is a good "stretch meal" if you're having unexpected guests.  Add enough crunchy things (celery, pickles, onion...) and you can feed six kids on one can of tuna.  

I imagine Gina's herring salad is a bit the same.  She and Hedvig clear the table of the photography paraphernalia, bringing out beer and brandy to accompany the meal.  Then she sets about making the herring salad.  

I played Gina today, and made herring salad (sillsalad).  I've never had a herring in my life.  I wasn't even sure if I'd be able to find any, but sure enough, they have them in our local grocery store.  Kippered, in tins, next to the sardines.  I'd checked a bunch of recipes online, and finally found one that didn't sound too bad.  Details later, but for now, the salad is in the fridge, letting the flavors meld, hiding in the vegetable drawer so my unsuspecting family won't mistake it for jello salad.  

Here's a teaser.  It's pink. 

Act II

My parents didn't entertain much, but occasionally my mom would have her book club over, or my dad would host his poker group.  Once the house was picked up, we kids were banished upstairs for the night, listening to the grownups laughing and having fun downstairs.  

But the next morning!  Ahhh!  Leftover everything!  Leftover soda, leftover Fritos, and best of all, leftover M&Ms!  How is it that grownups could have leftover M&Ms?  A kid party never would.

Hedvig's almost fourteen, and unsurprisingly, has an appetite for sweets.  Her dad promised to bring back a treat from his fancy dinner at the Werle's. 

In his haste to leave Werle's house, Hjalmar forgets to ask Mrs. Sorby for a treat for Hedvig.  At first, Hedvig thinks her dad's teasing her, trying to keep her in suspense.  But then she learns he really did forget her.  How could she not be disappointed?  It's not about the sweets.  

Hjalmar shows Hedvig a copy of the menu, written in French -- "Dejeuner" -- and offers to describe each dish.  It's not much compensation.  Hjalmar gets defensive (how am I supposed to remember everything?), then later, apologetic.  He can't explain why he didn't bring a treat without admitting that he left the party awkwardly and in haste, embarrassed by his dad and his own failings.  "Remember," Hjalmar says, "I am a man assailed by a host of cares."

Poor Hedvig.  I'll have some M&Ms for her.  

Act II

The scene switches from the wealthy Werle house to Hjalmar's home.  It's a big contrast.  Hjalmar's apartment loft is also home to his portrait studio, his father, wife Gina, and daughter Hedvig.  It's cluttered with chemicals and tools.  

Act II begins with Gina and Hedvig going over the family food budget.  Everything is budgeted.  Money is tight.  A piece of butter, some smoked sausage, cheese, ham.  Beer.  They eat cold food when Hjalmar's not home.  It's a sacrifice we assume Hjalmar knows nothing about, and would probably not fully appreciate if he did.  

Butter, sausage, cheese, ham...  Add eggs from the chickens we learn are in the loft (living happily with the duck, pigeons, and the rabbit), and you've got a fine quiche.  

Did they have quiche in Norway when Ibsen was writing?  I'm not sure.  There weren't quiche recipes in "Norwegian National Recipes."  They did have a ham omelet (skinkeomelett) which included macaroni and was topped with crumbled rusk toast crackers.  The picture looks more like what I'd call an egg casserole.

Anyway, my adventure in herring salad is coming up.