Lutfisk is not the last name of a plumber from Minnesota.

Lutefisk is a Scandinavian fish dish — of sorts.

The word “lutfisk” is a combination of two words. “Fisk” is recognizable as “fish,” and “lut” is Swedish for “lye.” Lye is a strong alkali or caustic base solution. The word “lye” is an alternative name for the sodium hydroxide pellets you dissolved in water in chemistry class to make the high pH liquid for your experiments. So, lute or lye is strong stuff. What those Nordic (Norwegian, Swedish, Danish and Finnish) folks did was soak white fish in cold lute until the pH was about 11 to 12, then they soaked that fish in cold water to make it edible again, and then the Nords stored the fish over-winter in its altered form.

Apparently, once “luted,” the fish would last outside in the cold all winter long and no animal would touch the stuff because of the lye and the smell. In his book “Lake Wobegon Days,” the Minnesota-born writer and humorist Garrison Keillor is reported to have described lutfisk as “a repulsive gelatinous fishlike dish that tasted of soap and gave off an odor that would gag a goat.” Garrison has a way with words. A family member described the concoction more simply: “Fish-flavored jello.”

Nonetheless, many in Minnesota report to like the stuff. Yesterday morning at my Mom’s table in the assisted living, one lady said she and her best childhood girl friend (the two married brothers and became sister-in-laws), would sneak off to one of their houses, only blocks apart, after the brother-husbands had left for work and the kids were off to school, where those two conspirators would make up a whole pan of lutfisk. Smiling, they’d sit together, finish the whole thing and see spots before their eyes. That’s what she said, honest, spots. It seemed she found it a fond memory, spots and all.

Yes, even the staunchly Minnesotan waver on this subject. A relative, who abides well and long in the state of his birth, tells of a young child who regularly accompanied his grandmother to her favorite restaurant. The two ordered lutfisk together, which made the grandmother so very happy . . . until one fateful day. On that day of passage, after grandmother had placed her order for the house special lutfisk, the young boy said to the astonished waiter, “Chicken, please, Sir.” “What?” His grandmother arched her matronly back and with the wisdom of years asked the insolent boy, “Why aren’t you eating your lutfisk?” To which, the child replied sweetly with the wisdom of youth, “Why am I eating lutfisk?”

A good question and from out of the mouths of babes does it arise: Why indeed?

There is a purported golden rule of life that dates back to the times of the Babylonians, Egyptians, Romans, Greeks, Phoenicians, Columbus and the Mayflower: If you shouldn’t say it or do it in the presence of a child, don’t say it or do it at all. The enunciation and consumption of lutfisk may be the only exception to this rule in the history of the human race.

Lutfisk has been announced and served to adults and unsuspecting children from time immemorial, and though the spongy fish has turned many to the light of other foodstuffs, many remain enamored with and committed to the amorphous and wiggly expression of strained sustenance. And, I might add, this has occurred with no known damage to the youth of the world. In fact, the senses of those emerging citizens may be better off for their close experience with the preparation, and our younger generation may be better able to make up their own minds in an engaging world because of their exposure to the lye of lutfisk.

I can’t say this next with absolute certainty, but it has been suggested that Columbus carried a pot of lutfisk with him on his maiden voyage to the New World. One unknown chronicler may have observed and recorded the offering of a fish nibble from that basin to the Grand Chief of the native population. After the first polite bite, it appears the chief was ready to provide a very large and distant track of land at no cost to the immigrant disembarkees. That lost record is also said to relate the chief’s insistence to provide directions to the kingdom of his closest rival.

The Romance of Lutfisk: We have hinted at this, in the spots of the sisiter-in-laws, but I would be remiss if I did not, before leaving the subject, emphasize that many have very strong and good feelings and remembrances of their lives with lutfisk. As a young girl, my mother has memories of her father, my grandfather, coming home from the butcher shop and saying, “It’s lutfisk time, daughter.” She remembers the excitement and anticipation. The meal was special and the lutfisk was served with melted butter and boiled potatoes. She remembers the fun of it. Grandpa was a butcher who understood meat and fish and how to cook them. So, I am sure the lutfisk was well prepared and tasty as only lutfisk can be. Mom remembers that it did taste like fish, but not like fish, and how much she enjoyed as a child the meal of lutfisk  with her Dad. I think I can see now how lutfisk managed to be the only exception to that golden rule of life. After all, is there anything more important than the children?

In summary, lutfisk appears to be an acquired taste, that not all may be inclined to acquire, but for which many have acquired very close and comforting recollections — despite the taste.

To end, it might be said: To each, his or her own, and be happy that such is so for some, if not for all, and wish them all, “Good lutfisk to you and yours, and watch for the spots in front of your eyes — it may be fun!”

Grandpa Jim

PS: Don’t forget Little Lorraine. The new story has moved under the Flash Fiction pull-down tab. There may be no lutfisk in India, but Indiana is not far from Minnesota, and my Mom’s name is Lorraine, so the possibilities of a lutfisk encounter are real and not just imaginary. I wonder what she’ll think. Hobbes, on the other hand, may be a different story.