(Bodø, Norway. March 2011)
What would you tell a customs inspector who caught you smuggling large, dark masses of 
iced whale meat?
“I didn’t know it was illegal” or
“I’m taking it to Greenpeace as evidence” or
“No, sir, it’s not whale…it’s just an extremely large chunk of liver…”?
Whale doesn’t quite taste like liver though. The consistency is slightly reminiscent of liver but the taste is rather like that of an ungulate. Imagine a sweet, dense meat. I was reminded more of reindeer than beef. At least it didn’t taste like chicken.
My slice of northern minke whale (Balaenoptera acutorostrata) had been lightly seared on each side then boiled slowly in a ceramic pot with a generous handful of south Asian spices, crushed almond, and Arctic berries. The kitchen smelled like an Indian restaurant happily lost in the Boreal forest. I washed down the cetacean with a strong, ruby-red South African Shiraz. Holy mother, I thought, if you’re going to eat whale, it might as well be this way.
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Every couple of months I get that sick, desperate feeling that I need to go somewhere.
When my friend, architect Sami Rintala called from his home in Bodø, Norway and asked if I would like to come for a little late-winter fishing I didn’t hesitate. Oh, and…he needed a little help building his house. First stop Helsinki, Finland.
Luckily some of my very best friends, an international crew of Finns, a Czech and a Canadian, are all outstanding cooks and connoisseurs of fine food. Well, any food really. We met up in Helsinki and piled into a van for the two-day drive through the snow to the Arctic Circle and then the Atlantic coast.
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We put in a few days pounding nails on Sami’s house and headed out to the Saltstarumen Sound to fish for Saithe (Pollachius virens).
We fly-fishermen are somehow convinced that actually catching a fish has to be hard. Not so for those who are actually interested in eating. Saltstarumen boasts the strongest tidal current in the world. Over 400 million metric tons of seawater slam through a three kilometer long, 150 meter wide strait at 73km an hour – every six hours! This current makes it one of the spots where some big fish can be caught. Using large treble-hooked lures we had a generous pile of saithe on shore in less than half an hour.
Next, we drove in and out of gray, drizzling fjords to a beach. We found ours, deserted but for the gulls and occasional seal. With a massive view of ice-carved mountains and the wide Atlantic, it was a heavenly spot. Once the tent was up and while we waited for the coals, we sampled a traditional Norwegian trout dish I’m sure had been rotting at the back of someone’s garage. Raake Orret.
Once the trout (Salmo trutta) is caught it is put in water containing bits of sugar and salt then stuck into some cool space in the dark somewhere – for months. My nose curled at the smell. We spread the slithery mass on a flat-bread made from yellow peas. Sami poured us each a shot of carroway-laced aquavit (courage or numbing?) and we had at it. The trout’s texture was smooth and the taste surprisingly mild. I stunned myself by having a second and even third helping. Only more aquavit could cleanse the pallet after that. When this wind turned chill off the ocean and the coals were set, we turned to the saithe.
Norwegians often prepare saithe as fried fish balls or breaded with oatmeal and fried. We simply cut off the heads and split the fish in half, lathered the filets with real butter, sprinkled on salt and pepper then fried them on the skin side for just a few minutes. The meat was sweet and soft and melted in the mouth.
A few days later we were knee-deep in cod from the Saltfjorden.
This time it was Rane’s turn. Rane is the owner of the restaurant LinnoituksenKrouvi in the eastern Finnish town of Lappeenranta (www.linnoituksenkrouvi.fi) and given the quality of food served at his restaurant I knew we were in for a treat.
As an appetizer, Rane sliced the cod (Gadus morhua) liver to perfectly sized bites and salted them. While they absorbed the salt, he created a grounded mixture of crackers, some old wheat bread, one whipped egg, juniper berries, thyme, black and rose pepper. He then breaded the pieces. Fried lightly in the iron pan with a butter and olive oil mixture, the goal was crisp outside, al dente inside. The liver was served it on top of thin crispy bread with cumin seeds sprinkled on top.
But what do you do with the cod tongue? Done in a mix of butter-olive oil with garlic and
parsley the tongue needs to be fried quite a long time. If you’re not into that wobbly, soft, jellyfish, seafood-tasting version then breading the tongue first might be your style. We had it both ways with a dry Riesling on the side.
The cod filets came back out the next night for a giant pot of Portuguese-style Baccalao lubricated by oaky Riojas and Crianzas.
Ok. There was moose too. Moose is so lean it can get tough easily so it is best eaten very rare with just a little salt and pepper. A Merlot served as a substitute for the vegetables. The gentle tannins and round tastes are perfect for a wild, bloody chunk of meat.
On our last night in Bodø I found myself happily stuffed and not at all excited to head back home. “Why was this so good?” I shouted out.
“Well,” thought Rane, “We’ve had a great atmosphere thanks to Sami’s family, a good fishing and cooking team, some inspiring meat to cook, descent alcohol to grease the inspiration process and a bunch of hungry bastards to enjoy it.”
(This story first appeared in the July 2011 issue of Travel Destinations Magazine)
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