What to eat, and not eat, during the hoidays...

My sylta, enjoyed by dipping
 chunks in a bowl of white vinegar

Written by Jim Heffernan for the DuluthNewsTribune 12/7/24

Here they are, the holidays. They mean so much to so many people with fond memories of Christmases past as they anticipate Christmas present (and presents).

Food is a big part of holiday celebrations. There are so many dishes that are exclusive to the holidays, many of them reflecting the ethnic backgrounds of the participants.

That’s the case with me, for sure. A significant part of my ethnic heritage is Swedish, on my mother’s side, and she always prepared some foods associated with the home country of her parents.

Of course, the mind immediately turns to fabled lutefisk at times like this. We had it every holiday season, but not on Christmas itself. She wouldn’t dare. Roast turkey was the main menu item on Christmas in our home just as it was and is in many others.

I’m not going to visit lutefisk today; it gets so much ridicule each year I think people are getting as tired of hearing about it as they are of eating it. Codfish soaked in lye are not my idea of edible repast.

Then there’s “fruitcake,” baked and served in my growing-up home. I hate to use the word abominable to describe it because it’s an effort to spell, but there it is. You can interpret the expression “nutty as a fruitcake” as you choose. And don’t get me started on “lefse” or “kaldolmar” (cabbage rolls). Don’t worry. 

No, today I am going to address something the Swedes (Norwegians too) call sylta. (Warning: Never name a newborn girl Sylta.)

The real “Scandahoovian” aficionados call sylta “head cheese.” This is because REAL sylta, old country sylta, was made from parts of calves, pigs and sheep that cannot be made into ribs, chops or roasts but the early “cooks” didn’t want any part of the late animal to go to waste.

The solution: Use parts of the head. (Are you getting hungry yet?) As a youngster being taught the “facts” of life I thought that among these parts of the animals’ heads meant what is loosely called the “brain.” In fact, I believed that until recently. But research has shown that the brain was usually not involved when preparing sylta, AKA head cheese.

What a relief. But research has also shown that parts of the head in early sylta vary, with one source saying this might include tongue but not eyes or ears. Yippee! Hold it. Tongue? Hmmm.

Well anyway, apparently they mix it all together, throw in copious amounts of gelatin, onions and other culinary detritus, form loaves and call it sylta.

Now on to the important part of this narrative: Many of our Duluth grocery stores sell sylta at this time of the year. But do not despair, it contains no parts of the head. The sylta I bought recently simply lists “pork, water, gelatin, onions, celery, salt, all-spice and white pepper.” And I love it.

Actually the “inspiration” for visiting this subject today was a recent encounter with a check-out person at one of our fine supermarkets. Among my purchases was a small brick of sylta, and as the worker checked it though the scanner, he looked me in the eye and asked, “What is sylta?”

I was surprised that anyone in this part of the country had never even heard of sylta. One time in the past, as I was checking out some sylta in the store, the clerk took one look at it and said “yuck.”

In the recent encounter, I answered the check-out clerk in the briefest possible way by simply saying, “It’s a Scandinavian holiday delicacy,” He nodded and went on with his business.

I didn’t mention to him that it’s also known as head cheese. I didn’t include reputed ingredients of the past like maybe brains, but not eyes, ears and tongue. There is also mention of “feet” in some descriptions but I don’t know if I believe that. Feet are a long way from the head, we all know.

For the record, I love modern sylta sold in stores. Cheese-size slices soaked in white vinegar and served aboard a cracker are a rare delicacy only at holiday time. Enjoy or yuck, depending on your preference.

Well, this is my final column of 2024, so I wish readers a happy (even merry) holiday (as they say in Sweden, “God Jul”) and extend best wishes for 2025. I’ll be back in January, hoping for the best.

Jim Heffernan is a former Duluth News Tribune news and opinion writer and continues as a columnist. He can be reached at jimheffernan@jimheffernan.org and maintains a blog at www.jimheffernan.org.

Flags galore: So proudly we hail as vote nears...

American Flag-Wikipedia

Written by Jim Heffernan for the DuluthNewsTribune/11-2-24

 Well, it’s almost over. Election day voting is Tuesday in the most contentious national election cycle I can recall, and I ain’t no kid, friends. My first vote was in 1960 when Kennedy and Nixon faced off.

 

One thing I’ve noticed this campaign is the proliferation of U.S. flags all over the place. Not just on Independence Day and Memorial Day, but every day. Not just at schools or government buildings, but on homes and cars. And an occasional pickup truck will roar by with Old Glory waving on both sides of its box.

 

Patriots? Super patriots? Or politics?

 

I’m patriotic enough, like, I’m sure, your average American is patriotic. I love our country for the good things about it, and recognize bad things about it both in the present and the past, and hope they can be addressed. I willingly served in the military. Nobody’s perfect.

 

Also, I don’t associate the flag exclusively with any particular presidential candidate in this election, but I sense that some do, big time.

 

I put a small flag out on Memorial and Independence days. It measures about 12-by-15 inches and has a narrow arrow-like staff I stick in a flower pot facing our street. It’s like the flags that line the rows of veterans’ graves in cemeteries on Memorial Day…graves that include my father’s.

 

My generation was taught to venerate the American flag hanging in our classrooms, and we were preached to by elders on how to handle flags. We pledged allegiance to it regularly with our hands on our hearts. I remember being told that if you were handling an American flag and somehow it touched the ground you were supposed to burn it, out of respect.

 

Whew. I was always careful not to let that happen because I wasn’t supposed to play with matches.

 

There’s something disquieting to me about the proliferation of flags these days — fairly large ones prominently displayed on numerous houses the way my father always displayed a good-sized flag on my growing-up home but only on appropriate days, including Flag Day each June.

 

A few years ago I read that when you start seeing an unusual proliferation of flags all over the place it could be a sign of impending war. Who knows? We can hope not. Of course there’s plenty of war going on right now, but generally not directly involving U.S. troops.  

 

I sometimes wonder what might happen to a politician — presidents, presidential candidates, Congress people from both major parties — if he (this mainly applies to suit-wearing men) neglected to put one of those tiny American flag pins on his lapel. They never appear in public wearing a suit without a tiny flag on the lapel and they almost always are clad in suits. (Some woman politicos also don them when they wear blazers.)

 

I guess they think it proves they’re patriotic Americans and that they love our country in case there was any doubt…“so vote for me.” Also, the higher level politicos never appear on TV without a row of tall American flags draped behind them. “O say can you see…?” Yup, sure can.

 

I have one of those little lapel pin flags, given to me under unique circumstances. I was a pallbearer in Texas for a relative who had been a career U.S. Army officer, lived a good life, and died an elderly veteran.

 

As we awaited the start of the funeral service, a friendly woman I didn’t know came over and pinned little U.S. flag pins on the pallbearers’ lapels. Fine with me; it was an appropriate occasion for wearing one as we honored a man who had devoted a good part of his life to serving America in uniform.

 

So thanks, ma’am, whoever you are. Inquiring later, I was told that the lapel flag pin lady was the daughter of Ross Perot, the Texas business tycoon/Reform Party politician who ran for president in 1992 and again in 1996, and made relatively good showings. She was a nearby neighbor to the daughter of the veteran we were honoring.

 

I still have that little lapel flag. It’s in a small china cabinet in our home where we display fancy crystal accumulated over the years — and almost never use. I never use that little lapel flag either.

 

No disrespect for the flag. I’m just not running for political office. And I don’t wear suits much anymore.

 

Don’t forget to vote your conscience on Tuesday.  I’ll be voting my heart…along with whatever’s left of my brain. You shouldn’t have any problem finding your polling place. There’ll be a flag out front. Let’s hope none of them touch the ground.

 

Jim Heffernan is a former Duluth News Tribune news and opinion writer and continues as a columnist. He can be reached at jimheffernan@jimheffernan.org and maintains a blog at www.jimheffernan.org.