"It looks like Jell-O that was run over by a car"

The title of this entry is my friend's rather astute observation of my lutefisk's appearance as I thawed it in a bowl of water prior to cooking. But, honestly, what is that thing? How could anyone ever eat that? How could it come to represent almost all of the peoples of Scandinavia? I began my quest to find out.

The first step: find a Scandinavian specialty foods store. Fortunately, when I first proposed to the class that I was to write my paper on lutefisk, I was sitting next to Ben, a local of Norwegian ancestry who just happened to know of the store where his grandfather snacked on Scandinavian goodies. He gave me the address, and today, after class, I boarded a bus to Ballard in search of the famed lye-soaked fish. It wasn't a difficult journey, save accidentally boarding the wrong bus, and I eventually made it to Olsen's Scandinavian Foods and back to the dorm with a new frozen fishy friend.
I waited until this evening to cook the fish. Frozen in a friend's refrigerator, I thawed it for about an hour in a bowl of water in the Kitchenette. I received some very confused and often disgusted looks from passerbys and told the story of what exactly lutefisk is countless times.

After thawing the fish, I moved it to a skillet filled with a thin layer of boiling water. I cooked one side of the fish until it looked finished, and then flipped it over to cook the other side. Ideally, the fish would become opaque after being subjected to this particular method.
Either I didn't cook it for long enough, or the woman's definition of opaque differed from the norm, because when that fish went onto the plate, it did not look finished.
I added some salt, pepper, and butter to make the fish a bit more tolerable.
Alas, upon trying my first bite, I discovered that the fish tasted just plain fishy. It wasn't absolutely terrible (which makes me wonder if I cooked it correctly), but it was gross enough to have to take a swig of water afterwards.
It was not a hit with my fellow dorm-mates, especially after I stunk up the kitchenette in an second attempt to cook the fish a bit more.

I found the whole experience enjoyable, despite spending hours traveling through Seattle and standing around the kitchen for a very disappointingly bland piece of fish. My cooking brought everyone out from their room and into the central part of the floor near the elevator. I saw first hand how food can bring together people and provide community, no matter how repulsive and unpleasant it may be. A meal doesn't have to taste good to have value. If it brings people together, especially in a humorous way, it's worth. I felt like Michael Pollan, cooking a meal that has the potential for disaster, but also realizing what one can learn and experience from a meal, good or bad.

I feel much more connected to my Scandinavian roots having cooked the food that so often stands for Scandinavian culture.