Holiday gorging necessitates ritual victuals. But just what is that suspect dish on the sideboard?
The holiday season means different things to different people, but most will agree it inevitably involves veritable orgies of food. And not always good food. The season is a minefield of potential dining hazards. So before addressing those RSVPs, take a look at our overview of the most gross and grotesque foodstuffs of the season—and be prepared for the worst.
DISH: Mail-order fruitcake WHO SERVES IT: Suburban septuagenarians OCCASION: Christmas PROVENANCE: At least one theory states that the origins of fruitcake be traced back to ancient Egypt. Circa 300 B.C., the Greeks got their hands on it and eventually the stuff spread like the bubonic plague to Italy, Spain and today’s British Isles. Supposedly, Marco Polo then introduced it to the rest of the world. Around the turn of the century, these dense, ossified clods of sediment, teeming with petrified pellets of “dried fruit,” made it to our own fair shores. They quickly became the holiday fund raising items of choice for school bands and the like, and, as a result, began piling up in suburban pantries to later be presented as gifts. Rife with alum, this shrink-wrapped dessert packs enough preservatives in one bite to keep Dick Clark rockin’ for another New Year’s Eve. And, with a half-life second only to plutonium, it can be stored indefinitely in a closet and re-gifted years later. MODERN APPLICATIONS: Lest you think you’re safe if you pass on dessert, those gastronomes at Gourmet have published recipes for pork chops with fruitcake stuffing, chocolate-covered fruitcake balls and more. For God’s sake, stop the insanity!
DISH: Mincemeat pie WHO SERVES IT: Brits and the Pennsylvania Dutch OCCASION: Christmas PROVENANCE: Long before the Brits brought us the Spice Girls, they brought us mincemeat pie. One could argue over which is worse, but we won’t get into that here. The name, implying sweet meat, says a lot, but it doesn’t paint the entire picture. Traditionally, mincemeat pie calls for cloves, dried fruits, nuts, spices and rum. Oh, and also mushed-up beef tongue and suet. (In case you’ve never analyzed the filling of a Hostess Twinkie, said suet is the solid white fat rendered from around the kidneys and loins of cows and sheep.) This concoction is marinated for up to a month, unrefrigerated in order that the flavors might permeate one another beyond the point of discretion, then served, piping hot, as a dessert-a dessert!-inside a pie crust. MODERN APPLICATIONS: Thankfully (or not), meatless mincemeat is now available in cans.
DISH: Lutefisk WHO SERVES IT: Norwegians OCCASION: Christmas Eve PROVENANCE: “Lute” means “lye” and “fisk” means fish in Norwegian. Not for the weak of stomach, this translucent dish of dried salt-cod soaked for two days in potash lye actually smells worse than you could possibly imagine. And the taste, well, let’s just say it’s not easily acquired. Fish soaked in lye has been around since the Middle Ages, when it was eaten because fresh fish was thought to be hazardous to one’s health (while lye, it seems, was considered a godsend). Shocking as it may seem, lutefisk was considered a dish fit for kings (and, of course the hoi poloi ate it up, too). MODERN APPLICATIONS: Scandinavian descendants continue to ingest this potent poison, washing it down with straight aquavit (strong Scandinavian liquor distilled from potato or grain mash and flavored with caraway seed). They also loyally toast the fish, skoaling with words like like the following, which we found in The Last Toast to Lutefisk by Minnesotan Gary Legwold. “To lutefisk: An undertaker disguised as fish.” Possibly this imprudent display of ethnic pride is meant to prove that, while Scandinavians may drive very, very slowly, they can never be accused of squeamishness.
DISH: Gefilte fish WHO SERVES IT: Eastern European Jews OCCASION: New Year’s Day on the Christian calendar (and practically every Jewish holiday besides Yom Kippur, a day of fast when you are spared the agony) PROVENANCE: Start with some carp, pike or whitefish, debone it, mush it up with matzo meal, water and egg, form it into patties, simmer it in veggie or fish stock. Chill it. And then put it back in its gelatinous goo to serve. There: You’ve got gefilte fish. For generations, Jewish bubbies have either been following this recipe or insisting that their variation of it is better. The name comes from the Yiddish term for stuffed (gefüllte) fish because, traditionally, the mixture was (and, often, still is) stuffed back into the fish skin before cooking. MODERN APPLICATIONS: Contemporary hosts purchase prefabricated gefilte fish by the jar, thus avoiding the stench that tends to emanate from the preparation process.
DISH: Haggis WHO SERVES IT: Scots OCCASION: Hogmanay (New Year’s Eve); Burns Night (around January 25, Scottish poet Robert Burns’ birthday) PROVENANCE: To partake of the national dish of Scotland is literally to dine on a full stomach. This meal-in-a-sac comprises sheep’s heart, lungs and liver, with oatmeal, suet—yes, suet again—and spices, all boiled inside a sheep’s tummy. (Haggis is fitting as the national dish, as it’s a testament to making the most of small means.) Ritual calls for the meal to begin with a soulful recitation of some Robert Burns favorites (particularly “To a Haggis,” in which he immortalized the stuff); this is followed by a period of gorging on the entree, which is washed down with Scotch whiskey. After said rite, the diner is himself transformed into a walking haggis. MODERN APPLICATIONS: The current rage is to bring cans of prepackaged haggis back from one’s jaunts to the British Isles ands serve it “just for fun.” Before accepting any invitations from hosts of Scottish descent, inquire as to their recent travels.
-ROB. WALTON