Longyearbyen is a cosy little town in the Spitsbergen, in Svalbard archipelago that borders the Arctic Ocean, the Norwegian Sea and the Greenland Sea. The Spitsbergen was discovererd and named by a Dutch navigator Willem Barentsz in 1596. Since 1920 Svalbard has been a part of Norway.
Some time ago, I was happy to receive an invitation to a dinner party in Longyearbyen. The idea of this get-together was based on a well-known British Channel 4 TV show concept Come Dine with Me. In this show a group of five strangers compete for the title of ultimate dinner party host. The producers separately invite groups of ordinary people, celebrities, TV personalities etc., but this episode of mine was for expatriates. As all know, the international menu language is French, so this expat episode was named Comédien avec moi. Anyway, as no real actors were invited, the producers explained this decision by calling us five a ”bunch of old ham". I suppose, the real focus of this show is somewhere between wordplay and culinary.
I was supposed to be the Finnish expat. As far as I remember, I was born in Kuopio, a little town in the County of Savolax. People there are at the same time friendly and evasive. Having a crooked chin is very common, and because of this they speak only from mouth corners. If you talk with them, the responsibility is yours. Don't buy anything: the warranty is gone as the rear lights of his van are behind a corner. I don’t know if the producers knew about my exact origin; there always is a chance that my invitation would have remained unwritten.
Using my mobile kitchen, I have thrown many enough Savolax-type parties in different countries for my reputation easily to reach the ears of the show producers.
It was a "warm" summer day, and lots of folks got out. Shoppingmalls profile the people who live in the town and the surrounding rural areas. Normally, at this time of the year the streets are crowded with people who look warm in thick pullovers. An average summer day is about 5°C.
This man, whose figure has been immortalized in the middle of Longyearbyen, rooted out all criminality in the Archipelago. Allegedly, the big scissors in his hand were meant for making snacks for polar bears.
Crime rate in Svalbard is pretty much zero. According to old unconfirmed tales, the fingers of pickpockets and thieves were fed to polar bears. Severe felons provided the bears with a whole meal. Today, of the less than 3,000 inhabitants, nearly all have their fingers left, and right. Those who do not, may have lost them in mining accidents or to the freezing sea. For hundreds of years mining, whaling and fishing have been the main sources of income although nowadays tourism and scientists occasionally try to take over. Until 2007 the Russians did most of the mining; nowadays it is the Norwegians who lose their fingers underground.
We all arrived in Longyearbyen in an old sailing boat. Because of high seas, it had to be moored steadily. However, only four of us arrived as the fifth was already there. He welcomed us, and introduced himself as Krister, an almost full expat.
So, our Norwegian host was one half of an expat. Krister had spent a number of years in the Middle East, working there as a camel driver. Now he works in this part of the Wild North, where also many others live, but only so few dare go shopping. This is why Krister still wears almost the same outfit and equipment as when driving camels. Previously, the rifle was for wild beasts and the thick soled boots were against hot white sand. His old protection gear is still handy for getting some fresh meat and for holding the feet healthy. Having a rifle in Longyearbyen is related to some health issues too. So, also this time he managed to find some delicious local products for the party. All in all, his two homes are very different and still in many respects very much alike. But, on the other hand, geography is just one big jigsaw-puzzle.
Over the sea, arrived also the third participant Manolito, a meticulous Italian. His skills in dentistry and computer science are above all standards. However, he also is an excellent cook. Perhaps, because of his dental education, all dishes he prepares: lettuce, steaks, black pudding, herringbone tweed fish and spaghetti are always “al dente.”
In grocery stores, Manolito uses plenty of time and fingers for poking the heads of cabbage and lettuce leafs before making the final selection. “The fingers are my most important tool”, says this dentist. His signature plate is called Perforated Salad with Dented Noodles. There are many countries where his fingerprints have been taken.
Big Jamie, our fourth diner, came from Honolulu, Hawaii. In the USA he is a well know figure, and he always personally welcomes the public for his culinary performances. He has a relative in Britain, Jamie O., who also is in the same line of business. By profession, Big Jamie is a butcher and chef, and he arrived in Longyearbyen with a serving tray big enough for holding the servings for twelve diners at the same time. In this case a bit exaggeration there. Butcher as he is, it is customary for him to return a greeting “how’re you doing?” with “thanks, bloody marbled.” His food preparing demonstrations, where the “materials” are taken from recently butchered animals, are so gross that all viewers don’t dare to take a full view at the show.
The fifth arrival was a very shy and quiet Armenian restaurant musician Josef. Moreover, he had done some cooking at home in the town of Yerevan, but he was very modest about it. Anyway, he used to hang a certificate of his efforts in the kitchen on the wall of any hotel room he visited. The certificate was awarded by his wife. The other four of us suspected that they had a combined kitchen and bedroom, but he didn’t let us know. As for his taciturn character, there is nothing more to add. In this context even “nothing” may be too much. As this was supposed to be a friendly expat meeting, against the producers’ will, we decided not to compete, but to share the tasks of food preparation. Anyway, we were allowed to use the facilities, originally planned for the occasion. Deeply religious Josef crossed himself three times.
Getting the materials for the dinner was our first task. As stated above, Big Jamie was a meat specialist, and Manolito was a great friend of lettuce and bread. We also expected him to deliver other vegetables and potatoes. Mano, as we now called him, slightly complained the potatoes being too hard to poke if you don’t find finger sized shoot holes. My task was to get general groceries and petty items like drinks, but I was strictly advised not to use my mobile kitchen’s stock. Our Armenian musician wasn’t able to make the decision of his favourite area in the party preparation, but we equipped him with a whisk, and named him as the foreman. He didn’t comment. Krister, the local whatever-doing-man, promised to find us something very local for a surprise.
The actual dinner was eventful. All of us worked independently in the kitchen, and the completeness became as a surprise to all as the table was served. Big Jamie delivered all the dishes following an old French style table service. On a beach this wouldn’t have been a problem. This time a weird plastic fin that pointed down from the bottom of the serving tray caused trouble. It was hard to position the tray in balance, and some of the food tended to slide towards one end of the table.
Our best guess was that the fin type of extension was supposed to hold the tray stable in sand. Secondly, it should warn too hungry customers about eating too greedily. Big Jamie told us about an incident where an unscrupulous marine restaurant patron had accidentally bitten off almost one half of the serving tray. Josef didn’t comment this information at all.
Krister’s surprise was a huge local sausage that contained some from Far East produced stress relieving substances. A common result from consuming this stuff was that afterwards an individual had to spend more or less time resting. Usually the resting was organized in a wooden crate that for survival purposes was open on the both sides. In bachelor parties these crates were sometimes taken to the market place to be viewed by the public.
The appetizer salad and crusty bread were delicious. By turns we played with slices of bread and lettuce leafs, making funny faces through the holes. The setting was entertainingly decorated with candles pointing out from the holes in salad potatoes. Because all the food was in front of us at once, it was difficult to avoid mixing all tastes and spices, instead of enjoying each dish separately. At times, I realized having Big Jamie’s delicious goat and duck simultaneously in my mouth. The duck tasted a bit wooden, but the goat’s intestines entwined the two irresistibly together and produced an unbelievable culinary experience. When I told Josef about my findings, he nodded. All the time, all food seemed to slide in my direction. The sausage slid so often by that I definitely had my share of it. I barely escaped the wooden crate.
Big Jamie had found the duck swimming in a pond on his way to our meeting place for the boat ride. The duck didn’t resist catching and was in excellent condition after the long voyage. Though, preparing it was hard. A sharp knife wasn’t effective enough, and Big Jamie had to use a Black & Decker. For slicing he used an electric saw. It was our luck Jamie didn’t have much sausage; all the wood resources in the island wouldn’t have been enough for fabricating a big enough crate.
With his friend who actually does lots of hunting for his work, Krister managed to get his hands on extremely rear delicacies, wild boar ears. When roasted, they were crunchy between the teeth, but as they also were salty and waxy, the combination of tastes was magnificent. I had two. This dish brought some additional features to making funny faces. Still a hundred years ago, these goodies were available in court hearings.
Josef was disappointed as he didn’t have a chance to show his skills in whipping anything. He of course didn’t say anything, but in his case the expression of his face told more than seven words. Anyway, he had a good appetite and four extra servings of sausage. When the duck slid by him, he just raised his eyebrows and looked at Big Jamie, but for no one’s shock said nothing. He didn’t follow us for the dessert.
Manolito was in his element. He must have had at least ten wild boar ears. According to him, they strangely brought memories of a surgeon he knows to his mind. Mano didn’t like the sausage at all, and thus he had time to tease Josef, who had already started to show signs of sausagezation (Actually, Mano invented this word, and together we decided to send a proposition of a new medical term to The US National Library of Medicine. The definition for the new term, we suggested, would be: “A stupor caused by a daunting TV show”). Mano also went to repack Josef’s suitcase, and filled it with a powerful dosage of sausages and a whisk. I just hope the sniffer dogs at Armenian Customs have a day off or dog-flu. The rest of the dinner we spent by rhyming a song for Josef:
If you have a sausage,
don’t take another dosage,
for if you go too far,
sky will be one big star.
Finding a fitting melody was hard, and simultaneous experiments sounded horrible. A restaurant worker made a remark on us and wrote something in her little book. Later we heard that she won an aphorism competition with this plagiarism. Also, it was used as a slogan in the posters of the Norwegian Anonymous Sausagerists Association. Author Kurt Vonnegut could have said here:”You never know who’s listening, but it wouldn’t help anyway.”
Krister had another surprise in his pocket. As soon as we had finished the main course, he declared that the dessert would be served in a nearby international place, famous for its Swiss Rolls and Turkish Delights. In no time, we were filling the rest of the space in the central part of digestive system. The sweet stuff felt really good after a healthy and nutritious sausage meal. Now it was only four of us left as Josef had disappeared. No one had seen him go to his hotel room; neither had he told anyone about his plans. The latter was no wonder. Anyway, it was a sort of “summer”, and we didn’t expect him to freeze in case he happened to spend some quality time in nature.
As the producers had been relatively nervous about our stubborn attitude and incapability to follow an established manuscript, we tried to calm them down by voting the best, not party host, but the best dish. Duck was great, and the sausage full of surprises, but unanimously we declared Manolito’s potatoes best. They were a piece of art with truly personal touch, real finger food. Big Jamie was slightly disappointed. As he’s a tall and strong athlete, in this case “slightly” means more than in the case of a small person. His disappointment grew deeper as he discovered a number of tooth marks on his service tray. Whose they were, we couldn’t decide. I have a feeling that they were an output of more than one person because many seemed to release jaw tension by stretching, when the others didn’t see. It was a strong sausage and a tough tray. Well, the dinner was successfully over, and soon were we.
After a well slept night we prepared ourselves for the trip home. Not anybody reported bad dreams or other inconveniences. Josef was still missing. Big-Jamie was still somewhat sour about losing the dish contest, but Manolito was already planning to write a finger food guide. The tentative name of his book was High five in cooking – your inborn kitchen utensils. Later I heard that he’s planning to release other books on the same topic. Those poor guys who lost fingers in mining etc. incidents, could enjoy reading High four, or even High three versions.
On our way to the harbour we woke up Josef, who had spent the whole night at the market place in a cozy little thing, for survival purposes open on the both sides. He smelled like a barrel of dried cod. Some poor chap had tried to wake him up already earlier, but Josef’s petty mask had scared poo out of the intruder. This we heard from a local policeman, who had suitably walked by in the morning, and had to tell the guy to clean the pavement. Anyway, that much bragging about Nordic bravery; it seemed to have been replaced by rapid bowel function.
The Armenian was still a bit tired and didn’t have a clear picture of the happenings. This is what he told us:
“I remember having a role in a movie, and as the showing was over, I had to find a place to rest as the next take was starting soon. There were awfully few other roles in the play, but I remember I had one, or perhaps there was another, one for a very quiet person. And then, there was a girl who resembled my wife when she was younger, but not so much younger, I’m not sure”, he explained
This was something new for all of us; we knew nothing about Josef’s background. Hardly knew we if he was a vocalist or an instrument player, or whatever. We knew absolutely nothing about his wife either; only that she had a kitchen and a tendency to reward his husband with certificates, which travelled widely and heard lots of restaurant music.
“The script was in my head”, he went on,”and then there was this empty box just before me. I don’t know if it was cardboard, or wood, or crisp cracker; it was big and I fell asleep, or perhaps it took a minute if it was snug. And it smelled like a bream’s breath”, he went on, and on, and...
Our mouths were already half open. Manolito and Big Jamie looked at each other and me, but I didn’t say anything. Krister was smiling inwards; his friend was laughing in a gutter.
But then came the climax: “I know this woman is from home, lots of breams there, but no big deal. Then there was this other guy too, but he just went away, and all I heard was a yell, like a banshee”.
“Oh”, we thought, but stayed quiet.
“The name of the movie was Armenian car salesman, and I played the salesman, can you believe, the main part...I can’t just wait to tell this to my neighbour”, now he was exhausted.
“Oh yes”, I thought,”he’s a salesman and the only customer runs screaming away. There must be something in Armenian car industry”.
Suddenly, we other four realized that Josef was talking like a fire hose let loose on the floor. Author Vonnegut’s alter ego, author Kilgore Trout, could have put it in his own way: “In life and elsewhere, there are things incredibly hard to explain; sometimes even harder, but who would understand?” Anyway, we didn’t respond with a phrase. This was weird.
In the harbour, a lucky fisherman paraded a great catch, a skate. These things can eat almost anything, as sharks do, but the skates may soon be extinct. Their worst threat is the disappearance of tooth cleaning algae from the seas, and sugar industry that spills its waste in the previously pristine environment. Especially the skates know it as their dentition is deteriorating at unbelievable speed. The exhibition skate had already lost many of its front teeth, and obviously it was a relief that this lucky fisherman got it hooked. The skate itself definitely was hooked on sweets. A biological fact that the skates don’t have long enough front fins for maintaining oral hygiene doesn’t help at all. Windbag-Josef couldn’t help noticing that the skate resembled Big Jamie’s service tray, with an exception that the tray had tooth marks outside, and the skate had them inside.
When the departure was really at hand, we decided to forget the producers’ sailing boat and buy tickets for a cruising ship that was duly visiting the island. Windbag-Josef promised to entertain the cruise audience with sweet Armenian music and provide every single soul onboard with delicious Norwegian sausages. The cruise operator was not quite sure what this talkative Armenian meant with a question about building materials: boards, nails and tools. Big-Jamie whispered in my ear: “If the astrological signs are in my favour, and Josef won’t run out of sausage, also I’ll have a ride home on this ship.” I nodded. Manolito looked at me long, but didn’t say anything either. He was as wordless as I. Big Jamie waffled with Josef like girls in a laundry.
Local polar bears had most likely been worried about the unrest that we and the large filming group brought to this pieceful archipelago. Surprisingly, quite a number of them, risking their own health, gathered to the harbour to wave us good bye. When leaving the harbour, Krister and his friend didn’t seem to take note of them. Two great actors.
What happened afterwards, is not that astounding:
Krister and his friend learned how to use film camera, and are considering a trip to Far East together. They are looking for completely new ingredients for special dishes. Good for them.
Manolito is a famous author; he has now extended the topics of his books to the other parts of the body. He calls me often, and I visit him, but we don’t talk much.
Big Jamie is back in Hawaii, and is still gutting animals, no problems with that. The spectators still hide behind trees.
Josef is now in politics. He’s known for a fluent expression, and his speeches soon exceed those of Fidel Castro in lenght. His wife is preparing a new certificate.
I spend plenty of time alone at home. The mobile kitchen and its stock I have sold; it was full of "junk" anyway. More and more often, I have found myself in the kitchen, trying to make homemade sausages. Some ingredients are more difficult to obtain than some others. Also, I’m writing up records of the experiments. Ouh...there are some funny blue lights flashing in the street. Anyway, I have made lots of new friends, who supply foreign spices though they are expensive. I have a feeling that my sausages will have a breakthrough in the annual country fair competition of our village. Wait a minute: I have to stop for a moment; there is someone at the door. I didn’t expect visitors today. “I can hear you...I'm coming”! Damn...again some comedian! “You don’t have to pound”!
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The surfboard pics have been borrowed from Google Picture Archives.
