A-N-A-T-O-M-I-Z-E: Surströmming

By Raul Dias

The much-bandied around phrase “appearances can be deceptive” was probably coined for and by the Swedes. For one, the restrained, almost icy veneer that they are infamous for is demolished within minutes, when a group of Swedes come together for a traditional summer feast like a surströmming party, for instance. Hesitant smiles morph into full-throated laughs as toasts are raised and a can of surströmming cracked opened.
Now, this seemingly innocuous-looking, slightly puffed up can of fish holds within it a rather curious little secret that’s not for the faint-hearted! A super stinky preparation, surströmming or fermented Baltic herring has been a staple in traditional northern Swedish cuisine since at least the 16th century, originating in the Höga Kusten region of Sweden. There’s even a museum called the Fiskevistet Surströmmingsmuseet located in the small fishing village of Skeppsmaln along Sweden’s High Coast, that’s dedicated to this delicacy.
Just enough salt is used to prevent the raw herring from rotting and a fermentation process of at least six months gives the lightly-salted fish its characteristic strong smell and somewhat acidic taste. A challenge for the olfactory senses if there ever was one, when opened, the contents of a can of surströmming release a strong, overwhelming odour. In fact, according to a Japanese study, a newly opened can of surströmming has one of the most putrid food smells in the world, rivalling even that of other notorious fermented fish dishes such as the Korean hongeohoe and the Japanese kusaya.
Always eaten outdoors for obvious reasons, the ceremony behind opening and serving a can of surströmming has its own set of protocol. Understandably, the direction of the wind is most important, as no one wants a blast of the pungent fish odour fogging them up. It is also never served up on its own, as the taste—however milder than its smell—still needs a few ‘back-up acts’. These take the form of the typically Swedish circular hard bread called tunnbröd, atop which a little bit of the herring and the sour cream-like gräddfil spread is placed, along with a garnish of dill, Spanish red onion rings and slices of boiled potato. And as a chaser, a shot of aquavit an alcohol made from potatoes takes the edge off things!

(This column first appeared in the 26th November 2017 issue of The Hindu newspaper's Sunday Magazine section on page 8 http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-features/tp-sundaymagazine/surstrmming/article20942770.ece)