The Family *roll

A couple weeks ago, Emily excitedly told me that St. John’s Church, on the other side of town, was having a community Norwegian breakfast and we had to go. Um, ok. I like breakfast. I’m not opposed to churches. Well maybe I am. But I like breakfast more than I dislike churches, so I agreed. Emily did her best hard sell to our friends. None of them were interested.

Fools all! It was a fantastic breakfast. Turns out that there is substantial overlap between Scandinavian and Jewish breakfasts: pickled herring, smoked salmon, hard boiled eggs. But the Scandis have us Jews beat when it comes to sweets: fruit soup, milk pudding, yule kage, danish tea rings, waffles and cinnamon buns. Drool.

The setting was lovely. We joined a table with two octogenarians in a hall of about 400 people, 390 of whom were sporting Norwegian Sweaters, or even more complicated dress. We had been in our seats for literally 5 seconds when Jo, pictured left, asked for/demanded Eleanor, so that we could get our breakfasts. Leave our 6 month old with a total stranger? Sure thing. While we piled our plates full of yummy goodness, Jo entertained, and was entertained by, Eleanor. A little later, another woman at our table took Ellie and went…well I don’t know where she went: I was too busy eating to pay much attention. But she came back and all’s well that ends well.

I had a very mild crisis of conscience when Jo said, “I assume you go to a church on the other side of town?” Not an unreasonable assumption given where we live and the fact that we showed up to a church meal (although our Chicago friends know that we like being the heathens at the church community meal). Now what to say? The easy answer, of course, is that I’m Jewish, so of course I don’t go to church. But it’s not like I go to synogogue. I don’t go anywhere because I’m an atheist dammit. So that’s the real answer. And there’s definitely a part of me that wanted to offer that as my reason, not only because it is, but because people tend to be made uncomfortable by outright declarations of atheism and that annoys me. Much to Emily’s relief, I went the “I’m Jewish” route.

We also had a glimpse of Scandinavian reservedness. Jo was, from our point of view, perfectly normal: smiling and inquisitive with the new people. The other people at the table (it filled up) appeared to show no interest in us at all. They didn’t even crack a smile at Ellie. But then, after minutes of no acknowledgment, out pops a very straightforward question and conversation begins. Although I wouldn’t call it free flowing. Case in point: An elderly woman, after establishing that I teach at Carleton, asked whether I knew Smith, her long time neighbor. “I’m afraid I don’t. I’m new here, so I haven’t met a lot of people. What does he teach?” A puzzled look came over her face: “I don’t know. I’ve never asked him.” End of conversation. This picture captures the vibe nicely (the conversation just reported was with the woman on Emily’s left).

The breakfast was put on by the local chapter of the Sons of Norway. We learned that every year there’s a motion to change the name to the “Sons and Daughters of Norway,” and every year the motion fails. Stay strong women of Norway!