Around the World in 80 Plates: Pickled herring and crispbread from Sweden and Finland

This is an installment of the Inlander's yearlong project "Around the World in 80 Plates," a quest to find 80 foods and drinks in the Spokane area representing 80 different places. Read the introduction to the project here.

Count of dishes/places: 34

This is mostly an ode to the open sandwich, that Nordic staple that offers endless variations but can't ever really be improved upon. A few simple, strong flavors from a harsh Scandinavian landscape become a perfectly balanced meal that's as delicious on a winter morning as it is on a summer afternoon.

It starts with a crisp bread, known as knackebrod in Swedish. I noticed a few in the last aisle of My Fresh Basket, just two or three stacked on the bottom shelf. I may not have even seen them were it not for bright blue packaging and an odd shape.

It's less like bread and more like a plate-sized cracker. There's a large hole in the middle so it can be baked on a long pole and then stored in the kitchen like hanging ornaments. The centuries-old tradition began in Sweden and Finland from the need to make bread that would last through the long, dark winter. Today, popular knowledge says it will last up to a year without going bad.

It cracks easily into irregular shards, heartier than an old communion wafer but leaving behind about the same pile of dust. Nooks and crannies of air soften the dark rye flavor. The deep nuttiness is the perfect complement to pickled condiments and creamy spreads. Swedes and Finns eat it for breakfast, lunch, dinner or snacks, sprinkled over yogurt in the morning or spread with a pad of butter to accompany an evening meal.

But for the open-faced sandwich of my dreams, the crispbread must be topped with pickled herring. The firm fish packed in fresh dill is bright and refreshing, and the pickled brine is a sharp contrast to the earthy grain.

Pickled herring is known in Sweden as sill, and it's not to be confused with fermented herring, or surstromming, famous for being one of the stinkiest foods in the world. Sill doesn't have much of a smell at all, except for whatever herbs give the brine its flavor. The Swedish Institute claims that no smorgasbord would be complete without sill, and that it's more Swedish than Swedish meatballs (though Ikea might disagree). 

I found sill in the cold case at Alpine Delicatessen. They offered a few popular brands, but I chose Abba. At the height of Eurovision season, it seemed the most suitable choice.

With a few springs of arugula and some homemade pickled onions, my open-face was complete. I took it outside to a picnic on the grass. It's not Midsommer yet, but it was the first truly warm day of spring.

I dove in. Crunch. Snap. The cracker broke and the herring cascaded into my mouth. I ended up shoving the whole sandwich in my mouth before everything fell onto the blanket. It may not have been elegant, but Mamma Mia, it was love at first bite. ♦

Have an idea for what I should eat next? Wanna make me a traditional dish from your hometown? Send 80 Plates tips and ideas to [email protected].