The Swedish Cultural Scene

Well, since I am 50% Swedish, I got interested in Swedish genealogy and culture. I found this link to keep me up to date on the social activities around the metropolitan areas of Sweden......

The weekend's 'finest': January 9-10 - The Local

 

If your lucky, you might even be related to Princess Madeleine. That is one beautiful Lady.

PS, on my Dads side of the family-we have some Swedish blood running through our veins--and being chased by our Norwegian blood ;-))

 

If you are even luckier you could be related to one of the ABBA members !!!!!!

 

As Moe might say: (Nnn-n-n-n-n-yyaaa-a--a---a-aaa-aa) I can't stand ABBA. And besides, you can't be romantic with a rock group--and im sure Princess Madeleine is much better to get cozy with. ;-))

 

I will let the readers decide. I think at one time they were one of the leading money makers for the whole country.

 

Oh I agree-they probably were the leading money-makers--just that they can't compare to Her Royal Princess ;-))

 

I vote for this Swedish dish...

 

But I also agree with Carl!

 

They were extreme in the monetary department, and as a pop cult group not too bad at all. The powers that be aren't making a musical about the princess, but Mama Mia is getting rave reviews. And don't forget that:

Anni-Frid "Frida" Lyngstad ,one of the singers of the former pop cult band ABBA is probably one of the most famous Lebensborn-children. Born to a German nazi officer and a Norwegian mother during the German occupation of Norway, Anni-Frid belonged to the "children of shame" – unwanted after the Germans lost the war.

Being an illegitimate child of a Nazi, her grandmother took her to Sweden to escape mistreatment - children of enemies were ostracized in post-war Norway.

See:

Children of Shame â€" Norway’s Dark Secret | Culture & Lifestyle | Deutsche Welle | 02.12.2001


So the female leads of ABBA turn out to be one Norwegian and one Swede, all good in my eyes even if the Norwegian lady was "tainted" with a touch of German. I (as an old fart) can fantasize more easily about females nearer my own age than a youthful princess, no matter how pretty. Hell’s bells I don’t even fantasize about an aged member of royalty, I fully understand reality here.

 

Would you be as excited if it were fish which made the most cash?

 

YES !

 

Sweden, my favourate place...after dear ole blighty of course...Love Stockholm when its iced in during winter. Walking along harbour. Foods good too...

 

I like Swedes....whenever we manage to beat them in a hockey game....



Just a while ago we won the floorball WC by beating Sweden in the final , Sweden 6-4 ahead just 5 minutes to go, Finland finally winning by scoring the extra time "golden goal"! That was exciting!

 

Right on!!!!! ;-)) Though the first Lady pictured is very pretty, Princess Madeleine is one very beautiful woman. ;-))

 

What is the name of the fish the Sweds like to smoke and eat on a holiday ?
I saw a picture of it once and it was big and ugly.

 

I don't know about the Swedes eating it but the Norwegians eat Lutefisk. Where Jaeger when we need him here? ;-)) Anyway, I know that Americans of Norwegian descent make this terrible-smelling dish and eat it. To me it looks like your eating tires that have a burning rubber smell. P-E-W........

 

It's "sill/strömming" gaddamn!
Or herring as you say in English.
Or wait, maybe "Surströmming"
Surströmming ("soured (Baltic) herring") is a northern Swedish delicacy consisting of fermented Baltic herring.
(Tastes like sh*t)
Great thread!

 

Lutefisk is what I was thinking of but the fermented Baltic herring sounds even more revolting !!

 

Here in Billings, every Christmas time there is a local FM station here that always broadcasts this poem, to be read with the proper timing and timber of; "'twas The Night Before Christmas":

LUTEFISK LAMENT

by Charlie Boone & Roger Erickson

'Twas the night before Christmas with things all a bustle
As Mama got set for the Christmas Eve tussle.
Aunts, uncles and cousins would soon be arriving
With stomachs all ready for Christmas Eve dining.
While I sat alone with a feeling of dread,
As visions of lutefisk danced in my head.
The thought of the smell made my eyeballs start burning.
The thought of the taste set my stomach to churning.
For I'm one of those who good Norsemen rebuff:
A Scandahoovian boy who can't stand the stuff.

Each year, however, I played at the game
to spare mama and papa the undying shame.
I must bear up bravely, I can't take the risk
of relatives knowing I hate lutefisk.
I know they would spurn me, my presents withhold,
if the unthinkable, unspeakable truth they were told.
Then out in the yard I heard such a clatter,
I jumped up to see what was the matter.
There in the snow, all in a jumble,
three of my uncles had taken a tumble.

My aunts, as usual, gave them "what for",
and soon they were up and through the door.
Then with talk, and more cheer, an hour was passed
as Mama finished the Christmas repast.
From out in the kitchen an odor came stealing,
that fairly set my senses to reeling.
The smell of lutefisk creeped down the hall
and wilted a plant in a pot on the wall.
The others reacted as though they were smitten,
while the aroma laid low my small helpless kitten.
Uncles Oscar and Lars said, "Oh, that smells yummy,"
and Kermit's eyes glittered while he patted his tummy.

The scent skipped off the ceiling and bounced off the door,
and the bird in the cuckoo clock fell on the floor.
Mama announced dinner by ringing a bell.
They pushed to the table with a yump and a yell.
I lifted my eyes to heaven and sighed,
and a rose on the wallpaper withered and died.
With wooden legs I found my chair
and sat in silence with an unseeing stare.
Most of the food was already in place;
there remained only to fill the lutefisks space.
Then Mama came proudly with a bowl on a trivet.
You would have thought the crown jewels were in it.

She placed it carefully down and took her seat,
and Papa said Grace before we could eat.
It seemed to me, with my whirling head,
the shortest prayer he ever had said.
Then Mama lifted the cover on the steaming dish,
and I was face to face with the quivering fish.
"Me first," I heard Uncle Kermit call,
while I watched the paint peel off the wall.

The plates were passed for Papa to fill.
I waited in agony between fever and chill.
He would dip in the spoon and hold it up high.
As it oozed on the plates, I thought I would die.
Then came my plate, and to my feverish brain
there seemed enough lutefisk to derail a train.
It looked like a mountain of congealing glue:
oddly transparent, yet discolored, the hue.
With butter and cream sauce I tried to conceal it;
I salted and peppered, but the smell still revealed it.
I drummed up my courage, I tried to be bold.
Mama reminds me, "Eat, before it gets cold."

I decided to face it, "Uff da," I sighed.
"Uff da, indeed," my stomach replied.
Then I summoned that resolve for which every breed is known.
My hand took the fork as with a mind of its own.
And with reckless abandon that lutefisk I ate,
within twenty seconds I'd cleaned my plate.
Uncle Kermit flashed me an ear-to-ear grin,
as butter and cream sauce dripped from his chin.
Then to my great shock, he whispered in my ear:
"I'm sure glad this is over for another year!"

It was then I learned a great and wonderful truth,
that Swedes and Norwegians, from old men to youth,
must each pay their dues to have the great joy
of being known as a good Scandahoovian boy.
And so to you all, as you face the great test:
Happy Christmas to you, and to you all the best!

(me again) I myself am Norwegian almost complete, only third generation American, and I can't stop laughing when "Sven Soderquist" does that poem. I finally found the lines, and copied them down 'cause when it is on the radio I'm usually in my pickup and laughting my ass off.

 

Don´t forget Carl, I saw her first....