Pickled Herring

My thoughts are turning to pickled herring. This is what happens to nonagenarians. I'm thinking how Mavis can’t get enough of it and Adele and most of my other friends who, at least, never said a bad word about the stuff...except for Judy who has my condolences.

It may be a generational matter. My daughters have also shown no inclination for herring, but they all have other redeeming qualities.   

And then there is Putin who looked in the mirror one morning and saw Pushkin eating pickled herring. Napoleon might have conquered Russia if he didn’t run short of herring to feed his marauding troops. When invading Russia one is advised to pack sufficient barrels of pickled herring along with warm underwear, but not in the same suitcase. I’m sure the Russians never run out when they gobble up territory on their western flank.

Danes are crazy for the stuff and Latvians and Estonians. If I were stuck on the Monopoly board on Baltic, which is my lot, pickled herring would be a staple as it is for those folks in northern waters.

When I used to put out pickled herring for our Sunday Salon, back in the day, it was always the first to vanish. I wonder if some friends brought Zip-lock bags and slipped a few bits and pieces into their pockets.

Schmaltz herring is also worthy of mention....all those consonants supported by a single vowel. It is herring at its most plump, just before spawning. Best devoured with sour cream, dark bread, potato and onions. It offers transit right back to the shtetl. 

Herring is not a bottom feeder as some creatures so designated to vacuum the ocean floor. Knowing herring as I do I might presume that is beneath them. They feed largely on plankton rendering them low in carbs and high in an alphabet of vitamins including the all-important D and Omega oil without which one can expect to die a day or two earlier than previously fated.

Some like it split, salted and smoked which goes under the name, kippered herring. If I were a herring I’d much prefer being pickled. However the kippered variety had been the breakfast of Brits for centuries which may have kept the empire from falling. When it did fall, Kippers also fell out of favor. By the 70s, due to its association with the past, it was no longer part of the full English breakfast, replaced by eggs, bangers and blood pudding. What a loss. However it is now making a comeback as those rebellious Boomers are getting aged themselves

The purpose of this tribute to pickled herring is to fill up the page on a subject I really knew nothing about. Here's a tidbit to drop at a dinner party sure to get you reinvited: herring don't get to be called by that name until they mature from being merely sardines. In fact, there is no single fish named sardine. They can be any tiny fish. Whether there is an initiation or Bar Mitzvah to earn herring-hood from sardine-ness has not yet been determined.