Catch and Release...Into My Tummy

The Wrangler and I headed to the midwest last weekend to pay homage to our roots and families in northern Minnesota. In three years, I'll have lived outside Minnesota longer than I lived there. Each time I go back, it all feels a little more unfamiliar. Yet, I'm always doing things that only someone from my neck of the woods can understand. No one here in California knows what I mean when I say that the ocean looks just like Mille Lacs, or why nothing says "festive holiday" more than canned fruit cocktail mixed with jello, mini-marshmallows, and cool-whip, or that walleye tastes one thousand times better than any other fish (but northerns are more fun to catch).

Ah, the northern--a good-sized freshwater pike fish that puts up a fun fight but few Minnesota anglers keep. Most of us are fairly disappointed to find a northern on the end of our line. Northern filets have too many bones. But leave it to my dad to ensure that nothing goes to waste, even the oft-maligned northern. Dad's been pickling northern for years. The pickling process eliminates the bones and turns a tough filet into little tasty treats. It started as a tradition at--of all places--his office. The entire staff helped make jar after jar of pickled northern for the annual Christmas party. When I lived in DC and Dad came to visit, I actually overheard him boasting about his pickled northern to the random couple sharing our table at a Japanese steakhouse. The visibly perplexed couple clearly had no idea what a "northern" is, why people would be pickling it at the office, and why it was the delicacy du jour at holiday parties.

This past weekend, we saw Dad in action. My aunt is hosting a weekend party for 60 houseguests and instructed my dad to bring 10 jars of pickled northern, which apparently is just as popular outside the holiday party circuit. Dad caught the fish on his lake, cut the filets into bite-sized pieces, and soaked the fish in a water and salt solution for three days (changing the solution periodically). We observed him as he filled canning jars with sugar, onions, pickling spices, and fish. He poured half a cup of white wine in each jar, and topped off the jars with vinegar. When I saw the jars of pickled fish stacked in the refrigerator, I knew I was home.