When revelling in the rejection of something foreign, is it fair to say I tried? I conquered? I understand the otherness of this thing? When that thing is a piece of cod that has been cured in lye to the point of jellification, I think so. So did the 88-year old Norwegian woman sitting next to me at the Hjemkomst Center. She paused the hymns that she had been singing to pinch her face, roll her eyes and say, "I never touch the stuff."
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