Sorry, but reindeer are delicious

OK, youngsters, don’t read the next bit: reindeer meat is really quite delicious. There, I’ve said it. And certainly don’t tell Santa.

I’ve been very fortunate in that I have been able to travel a little in my life, and one cold December I was traveling in Norway and I met a friend for a fancy dinner at a spectacular, timbered old restaurant (1891) atop a mountain in the city of Oslo, a welcoming place called Frognerseteren Restaurant. There on the menu were reindeer medallions with a side of lingonberries. My friend, who had cousins living in Oslo and had spent a lot of time there, assured me that it was OK to order the dish, as both reindeer meat and lingonberries are staples in the Norwegian diet. So I did and, while I don’t usually remember food, it was memorably delicious.

Speaking of that, a dear friend invited me to join her family for a wonderful Thanksgiving meal and, though nervous in the company of others I showed up, playing the role of the guest who fails to bring a covered dish. I don’t think anyone noticed. It was a surprisingly comfortable afternoon, and this is a family whose members talk. Constantly. I’d never experienced a situation wherein seven people in the same room could have three different conversations taking place simultaneously. It was dizzying, fascinating, and it felt just right. I very much appreciate their kindness to this old guy. It made for a beautiful day.

One year I accepted an invitation for a meal at a great man’s house, a meal that also involved an Iowa Hawkeye football game on television. The great man’s sons were also in attendance and it was a scene I still smile about today. My life is quiet, and I’ve never really hung around with men, so I was totally taken aback when some soft-spoken, very bright, well-educated, gracious men suddenly were yelling at a common home appliance in front of them. I doubt the players, coaches, or referees heard them, but no matter. The men were enjoying themselves in a way unfamiliar to me. I clearly need to get out into the world more often, a world both alluring and puzzling.

I was thinking about oranges the other day, specifically oranges at Christmas. As a kid, I always received an orange in my Christmas stocking, a felt stocking my mother had made, sewing my name onto it. The story is that the original Saint Nicholas before he was sainted, realized that a neighbor and his three daughters were having a difficult time, so he gave each of the daughters gold coins, somehow getting the coins into stockings hanging on a mantle to dry. OK, it’s a little far fetched, but there has always been a fabulist feel to Christmas stories. Anyway, we remember Saint Nicholas’s kindness with oranges, a fruit that was once considered exotic, representing gold. Some years ago I attended another family gathering at Christmas and I handed out oranges and began to tell the story of their meaning and let me just say that I hope you found the story more interesting than they did. Perhaps it was the delivery or, I don’t know, maybe the Hawkeyes were playing at the time.

The peaceable kingdom of animals out here has been quiet, though the other night my hollow was filled with the sounds of both coyotes and crows. There are about fifty crows who hang out here regularly, often working a field in front of my house, scavenging for seeds. The chorus of the two disparate species was way beyond cool, and a reminder that we share the planet with these creatures, creatures described by British veterinarian James Herriot as both “great and small.” I don’t know if coyotes and crows enjoy oranges, but perhaps I’ll put some out for them. After all, it’s Christmas.

Kurt Ullrich lives in rural Jackson County. The Dubuque Telegraph Herald has published a 60-page magazine of Kurt’s columns. The magazine can be purchased here