This, of course, got me thinking about my own sacred duty as a lazy migrant-ethnographer. Sure I've told you about ethnic homogeneity, fjords, and modestrømpebukser, but have I put any effort into conveying the rich sensual texture of Danish life? Have I even paid it much attention myself? Not really.
Well, there's a bakery I pass most days on my commute that sometimes exudes wonderful fragrances, and a yeasty goodness of another kind when the Albani brewery is cooking up a fresh batch. There is the merry discordance of singing drunkards passing underneath my window most weekend evenings, and the low hum of sleepy small town traffic, untroubled by horns or blasting stereos. There are the wonderful creature comforts produced by the national fetishization of cozy-ness: the plush slippers, soft lap blankets, and abundance of pillows and scarves, as well as the sensation of riding against a hard wind on my two-wheeled steed. Mostly though, the experiences are so familiar that I don't notice them. Rain? Check. Seagulls squawking overhead? Check. Salmon? That too. As far as I can tell, there aren't many things those early Scandinavian settlers would have missed upon relocating to the Pacific Northwest, unless, that is, they were as obsessed with licorice as their contemporaries.
Licorice. Lakrid. It's fucking everywhere. I feel hounded, harassed, by its ubiquity. Only occasionally do I apprehend it directly through my senses, but the frequency with which it presents itself as an option, and the unlikely places it does so, makes me feel as if I taste it a dozen times a day.
At the grocery store across from my house (as well as at the one another a block away), there is an aisle-long pick-a-mix of gummy candies, perhaps half of which involve licorice.
Nearby is the aisle of bagged licorice candies -- this is only half of the selection.
How can there be so many different kinds of licorice? Isn't licorice just that? Oh no no no. There is salty licorice:
Fiery licorice (this particular flavor also comes in lollipop and booze forms):
And so many more.
You've probably seen these little pocket packs at Ikea. I quite enjoy the "dark humour" and "LOL" flavors. There is also a selection of these at the cash register, just in case you discover to your horror that you forgot to put "pineapple licorice" on your shopping list. Eugh. Do you see what this does to me? I could put down my computer and be eating pineapple licorice within 5 minutes. It's like being haunted by an herb.
[Ed: it is actually a root].
Licorice in tea? Okay, that's not so crazy. But with mint? I'm horrified and curious.
Every Danish chocolate brand has at least one licorice variety. The combination distresses me. Yesterday a friend from Eastern Europe told me she's lived here two years and never been much into the stuff but just a week ago something snapped and now she can't get enough. This also distresses me.
And yet, for some reason, I approve of licorice ice cream. I don't make the rules, I merely experience them through my senses.
These are like the grown-up version of the bags of licorice candy -- suitable for display on your desk or coffee table. From left to right: chili licorice, cute (?) licorice, salt licorice, and lemon licorice.
Licorice salt. For no food item must be allowed to escape this tyranny.
Not even cheese. The horror.
And of course a meat rub, "perfect for game and beef". Just like the "Red Vines Roast" that grandma used to make.
Two Danish sugar obsessions in one shiny tube: licorice-flavored marzipan.
For the licorice-flavored alcohol traditionalist you can't go wrong with "Fish Face" (slogan "With that real fresh taste!"). The youngsters appear to enjoy vodka flavored with apple & licorice, menthol & licorice, and salt & licorice, while at least one intellectual of my acquaintance swears that the pomegranate & licorice flavor is the best of the bunch.
Not just licorice beer, but chili licorice beer.
You can also buy licorice in powder form, useful for cake-dusting, freebasing, and a passable substitute for talcum powder.
And of course you'll need to have it on hand for making homemade licorice-roasted almonds.
I'M PART OF THE PROBLEM.
Why couldn't it have been cardamom instead?
