Liver Paste, Pickled Herring, and Black Licorice: The [Confusing] Flavors of Copenhagen

When talking about great food cities, it’s only recently that Copenhagen has started entering the conversations of foodies around the world. For the most part, however, it’s often French and Italian cities that dominate the conversation. I would go even further to say that unless you’re a well-read foodie with knowledge of Noma, Copenhagen’s culinary gem ranked #1 in the world, Copenhagen probably doesn’t often come to mind when thinking of must-visit culinary destinations. However, I’ve found that Copenhagen is filled with guilty food pleasures that don’t run you 5,000 kroner a meal. That said, much of the traditional Danish food, like the unpredictable weather that greets you each morning, is an acquired taste.

They say that cooking is the only art that regularly incorporates at least four of the five senses, those most often being sight, touch, taste, and smell. When eating Danish food, I would argue that it actually encompasses all five, with the sound of the names of the food significantly influencing a person’s gustatory bravery. Just hearing the names of some of the food is enough to deter a timid eater. Danes include foods like liver paste, pickled herring, sour yogurt, and black licorice for dessert on their weekly menus. Because the key to Danish happiness is having low expectations, I’ve found that Copenhagen’s culinary repertoire includes surprising combinations of sweet, salty, and savory. Part of this food’s brilliance is its unexpectedness, so in this case I would encourage the hungry tourist to use all their senses for better or worse. Let the initial unappetizing sound of the word allow you to be surprised by the satisfying taste of the food. You might find yourself hooked (like a pickled herring?).

Liver paste. My first experience grocery shopping in Copenhagen was a daunting one. As I walked up and down the aisles trying to translate the Danish words on all of the packages, I realized that there was an extensive section in the grocery store dedicated to what looked at first glance like fancy cat food. I stood and stared at it for awhile before deciding that I would most likely never buy something that looked so visually unappealing, and instead went for what I assumed to be packaged sandwich meat (I think I might have actually been wrong on this account too). Not ever planning on seeing the mystery food again, unless by my own daring, I was surprised to see it sitting on the table of my Danish culture class the next afternoon. As I sat down in the classroom, the teacher explained that we would be preparing traditional Danish sandwiches in class that day so that we could be more well-informed shoppers the next time we decided to brave a crowded Danish grocery store. Usually ecstatic at any chance to make a delicious sandwich, I was surprised at myself for being less than excited about eating a sandwich with what I assumed was cat food on it. The teacher picked up the small aluminum container holding the cat food and began his lengthy explanation of what it was. It turns out it wasn’t cat food, but rather what Danes call “liver paste”. Liver paste is one of Denmark’s national lunch foods made from chicken livers. It is commonly sliced, put on rye bread with cucumbers, and eaten as an open-faced sandwich. Liver paste is so common it’s eaten by five-year-olds. I was shocked to hear this, considering the extent of my culinary exploration at five-years-old was PB & J (and maybe some carrots if I was forced to). Being as my philosophy is to always try something once, I lathered up a piece of rye bread with a generous helping of the liver paste and made sure I grabbed an extra napkin in case of emergency. However, I was actually pleasantly surprised by the taste of the sandwich I created. It didn’t taste like cat food, but rather like a variety of smoked meat used for making sophisticated sandwiches. Even though I don’t think I’ll be buying liver paste for regular lunchtime meals, I understand that it’s a common part of the Scandinavian diet because of its hearty taste and earthy subtleness. I learned a valuable culinary lesson: don’t judge a food by its container (or it’s weird name or questionable appearance?).

Pickled herring. From my short time in Denmark, I’ve learned that pickled herring is synonymous with all-things Scandinavia. It is so ubiquitous in Scandinavian cuisine that it’s actually been incorporated into Danish slang. Not only does a herring refer to the small fish caught in Scandinavian seas and commonly added to many traditional meals, it also refers to an attractive girl. As a girl, it’s actually a compliment to be called a herring. That’s how much they love this fish here. Knowing that it was such an important part of Danish cuisine, I had agreed to try it but was waiting for the right opportunity. The opportunity found me during a weekend in Odense, Western Denmark (the famous birthplace of Hans Christian Andersen). Eating at a small restaurant with a group of fellow students, we were told we would be eating a traditional Danish meal. As the waiters brought out our plates, I could see those little silver fish shimmering all the way from the other side of the room. They were elegantly placed on top of the Weiner schnitzel (that statement sounds kind of oxymoronic) with a generous helping of lemon and horseradish on the side. Here was the perfect chance to try the famed fish. Instead of moving the fish to the side like I might normally do with anchovies on a Caesar salad, I squeezed the lemon over the fish and meat, added some horseradish, and with no fear put the pickled herring into my mouth. Like the liver paste I had tasted a few days earlier, I was again pleasantly surprised. The somewhat spicy flavor of the horseradish alongside the acidity of the lemon accented the taste of the fish in a way I wasn’t expecting. After trying this Danish delicacy, I can (kind of) understand why a girl would be flattered to be called a herring. It represents tradition, acquired taste, and modest sophistication. Looked at in that light, I guess it’s a compliment?

Black licorice. Just ask my roommate, I’m addicted. Different brands of black licorice candies fill the walls of Danish grocery stores, and I’ve started on my quest, with very limited self-restraint, to find the best brand. My first experience with black licorice occurred almost immediately after leaving the airport. I was handed a bag of candy called “Sea Tac” that was filled with small, black fish gummies. A tiny bit skeptical, I tried one of the little fish and was instantly confused by what I tasted. Having been told it was candy, I was expecting something sweet to coat my tongue. With this expectation, there was a delay in processing the flavor of the “candy”. After I began chewing, the licorice flavor finally hit me. The licorice-eating experience is so enjoyable because the overpowering sweetness of American candy never hits you. Instead, your mouth is filled with a combination of subtle, simultaneous salt and sugar. Instead of the film of sugar that can coat your mouth after inhaling a handful of Skittles, black licorice leaves a pleasant after taste that keeps you wanting another one. Now I never leave the apartment without a handful of Nellie’s black licorice (my discovered brand of choice). After becoming such a big black licorice fan, I’ve discovered it to be a treat very appropriate to the Scandinavian palate: a combination of muted flavors that, in true Danish fashion, modestly satisfy a craving for sweets. (That said, I have found myself in the minority of American students who even remotely enjoy this flavor).

Although Copenhagen might not be a city mentioned in colloquial food conversation, I can understand why it’s rapidly gaining a reputation for culinary excellence. Instead of altering food to make it taste good, many of the Scandinavian foods that I’ve tried thus far embrace food and flavors in their natural state. The result is earthy and subtle flavors that unexpectedly satisfy. Even though restaurants like Noma are making Scandinavian food more popular around the globe, I think that what makes a visitor to Copenhagen open to trying some initially unappealing foods is that the Danish culinary tradition extends beyond the actual food. It’s not so much about what’s on the table as it is who’s around the table. In the presence of good company, a pickled herring or two is more than tolerable.