I can remember, as a little girl in the early 90’s, watching my Dad flip rounds of black pudding out of the frying pan and onto a plate covered with kitchen roll. I can remember him telling me that the Vikings used to eat black pudding. I can remember slipping a slice, still hot, between a piece of white bread and butter and wolfing it down, before running out of the door to catch the bus to school. I can remember relishing the rustic, irony taste and feeling warrior strong.
While out shopping yesterday, I found myself stalling at a fridge full of blodpudding. It was outrageously cheap – under 10 krona – and I felt a sudden, intense craving for the black pudding of home. (Yes, the thought ‘maybe we can live on blodpudding from now on’ did cross my mind…) I picked up one of the half moon shaped containers, noticing immediately that it was smoother and more pliable than the English sort, and found myself feeling something of a thrill to be getting something out of the ordinary. You know how it can get…weeks go by, routine sets in and you cook the same recipes almost with your eyes closed.
I asked Sebastian what he usually eats blodpudding with, and he told me ‘apple mos’ (apple sauce). So today, with Sebastian playing a gig in Oslo and me at home on my lonesome, I decided to indulge myself.
Raw, blodpudding has something of a gooey texture, but it cuts like butter and I fried up an extremely hearty slice. I was feeling optimistic that I’d enjoy it. And I wasn’t wrong. The crispy outer texture brought home a flood of memories and the inside was melt in the mouth. To accompany the blood, the Swedes add plenty of spices such as cinnamon and cloves to their blodpudding, making it deliciously sweet and Christmasy tasting. I tried a mouthful with apple mos (though it’s most commonly eaten with ligonberry jam) but thought it worked even more deliciously on its own.
Most foreigners don’t bond well with blodpudding. I’m happy to be an exception.