Puester > wrote:

> I won't eat raw fish or raw meat, either, after some
> microbiology courses.

After some microbiology courses, it would be nearly as logical to refuse
to eat anything at all.

> They served a large platter of "mixed" herring as an appetizer: Pickled
> herring in wine with onion, in mustard, in tomato sauce, in sour cream,
> and gravalax salmon. I was quite unhappy because I thought it would be
> awful, but I actually liked most of it quite a bit.

Herring is a religion all of its own and its supreme god is
matjes/maatjesharing/jonge haring, as far as I am concerned. They have
something that they call matjes herring in Sweden and the rest of
Scandinavia, too - and it is mentioned by Apple - but it is not the real
thing. The real thing is available practically only in The Netherlands
and Germany. It is a very slightly salty, soft, fat, plump, tender,
melting-in-the-mouth goodness. It can be found around the year easily
enough, but the best appears in the sping-early summer. It is only good
when sold quasi fresh, by the double fillet, never canned or otherwise
packaged.

Below is a delectable chapter on herring from _Apple's Europe_ by the
late, lamented R. W. Apple jr.

Victor

Clupea Harengus
From _Apple's Europe_ by R. W. Apple Jr.

For the peoples who live around the Baltic and the North seas, preserved
fish has always been a staple. Scots, Englishmen, Dutchmen, Germans,
Danes, Finns, Norwegians and Swedes have devised dozens of ways of
salting and pickling the catch taken off their shores. Salt cod, smoked
salmon and mackerel and eel, pickled shrimp, the elegant cured salmon
called _gravlax_ -- all have their honored place on the tables of modern
Europe.
But the humble herring (Clupea harengus) reigns supreme in
Scandinavia. Herring bones have been discovered in Scandinavian mounds
dating from neolithic times; in the Middle Ages it was the herring trade
that brought the merchants of Lübeck into the region, giving birth to
the Hanseatic League. No visitor should miss the chance to explore the
astounding number of changes that talented Scandinavian cooks can ring
on this ancient regional theme.
There is such a mind-boggling array of herring recipes in Scandinavia
that it is enough to make one believe the story, told by Alan Davidson
in his book _North Atlantic Seafood_, that in certain Finnish villages a
girl is not considered marriageable until she can prepare the fish
twenty-five ways.
Here are just a few of the commoner varieties:

_Pickled Herring_. Salt herring cut into strips, pickled in a
white-vinegar-and-sugar solution that also contains allspice and bay
leaves, topped with red onion rings.
_Curried Herring_. Salt herring in a cold curry sauce.
_Matjes Herring with Sour Cream_. The only one, curiously enough, that
is routinely encountered in non-Baltic countries, except in families
with Baltic roots.
_Stromming or Baltic Herring_. Split, battered, fried and then
marinated in dill, that most Scandinavian of herbs.
_Glassblower's Herring_. So called because it is made in a tall glass
jar with carrots and onions.
_Herring Salad_. Herring, beets, cucumbers and sour cream.
_Smoked Herring_. But enough. You get the idea.

The tiniest of herrings, sometimes no more than six inches long, come
from the Baltic, and many people think that the most delectable of those
come from the waters surrounding the Danish island of Bornholm. They
are extremely perishable, so they are caught, cleaned and smoked on the
same day, then rushed to Copenhagen. The smoking turns them from silver
to reddish-gold. (Smoked herring drawn across a fox's path, the English
discovered, destroys the scent and confounds the dogs: hence the phrase
"red herring" for diversionary tactics.)
As with other delicacies, the Danes tend to turn Bornholmers into
open-faced sandwiches or smørrebrød. The herring is filleted, laid on
a buttered side of dark bread and garnished with sliced radishes,
chives, and sometimes a raw egg yolk. Taken with one or two smørrebrød
of contrasting taste and texture and, of course, with a glass of potent
ice-cold aquavit tamed by beer, they make a splendid lunch.
In the old days, one would have sought such a meal at Oskar
Davidsen's, a waterside pavilion in Copenhagen that listed 170 kinds of
sandwiches on a five-foot-long menu. Alas, it is no more. But the
daughter of the house, a cheery, round-faced woman named Ida, carries on
the tradition in a trim little restaurant bearing her name, open for
lunch only, at 70 Store Kongensgade. Tell her that you are interested
in herring, and especially Bornholmers, and she will help you make an
apt selection of smørrebrød.
Scandinavians also eat herring for breakfast, along with cheese and
ham and salami. You will probably find a small dish or two, perhaps one
of herring in tomato sauce, another of plain pickled herring, on the
overladen breakfast buffet at your hotel. They sometimes fry larger
fish, if they are not too fat, for dinner. And at the Tre Kokker you
will be served herring in a thin, clear, vinegar-based sauce, garnished
with grapefruit.
But it is in the traditional Swedish smorgasbord, it seems to me,
that Scandinavian herring reaches its peak. And the fines smorgasbord
in the world, without question, is the enormous copper table, fitted
with bains-marie and ice chests and a wooden spindle to hold wheels of
flatbread, that dominates the main room at Stockholm's Operakälleren.
This splendid place, all deep carpets and rich panelling, is not, as the
name suggests, a cellar, but it is, in fact, part of Stockholm's
nineteenth-century opera house.
Each lunchtime, the table is set, with herring at one end, other fish
dishes, cheese, cold meats, salads and so on along the sides, and warm
dishes at the other end. It is not done to heap your plate with a
mishmash of delicacies; you take first as many sorts of herring as you
like, and go to your table to eat them, accompanied by aquavit (I would
suggest a Danish Jubilaeums or a Norwegian Linie or, for the bold, a
spicy Swedish Stenborgare) and beer (what else but Tuborg or Carsberg?).
When you have finished, the waiter takes your plate, and you return for
a second, this time with other fish, a third, with cold meats, cheese
and salads, and a fourth, with hot dishes, such as Swedish meatballs and
Jansson's temptation, a succulent casserole of potatoes and anchovies.
It is a slow, relaxing process, to be undertaken when the afternoon
presents no greater demands than a long walk or a nap.
Lunch at the Operakälleren is one of my favorite meals in Europe. I
would no more miss it while in Stockholm, even if for economic reasons I
had to eat hamburgers during the rest of my visit, than I would miss a
beer garden or a _Brauhaus_ in Munich. The main reason, aside from the
grace of the place and the kindness of the waiters in their
old-fashioned, stiffly starched wing collars, is the herring.