Twenteen.

Ah, yes. My day of birth is drawing to a close, and it really is true that birthdays are considerably less exciting the older you grow. I remember my 10th birthday, driving Emma to distraction through my constant repetition of 'THE BIG ONE OOO' and the promise of a new bike. 

Now entering my twenties, I'm perfectly happy with a bottle of Cava and a glutinous spate of over-eating. It has also frightened me, as it has now actually occurred to me that this time next year, I will need to be ready to assume my role as a valuable contributor to society - a notion that scares me to my wits' end. Indeed, I realised I took one small step towards the role of true 'adult' by organising, cooking and hosting my own dinner party. The fact it was a great success, with no dramas involving burnt lamb or undercooked brownies, was more of a shock to my mother than to myself. And why I chose to host my own dinner party, and all the stress that goes with it, instead of booking a restaurant and letting them take the reigns, is beyond me. I guess its because it is my way of showing my deep affection for my friends, and my brain has chosen to express this by listening to the overriding urge to over-feed them all. As far as I know, no one has died, yet. 

And even though my dinner party was a great success, the rest of my life, and my future for that matter, still hang precariously in the balance of my indecision. In another twenty years, I might just be hosting another dinner party, of a very different nature..more to do with impressing colleagues than celebrating life with carefree abandon with my dear friends..dear God!

Sverige etcetera

It has actually been a shockingly long time in the world of blogging since my last gem of a post, which perhaps suggests it is possible to blog and not feel the need to post every hour of the day my whereabouts. My whereabouts indeed, have taken me over to unexplored territory for a member of the Buckle clan, despite my grandmother telling me on every available occasion "I almost went on a cruise up there around Norway and all that...but not in the end, couldn't stand the idea of all that fish."

Ah yes, all that fish - a stereotype held by many, it would seem. Upon my imminent departure and arrival, I received many a comment along the lines of "not turned into a salmon yet, then?" or "had enough caviar on toast" or one particular spark of witty genius from father Martin: "I think we should have herring for tea.. I'll bet you're missing them.." 

And it is true, Swedes, I know for sure, do certainly ingest a lot more of our fishy friends than their English neighbours, and are generally more accepting and less squeamish about eating various crustacean delicacies or fish of the pickled, vinegared, and raw variety. Indeed, my dear friend's family gave me a soft and gentle introduction to Swedish cuisine that went beyond the usual Swedish meatballs  and gravy: a sumptuous feast consisting of a slab of Norweigan smoked salmon, ready for home-slicing, and a strange concoction of fish roe, prawns, tuna, mayonnaise, dill, crème fraiche and salmon into one bowl of creamy paste. I have sadly forgotten the name, but the experience of eating it will never leave me.. And of course don't forget our easily recognised vinegared herring in that striking purple marinade. It is hard to adjust to the idea that Swedish food incorporates the sweet factor into many ordinarily savoury foods. The idea of eating cheese (complete with ingenious cheese slicing tool) and ham for breakfast for me is beyond what I can conceivably see as revolting, yet I was delighted to be acquainted with the cereal staple "Start", which is not unlike eating flapjack. 

Yet my fishy dinner was tame in comparison to another Swedish delicacy; something Emmy's parents thought they would "spare you the pain of". It is, essentially...apparently...fermented, rotting fish in a can. The odour is apparently so strong and pungent that it requires opening at the bottom of the garden. This is to prevent the stench from permeating the house for the next month. 

So far I am making my perceptions of Sweden sound as if all I absorbed was their preference for fish, yet much of what I experienced goes beyond my maritime culinary experiences. Emmy's house in Gustavsberg (I do apologise for the probable incorrect spelling) is situated a half hour from the busy centre of Stockholm, and is surrounded by the Baltic sea, bountiful lakes, beaches, and plentiful forest. 

Emmy spoke of how the pace of life is almost unbearably slow - people see nothing wrong with taking half the day having coffee, there is no need to rush anywhere or do anything immediately. Any sense of urgency is replaced with an understated relaxed approach to life. With such long days in the summer months, I can understand such an approach - so much daylight, the days must seem to stretch on forever and ever. It was only after three or four days that I finally began to adjust to the Swedish pace of life - everything seems so easy, even taking a bus to town. The Swedish sense of style, especially within Stockholm, seemed equally effortless and relaxed - the "I don't care" look so artfully pulled together. Converse and leather jackets are the uniform of the capital's inhabitants, complete with thick-rimmed glasses and an air of unreserved nonchalance. Stockholm, the 'capital' of understated 'cool' seemed comparatively empty and quiet, contrasting starkly to London's manic, heaving mass of humanity, and the general need to be 'doing' something all the time, to always be impressing someone. Of course, no one in Sweden can ever be better than anyone else - that is the ultimate faux pas - so says the ultra-socialist government.

One of my fondest memories will be of sitting on the veranda over the local beach, enjoying some Swedish pastries and taking in the early afternoon sun sat low (as ever in Scandinavia) over the calm and still waters of the Baltic sea. The fact that forest runs immediately into sea has a magical quality to it. Sitting by the flat calm of the Baltic sea finally instilled something of a calm in me. 

I suppose after a good two weeks to ponder my Scandinavian adventures, my taster trip to Sweden can be summed up in a few words: sweet herrings, warm hospitality, and calm - pure underrated, welcome calm.