“Head Isu” more than just bon appetite.
The clock pointed 7pm. The warm, deep
smell of homemade black rye “leib” invaded every inch of the house. Bright
cinnamon candles with dancing flames hypnotized the pupil. A blink towards the
window revealed a long and cold journey of snowflakes claiming their role in
the wintry white scene.
The first bite was an adventure into
the unknown. My plate a contrast of colors, smells and textures. From the
inquisitive yet eye-catching bright pinky colored “rosolje” made out of
beetroot, to the infamous translucent jelly-liked “sült” a mysterious and
traditional Estonian dish made with pork meat which I have to admit was rather
scary. A plate full of flavor, but also full of history.
Grandfather’s eyes were tired but
wise. Just like my dish, they silently
recounted a fascinating story. A story of survival, of fight and hope. As if reading my mind, he spoke words
that made me forget a few seconds about the spine-chilling look of the blood
sausage mom had just added to my already overflowing plate. He explained how hard it was for
Estonians to survive during wars and tough Nordic winters with the little food
they could get. Potatoes, fish, pork… they became their national food for they
were easier to find and grow.
A bite of sauerkraut and a sip of the
national herbal liqueur “Vana Tallinn” gave him strength to continue his
anecdote. Suddenly I saw myself walking the
magnificent medieval streets of Tallinn accompanied only by the essence of past
surrounding me. Every brick and stone holding high the weak weight of old
buildings, every soul slowly prowling towards the breathtaking Old Town, every
courageous hand transmitting hope from one another strongly holding another 2
million hands joined for a common purpose. Freedom.
His eyes sparkled with pride, mine
with sympathy. Centuries of effort and tradition
opened up my appetite. A smile appeared in my face as “Head Isu” was spoken
wishing everyone a great Christmas meal.
Maria
