“It’s not a party without some pickled herring.”

Pickled herring. Scared to death of it as a child. My dad loves the stuff, he’d always try to get us kids to sample it. No way. “It’s not a party without some pickled herring,” he’d say. Nuh-uh, keep that stuff away from me. Even when I got older and acquired a taste for beer and found the food elements that made good party food (chips, dip, and ummm pretzels, right?), I stayed away from the pickled herring at family parties.

One time circa 1990, I was at a friend’s party and someone’s dad was there. What was he snacking on? Pickled herring. “It’s not a party without some pickled herring,” he said. (I swear.)

Finally, some years back when I was post-thirty and just a little less stubborn, I tried the pickled herring at my dad’s prompting. And it was freaking good! Goes great with beer, you get to have fun stabbing it and loading it into your mouth with a toothpick, and most importantly – you get to ask the folks around you with upturned noses if they want some pickled herring. Hate parties, love the pickled herring. In fact, I’m craving some as I type this, sipping on a Leiny.

And I blame tonight’s pickled herring craving on the St. Paul Pioneer Press’s Tom Powers, who writes that the Finns (!) claim that the stuff cures hangovers. Oh man, the chosen people have spoken. Should I forget about the little jars of pickled herring and just go for the big bucket of it at the store tomorrow?