Sappho gave us Ode to Aphrodite. Beethoven composed the musical
setting for Ode to Joy. John Keats praised a
songbird in Ode to a Nightingale. But seemingly
nobody has paid poetic homage to those odd little Estonian verivorstid (blood sausages). And frankly, that’s
a tragedy.
Traditionally the centerpiece of the Estonian
Christmas Eve meal, verivorstid are
a mixture of pork, barley, animal blood, and spices. The filling is stuffed in
casings and the links are boiled until firm and then roasted to a crispy
crimson black. A rather unique treat, they deserve a bookmark in poetic lore.
So with all apologies to the masters, let’s recognize these Estonian oddities
with an Ode to Verivorstid.
Verivorstid, verivorstid you
are so very
Dear to me on each Christmas
Eve
Such a treat next to the
lingonberry
Without you a Yule I could not
conceive
Best washed down with a Saku
brew
‘Cause suds so complement your
spices
To verivorstid I pledge my love
anew
Truly, you are one of my vices
And so I ask, what Christmas
fool would eat plain ol’ ham
Instead of barley, cow blood,
and marjoram
My verivorstid
epiphany, when I realized what those freakish little links were truly about,
occurred one early December morning in my childhood. Leaving my toys behind to
fetch a drink, innocent and unaware, I wandered into the kitchen. And there
they were: my mother, godmother and grandmother had gathered around the table.
Three ladies, with blood-coated hands and blood-splattered aprons, mixing some
unknown concoction in a small tub. Kitchen utensils, gleaming on one end and
dripping gore from another, lay scattered like a surgeon’s tools in an
operating room. The witches of wurst carefully added ingredients and stirred
their mysterious stock.
My first reaction – there had been a murder. No, an
accident. No, definitely a murder. How else to explain all the blood everywhere
coupled with the blatant lack of concern. Why wasn’t anyone calling an
ambulance?
Stifling a scream, I watched. One lady would
stretch a flat hog casing over the small end of a funnel. Another would hold
the funnel steady against the slip of a bloody hand. The third accomplice would
pack the other end of the funnel with the sausage filling, slowly stuffing the
intestinal wrapper. An assembly line most macabre, like some sort of low-budget
Henry Ford inspired horror movie.
For many years, I was ruined. No verivorstid on my Christmas Eve plate. I would
pass over the serving platter with a suspicious eye. Potatoes, yes. Sliced
pork, sure. Pirukad(pies), bring them on.
Bovine hemoglobinwurst, no thank you. And so it went – me with a conspicuously
empty spot on my plate, and my parents assuredly wondering if their Estonian
child had been switched at birth with some southern European.
But years later, after much soul searching and a
convenient mental block of that dreadful December day in my childhood kitchen,
I came around. It probably started with a nibble. Maybe a small forkful
followed by a long drink from my glass, later progressing to timid helpings.
Enthusiastic mouthfuls and requests for seconds followed later still.
 |
| Verivorstid with sauerkraut and lingonberry jam |
Today, I look forward to verivorstid. I typically get at least two helpings, one
at our local Estonian clubhouse Christmas party and another on a cold and dark
Christmas Eve. I feel a connection to the old country when the oven opens
and the sausages appear, bursting and charred, under a layer of crispy
bacon. In an instant I can imagine peasants of yore, culinarily efficient
and creative, not wanting to waste any part of the animal. I am transported
back in time, to a farmhouse in Elva, and I embrace the scene, grab my fork,
and acknowledge both my appetite and my ancestry.
It’s always fun to explain this tradition to my
friends with roots in other parts of the world. They typically ask a few
questions about taste and texture. Some ask about the source of the
blood. Others ask for more information about the sausages’ history. None
ever ask to be invited over for a sample.
And then there are my vegetarian and vegan friends.
When exchanging stories of Christmas traditions the reaction to verivorstid is not quite revulsion, but something
pretty close. What’s one to do though? I suppose a vegetarian recipe for blood
sausages could be concocted. But as I’m sure true verivorstid enthusiasts would agree, soy sausages
infused with a beet juice reduction and served under a layer of tofu bacon just
wouldn’t cut it.
So this Christmas Eve, sing the “Ode to
Verivorstid” before enjoying a plate full of Estonian blood sausage
links. They are as much a part of the holiday as Christmas Eve mass, jolly
fat guys in fuzzy red suits and decorated felled trees.
But be forewarned – as the old saying goes,
sausages are like laws, you should never watch either being made.
Häid jõule kõigile! (Merry
Christmas to all!)
It’s actually a funny
coincidence; after receiving permission to publish this piece from Andres and
Estonian World, I googled ‘vegetarian blood sausage.’ Wouldn’t you know I came
up with what ended up as Day 6 of a Baltic Christmas, VeganSandra and her vegan blood sausage! Andres, if it’s any consolation, no tofu or beet juice reduction
to be found… (And thank you, for introducing me to verivorstid!!!)
Andres is first generation
American of Estonian descent. An enthusiastic estophile, he is an environmental
consultant holding a bachelor's degree in environmental science and a master's
in city and regional planning, concentrating in environmental planning. He
resides in east Long Branch, NJ, with his loving wife and three darling daughters.
Also, thank you to Estonian World for granting permission to
reprint this article, which was originally published on December 23,
2013 on Estonian World. Please visit Estonian World on facebook and on Twitter. Photos courtesy of Visit Estonia and Wikimedia Commons.
Tomorrow
on Day 15 of 24 Days of a Baltic Christmas: a light-filled craft...
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