It was 2am on the Saturday (Sunday morning) of the Comics 2000 festival in Bristol. A small group of us were beginning to realize that the bar would close soon, and a debate began as to what to do next. I overheard this conversation about "the Norwegians" - a couple of guys who were over to publicise the Raptus convention. "Let's go up and try their hard, salty meat," someone said. I was sure I'd misheard, but just then, like the shopkeeper from Mister Ben, a Norwegian appeared, as if by magic, and said, "Hello, lads, will you come to our room and taste our hard, salty meat?"
How could we resist?
The lift took us to the top of the hotel, and after threading our way through a maze of corridors, we ended up in a twin room. Two or three people were already present. No names, no pack drill.
The Norwegians, you understand, have a mighty tradition of hospitality at home; they will sit together, talk, drink, and eat. Each item they consume is intended to balance out the effects of the one before.
So it was that we started with small cans of strong Norwegian lager, and tiny salted liquorice "sweets" which had an aftertaste of piss - it sounds revolting, but was actually strangely compelling. A tiny glass of Aquavit was passed around, spirit so strong I imbibed only the fumes, yet still became giddy.
Wafer thin, crisp flatbread was handed out, at which point our host stood, saying, in hushed tones, "now is time for hard, salty meat." He vanished into the bathroom. I was intrigued - what form would this meat take? Sausage? Slices of something?
Our host returned with a whole leg of mutton, which had what appeared to be a big comedy bite out of it. Laying it on his leg like a musical instrument, he unfolded a penknife and began to whittle thin slices from the cavity. Spearing a slice on the point of the knife, he said, "who will take the meat from the knife? Go on, be a man!"
We were somewhat bemused. Was the meat raw?
"Oh no," said our host, "first we salt it, then we smoke it, then we hang it in the wind to dry."
And was it usually carved like that?
"Normally I would use big, flexible dagger-thing, but last year, customs would not let us bring it into the country." I pictured a customs man holding up the dagger, and the Norwegians holding up their leg of mutton in reply -"It is for to carve our hard, salty meat."
So I tried some, just a tiny bit, and it wasn't as bad as I expected, though I doubt I could have stomached much; I filled up on flatbread and lager. My friend Pete took to it though, hogging the joint, whittling convulsively until he hit the bone. There's a moment in David Cronenberg films when the characters start to act irrationally, and you realise the point of no return has been passed At five in the morning, a red light appeared at the back of Pete's eyes, he began pleading to be shown how to peel back the skin to expose more meat, and we knew that moment had arrived.
