Annos
Like the vast majority of British men who call Finland home, I’m here out of love. Originally that love extended solely to a kind and patient caring woman from a small coastal town called Pori. But in the years that followed my arrival, that love has extended to many facets of life in this cold, dark, and frequently strange country. Food is certainly one of those facets, and (very often at least) the people too. This brief glossary goes some way to explaining both.
Annos: A meal, portion, or, in certain contexts, a dose. A dose of salmon soup, for example. A portion of painkillers.
Raastepöytä: Finnish equivalent of a salad bar. Boasts items from salted nuts to grated carrot and very little in-between. Inexperienced restaurateurs will occasionally offer such exotic ingredients as olives before reverting to the traditional offering after the complaints become too heated.
Ylikypsä: Literally “overdone.” Though pejorative to the English-speaking ear, ylikypsä designates “slow-cooked” or “tender,” demonstrating the Finnish language’s preference for function over delicacy.
Klimppisoppa: “Lump” or “clot” soup. A hearty broth of meat, vegetables, and lumps (dumplings). See above translation note.
Laatikko: Baked casseroles of pureed root vegetable, commonly carrot, swede, or turnip. The Finnish relationship with laatikko is identical to that Finns have with anything from their country: outward hatred, inward adoration. It’s for this reason, regardless of how much Finns enjoy telling outsiders how bad their food/hockey team/country is, the slightest hint of any reciprocal criticism or agreement is considered a profound insult.
Kotimainen ruoka: A general term for Finnish food that celebrates local ingredients or recipes. Airline magazines and high-end restaurants in Helsinki will try to convince you that kotimainen ruoka looks like a plate of fresh, perfectly filleted lake trout, grilled and served with a butter sauce spiked with soft, summer herbs and roe. And this is true. But kotimainen ruoka also looks like the food dribbling Finnish teenagers eat after a night on Jaloviina (cheap Finnish cut brandy) and Lonkero (a carbonated gin and grapefruit drink) while propped up against a fast food kiosk at 2am in -20°C temperatures. They will be eating such icons of kotimainen ruoka as the Porilainen or Turkulainen: two regional food items from the rival cities of Pori and neighbouring Turku that consist of a heavily-processed sausage in a bun, and a heavily processed sausage in a bun with an egg, respectively.
Tarjoilija: Waiter. Travelers from the U.S., Britain, or any country where low-stakes small talk is enjoyed are warned against any such frivolities in Finland. Here, you’ll find conversation largely functions as the quickest means of reaching the next silence. Yes, your order will be taken, your food brought to you, but don’t expect your tarjoilija to feign any interest in how well your day is or isn’t going. They expect no such concern from you.
Valitus: Now that you understand how “distant” and “cold” actually describe ideal waiting staff in Finland, you are now ready to understand the trade-off for such excellent service. It isn’t a big tip (it’s only naive tourists who tip in Finland), it is all to do with Valitus (translation: complaints). Though discussing any complaints you have about your food or dining experience with your immediate dining party is not inappropriate, any attempt to express these to your waiter is considered a profound break in the Finnish social contract. If your waiter is (for some indecipherable reason) conversational enough to ask how your food is at any point, the only acceptable answer is ihan hyvä (exceptionally good).
Hiljaisuus: Beyond such neat translations of words, however, the real answer to how one reads a menu in Finnish is… as quietly as possible. This blunt propensity toward hiljaisuus (silence) may paint a less than welcoming picture to the visitor. You are encouraged to have faith. For a Finn, silence is rarely awkward and rather a welcome pause for reflection and listening. The ideal conversation for a Finn may, in fact, consist of two people engaging in nothing but listening. Accepting this as an outsider will take a concerted effort not to judge using your own culture’s frames of reference, but to do so is to learn the warmth and welcome of the people here. No more so is this true than around the Finnish dinner table, a place where quiet and calm reveals a space to truly relax, safe in the knowledge that even the merest hint of a compliment about the food is a deeply over the top and suspect act.
Hyvää ruokahalua: The Finnish for “bon appétit.” For reference only: Like most pleasantries in Finland, this goes without saying.
Wil Reidie is a former chef living in Turku, Finland, where he is studying for a PhD in the literature of Samuel Beckett, with a particular focus on the body, illness and the abnormal. Originally from England, he spent over a decade working in professional kitchens in London, Stockholm and Finland before his knees gave up on him. He writes a newsletter called A Winter Book, where he shares recipes, tales of his failed attempts at Finnish integration and, occasionally, essays about his favourite Moomin books.
