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Herring Supper, which has its origins in Europe, is the time when family and friends gather to celebrate the arrival of the New Year. The tradition centers around the idea of eating foods which are said to ensure prosperity, good luck, and wealth in the coming year. Herring, the fishy star of the show, was known as "silver of the sea." This event wasn't always celebrated in my family, but traditions have to start somewhere, and as I recall the story, this yearly shindig became part of my family lore circa 1947.
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The Schellberg family lived on a farm adjacent to the one my grandparents called home at that time, and being close friends and neighbors, Grandpa and old man Schellberg would often ride together the few miles into town whenever the need arose. Presumably, the need was to take care of legitimate business like visiting the feed store, getting a haircut, or picking up some particular item for Grandma or Mrs. Schellberg, but I have a hunch that maybe the two fellas just enjoyed getting away and putting down a few cold ones, as they were wont to do from time to time.
It was December 31, and the two farmers were on a mission to the grocery store to procure a fancy item for Mrs. S. and then the local beer distributor to exchange their empty bottles for a few cases of fresh long necks. Perhaps on the way home, they'd also purchase some Roman candles to help welcome in the New Year.
"Dammit, Albert!" scolded Grandpa, "Do you have to strike your matches on my dashboard?" The old man loved his cigars, and judging by the many match-streaks on the metal dash of Grandpa's pickup truck, this irksome practice had been repeated countless times before on their joint trips to town. Schellberg just smiled and chuckled in his trademark, lively way as they puttered down the gravel road, with cigar smoke slowly filling the cab.
"Herring?" mocked Grandpa. "Jawohl, Conrad! Du muss für Glück im neuen Jahr! You come over tonight and bring the family," boomed Schellberg. And so, having obtained the goods for the evening's festivities, the duo, no doubt already having enjoyed a couple of long necks, returned home carrying a little wooden keg of pickled herring for Mrs. S., whose herring salat was legendary. By all accounts, the party that night was a great success, and a good time was had by all. And just like that, my family was introduced to something new by that jolly old German, and we adopted the Herring Supper tradition.
There are varying stories surrounding the different foods served at a New Year Eve's Herring Supper, and each one is supposed to represent a form of wealth and increase in the coming year... herring (silver scales) for silver; golden cornbread for gold; black-eyed peas for pennies (coins); greens (cabbage and sauerkraut) for dollars and a long life; and pork (sausage and ham) for fat, or plenty of food to eat. [read more about it here: The True Story of Traditional New Year's Lucky Foods]
Fast-forward about 20 years from 1947 to when I was a youngster. By that time, Herring Supper had become a fixture, and represented, for me at least, the culmination of the Christmas holiday season. Herring no longer came whole, brined in a keg, but in the form of ready to eat chunks, in wine sauce or sour cream, right out of a jar. Owing to the nature of Texas weather, some years were bitterly cold, so the festivities were confined to the indoors, and other years we might have shirt-sleeve temperatures, which allowed the party to expand outdoors. Like most German family gatherings, Herring Supper involved eating a large potluck meal with plenty of desserts, drinking, music, visiting with cousins, telling stories, playing board games or dominoes, and sometimes dancing, if there was room enough for it. The families rotated hosting duties from year to year. Grownups ate at the big tables, and the kids jockeyed for position around folding tables.
Finally at midnight, after everyone had scarfed down a chunk or two, or three of herring for good luck, us kids would let loose with the fireworks. While mothers and aunts wrung their hands and looked on in fear, quietly praying for the preservation of little fingers, fathers and uncles, men who had survived World War II, laughed at the spectacle, lent us their Zippo lighters, and egged us on. Everyone always survived the yearly flash-bang frenzy, unscathed. Well, with the exception of a badly bruised hand one time. (Mark, wherever you are now, we warned you that the fuse on that firecracker was too short!)
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It's been about 15 years since our last family Herring Supper. People are scattered now, or just plain not around anymore. The ones who are seem to have lost their desire to have a good time and are no longer interested in carrying on the tradition. Truly sad, but such is the state of today's shrinking world.
As we say farewell to 2022 and look forward to 2023, I'd like to raise my glass to old man Schellberg and all the dear ones who have gone before, and thank them for the many joyful remembrances of Herring Suppers past. And to all the great people at MEOW, whether you eat your herring or not, pbird and I wish you and your families a blessed, healthy, and prosperous New Year!
Peace and Love,
LoneStar Neanderthal
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