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‘For the more exotic stuff, yes. Most people on the island have their own kitchen gardens, I’m afraid. Oh, and just so you know, the root vegetables, all of them, are grown right here on the island,’ Jens added with a happy smile.
‘Isn’t it too early to harvest anything from a garden? What do people do in the meantime? Watch the seedlings grow?’ Jack started to empty the contents of the basket onto the counter.
Jens chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t put it past some of them. But to answer your question, we do have a good selection of vegetables in the frozen section over there.’
Jack couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing. ‘I’ll check it out,’ he said. ‘What about cheese?’
‘Well, follow me; we’ll see what we’ve got.’ Jens trotted over to a small fridge. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have any Stilton or cheddar; Norwegians don’t like it much, I think. But we do have Norzola, which is as close as you get to blue cheese. Not sure what you would make of Old Cheese,’ he said with a wicked grin.
‘I guess that depends how old it is,’ Jack said, intrigued now.
Jens chuckled and pulled a small black package from one of the shelves and held it up.
‘This, my friend, is a fresh mould cheese, made from cultured milk. You will not get it anywhere else in the world. You see, this is proper Viking cheese, and only the bravest dare taste it,’ he said, his eyes challenging him.
‘Viking cheese?’ Jack took the cheese from him. ‘I’ll give it a try.’
‘Oh, yes. The Vikings used it as an aphrodisiac. However, I doubt that would work today. The smell of the cheese is a bit pungent.’
‘How do you use it?’
Jens smiled. ‘I put some on bread with lots of butter and perhaps a dollop of lingonberries. Alma refuses to eat it if there’s no bacon. Other people eat it with mayo or just put lots of butter on it, or eat it as it is.’
‘Do you have any eggs?’ Jack dropped the cheese in the basket.
‘Not yet, I’m afraid. Perhaps later today. We get them fresh from one of the farms, and the hens can be temperamental.’
Jack hid a smile. ‘But you have oils, right?’
‘Of course, over here.’ Jens showed him a small rack with a few bottles of Greek olive oil and some rapeseed oil. ‘When I tell Alma you have been here, she’s going to want to know where you are staying. Everyone is wondering about that!’
‘Are they?’
‘Oh, yes. Some people think you may be a burglar and will murder us in our beds. Not me,’ he added.
Jack smiled. ‘You can ease everyone’s curiosity. I’m staying at the Bergets farm.’
For a second Jens stared at him. ‘Oh,’ he finally said. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. So you can tell people that I’m harmless and don’t sleep in a ditch.’ Jack was enjoying himself.
Jens shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just so very surprised. We thought the lawyers who run the place now, such as it is, couldn’t rent it out. They are doing a poor job looking after the farm, by the way. Mostly we have taken care of the necessary things.’
‘Like what?’ Jack put the groceries on the counter.
Jens shrugged. ‘We’ve kept up with the grass.’
He looked at him as if he expected Jack to know what he was talking about.
‘Sorry?’
‘The winter grass. It needs cutting at least twice every season and now, because of all this fine weather, it has been growing a lot faster than normal, so we have cut it a bit earlier than usual. You won’t have to cut it again now until July, I should think. And if you’re really lucky, and the weather stays nice, you can cut it again in September.’
‘Okay,’ Jack said, wondering what the man was talking about.
He watched as Jens put the groceries through the ceremony of the till, and followed the instructions on the pad with a little help from the shopkeeper.
‘Pin kode is the same as a pin code, you know,’ Jens explained.
It looked like a spelling mistake to Jack. He stuffed everything in an old backpack he had found in the house and walked towards the door. In the doorway he turned.
‘Why do I have to cut the grass?’ he said.
‘Because of the animals, of course,’ Jens said, beaming at him.
‘It’s something we all do. You’ll save a fortune on it in the winter.’
‘Do you have animals to feed?’ Jack asked.
‘Not us. Alma and I have a cat, but he doesn’t eat grass, of course. But we all help. You will find that in rough times we tend to stick together and when someone needs help we do a dugnad.’
Must be some sort of Norwegian custom, Jack thought when he headed back. Jens seemed to think he knew what it meant. No matter. He was leaving soon.
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