Cold Appetizers — The Open-Faced Rye Sandwiches We Ate on a Rock by Lake Superior

Paul and I drove up the North Shore on Sunday. It's something we do two or three times every summer — pack sandwiches, fill a thermos, put Sven in the back seat, and drive Highway 61 from Duluth to Grand Marais, stopping wherever the lake demands our attention. The North Shore of Lake Superior is the most beautiful place I know, and I know I'm biased, and I don't care. The road follows the lake for 150 miles, and the lake is different at every turn — sometimes calm and turquoise and Caribbean, sometimes gray and angry and throwing waves at the rocks like it's personally offended. On Sunday it was somewhere in between: blue, but serious about it. Purposeful blue. We stopped at Gooseberry Falls because you have to. The falls were running high from the spring melt and the mist came up and Sven barked at the water because Sven barks at everything that moves and some things that don't. We stopped at Split Rock Lighthouse because Paul needed to read every plaque for the hundredth time and tell me about the 1905 storm that inspired the lighthouse, as if I haven't heard this story approximately nine hundred times. I listen every time. This is marriage. We ate lunch at a pullout near Tofte — sandwiches I'd made that morning. Open-faced, on rye bread: one with smoked salmon, cream cheese, dill, and capers; one with hard-boiled egg, mayonnaise, and anchovies (a Swedish classic that sounds terrible and is transcendent); and one with pickled herring and red onion, which Paul won't touch but which I eat with the gusto of a woman whose grandmother was from Uppsala. Sven had a plain sandwich because dogs don't appreciate pickled herring, which is Sven's loss. We got to Grand Marais by two and walked the harbor and bought smoked fish from the co-op and I bought a jar of wild rice from the trading post and Paul bought a book about shipwrecks (I know, I know) and we drove home with the windows down and the lake on our left and the sun turning everything gold. These days — the ordinary ones, the ones where nothing happens except beauty and companionship and a sandwich on a rock by the lake — these are the days I'll remember when I'm old. Not the big moments. The small ones. Paul reading a plaque he's read a hundred times. Sven barking at a waterfall. The lake being blue in that particular way. These are the days that make a life. I'm writing this at the kitchen table at nine PM. Paul is reading. Sven is asleep. The leftovers from lunch are in the fridge. The lake is out there, doing what it does. And I am here, and this is enough.

The sandwiches I packed for the drive were nothing elaborate — open-faced on dark rye, assembled before seven in the morning while Sven watched hopefully from the kitchen floor — but eating them at that pullout near Tofte, with the lake doing its serious blue thing in front of us, made them feel ceremonial. If you’ve never eaten smoked salmon and cream cheese on rye with your feet on a rock and Superior in front of you, I genuinely feel sorry for you. These are the cold appetizers I come back to every summer: three variations, each one a small argument that Scandinavian food is quietly perfect and doesn’t need to announce itself.

Cold Appetizers: Open-Faced Scandinavian Rye Sandwiches (Smörgås Three Ways)

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes (egg) | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4 (3 open-faced halves per person)

Ingredients

• 6 slices dense dark rye bread (such as rugbrød or seeded Danish rye), halved crosswise
• For the smoked salmon boards (4 halves):
• 4 oz smoked salmon, thinly sliced
• 3 oz cream cheese, softened
• 2 tablespoons capers, drained
• 2 tablespoons fresh dill, roughly torn
• 1/4 small red onion, sliced paper-thin
• Freshly cracked black pepper
• For the egg and anchovy boards (4 halves):
• 3 large eggs, hard-boiled and peeled
• 2 tablespoons good mayonnaise
• 1 tin flat anchovies in olive oil (about 8 fillets), drained
• 1 tablespoon fresh chives, finely sliced
• Flaky sea salt
• For the pickled herring boards (4 halves):
• 6 oz pickled herring in wine sauce, drained and sliced
• 1/4 small red onion, sliced paper-thin
• 1 tablespoon sour cream
• Fresh dill sprigs to garnish

Instructions

1. Hard-boil the eggs. Place eggs in a small saucepan, cover with cold water by one inch, and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Once boiling, reduce heat to a gentle simmer and cook for 9 minutes. Transfer immediately to an ice bath and let cool for at least 5 minutes, then peel and slice into 1/4-inch rounds.
2. Prepare the bread. Lay all 12 rye halves on a clean cutting board or sheet pan. If the bread is very moist (as proper rugbrød tends to be), pat the surface lightly with a paper towel so toppings hold without sliding.
3. Build the smoked salmon boards. Spread a thin, even layer of softened cream cheese on 4 rye halves. Drape smoked salmon slices over the top, slightly folded for texture. Scatter capers and red onion, finish with torn dill, and crack black pepper generously over each.
4. Build the egg and anchovy boards. Spread mayonnaise thinly on 4 rye halves. Arrange egg slices in a single overlapping layer. Lay 2 anchovy fillets across the eggs on each half. Scatter chives and finish with a pinch of flaky sea salt.
5. Build the pickled herring boards. Add a small smear of sour cream to the remaining 4 rye halves. Arrange herring slices on top. Add red onion rings and a sprig of fresh dill to each.
6. Serve cold. Arrange all boards on a platter or wrap individually in parchment for travel. These hold well for up to 4 hours in a cooler or refrigerator. Do not assemble more than an hour before serving if transporting, as the bread will soften.

Nutrition (per serving, 3 halves, one of each variety)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 19g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 24g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 980mg