The Danish word of the day is karnemelk.
The definition of the word is buttermilk.
One hundred and five people (or somewhere close to that number) told me, before I left the United States to study abroad, that I was going to experience some sort of culture shock when I got there. That I was going to be confused and, inevitably, would do a lot of things to embarrass myself. “Don’t worry if you make a lot of social faux-pas during your first few weeks!” they all said. “It’s normal! Don’t get upset about it!”
Foolishly I thought that I could escape this issue by just being as observant as possible. Just follow the Danes, I thought to myself as I scurried about my first week in Copenhagen. I mimicked their walk, their talk, the way they ordered their coffee. I wore dark colors and attempted to copy that stereotypical, stoic Danish resting face that many wear as they go about their business. I learned a few Danish words like tak (thank you) and undskyld (sorry). I attempted to blend in as much as possible.
All was going according to plan until my first trip to the grocery store. I sauntered in, feeling sure of myself – then realized, with a sinking feeling, that I was about to be in for a challenge. Everything, and I mean everything, was in Danish. I don’t know what I was expecting. Shaking in my boots, I looked from one product to the other, attempting to figure out what boxes and cartons contained just by looking at the little pictures on the label. A picture of bread – flour, maybe? Meat with a pig on it – must be pork, right? The mysterious items that had no images on their packaging were ignored altogether.
Eventually I managed to sneak up behind some unsuspecting shopper who looked like they knew what they were doing. I followed at their heels, glancing at their purchases and putting similar items in my basket. I felt pretty confident that their choices of eggs, milk, bread and cheese would be good enough for me, at least for the first week. Can’t go wrong with some good Danish dairy products.
I went to the checkout counter, smiling as I told the woman behind the register “Hej!” She was firm-lipped, not even looking up from her work as she furiously scanned items. Small talk, as I would come to learn, is not very popular in Denmark. The woman then shot her head up and said a quick string of Danish words that I didn’t understand. “Excuse me?” I stammered, already flustered.
“135 krone,” she repeated slowly, staring at me. I laughed way too loud and handed her my food stipend card to swipe. Then I rushed out the door with my head down, groceries swinging from my side.
Later, putting my purchases away in the kitchen, I decided to sample some of the things I had bought. I made a sandwich and poured myself a glass of milk. As soon as I took a sip from the glass, though, I knew that something was wrong. The taste was extremely sour, as though the product was far past its expiration date. But on the top of the carton, the date provided was still half a week away.
Then I noticed – the label said “karnemelk.” A quick Google search and I found out I had bought a big old carton of Danish buttermilk Sighing, I choked down the rest of the glass. I wasn’t about to let 15 krone go to waste. Plus, according to a few of my teachers, the Danes often drink their buttermilk straight.
When in København, I suppose!
