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Most of us - even the most vociferously Amurikan Americans - have incorporated some foreign words or phrases into our vocabulary, whether or not we even realize it. Pizza, for example. It's become a national meal, for gosh sakes, yet it may surprise you to know that the word pizza comes from a foreign country. Italy, to be exact. "Pizza" is short for the Italian word pizzabemakingyoufatta, or as they say in Old Italia, "looka her-a, she gotta butt the size of the moon-a, she must-a been eatin too mucha the pizza pie-a."

Many of our words are a pastiche - which, come to think of it, is another foreign word. The French say it's theirs but their claim is being rigorously disputed by a small town in southwest Missouri named Iche, which insists that it coined the word when giving directions to the next town over: it's past Iche.

The Latins (whoever they are!) gave us all sorts of root words. Snooty know-it-all people are always waxing profound about words that come from some Latin root, and they delight in pointing it out, saying things like, "it might interest you to know, Bob, that the phrase ‘hung like a horse' actually derives from the Latin dickius maximus equines or as it was referred to in the days of Julius Caesar, ‘Julius peckerus bigius.'"

Oh sure, you're saying, Italian, Latin, French-Missourian - everyone knows words from those languages. Well, you may be surprised to discover that the Swedes have made a few contributions to the English language, as well. I'll bet there's one Swedish word you've used many times without realizing that it is a description of the bad place. The place of eternal damnation. Because the word "IKEA" is Swedish for "HELL."

Who among us has not entered an IKEA with the goal of purchasing a book-case for the living room and maybe a couple of storage bins, only to emerge days later pushing a large metal trolley overflowing with huge boxes while weakly whispering, "the Framsta book-case is in Bin 43, Aisle 7, but it needs the Kliptark shelves, which are in Bin 12, Aisle 14 but the Blagfurk storage unit is in Bin 27, Aisle 10, and the Svarzhak baskets and Krumzag stand are in Bins 29 and 78 in Aisle 3 . . . ." Welcome to hell, my friend.

There are two truths in IKEALAND. The first is that no matter what you initially intended to buy, you always end up staggering out of the store with whatever was on your list plus a whole lot more because, if an IKEA store is any indicator, everyone in Sweden lives serene, clutter-free, well-organized and color-coordinated lives that, the longer you linger in IKEALAND, the more you want to have for yourself. You find yourself yearning for a home with shoe organizers in every closet; CD racks that fit neatly into corners; and nesting tables that can be pulled out when guests arrive. You want bunkbeds even if you don't have kids because they look so cool with the beds up top and the built-in desks below. And by the time you stagger out of the store, you definitely want another important IKEA purchase, the extra-large wine glasses. It's clear that IKEA homes are filled with happy people who can always find the CD they're looking for, and the right shoes, and whose kids get peaceful nights of restful sleep after completing their math and science homework while Mom and Dad toss back seriously large glasses of vino.

But what turns this happy idyll into an excursion into the deepest levels of hell is the second truth about IKEALAND: the items that you long for are saddled with unfathomable Swedish names that are impossible to pronounce. The names of IKEA products are like the sounds that a Viking with a bad cold, clearing his throat, would make: Laxvik. Ekby Hensvik. Lycksele. These are real names of real IKEA products. No wonder that not even the paid IKEA staff can pronounce them, so you end up having insane exchanges with staff that go like this:

"Hi, could you help me? I'm looking for the-" pause to look at the futon sofa cover on page 273 of the IKEA catalogue, "- Munkarp Fliken?"

The IKEA clerk stares at you. "The what?" he asks.

"This futon cover here," you reply, pointing at the picture, "the .. . . . Munchklap Flaken? Munkrip Flicken? Mancrap Fucken? THIS ONE HERE!"

At which point the clerk looks at the catalogue page and says, "oh, the Minchclip Flackin . . . . er, Manchop Fricken. . . . er - you mean the futon sofa cover that's $49?" And you both nod and smile and fall weeping into each other's arms with relief at having correctly identified the item.

This is a major failing in IKEA because it significantly lengthens the overall shopping time in ways that are far from enjoyable. Not to put down our friendly neighbor to the north, but marketing guys in Sweden, listen up: if you're going to market yourself internationally, choose a universal language, or at least a language spoken by more people than those who reside solely in lands that are frozen and dark half the time.

This would also help explain the food items for sale in the IKEA café. Swedish meatballs. Whom but the residents of Scandinavia or their emigrant cousins in Minnesota and Wisconsin would ever enter a dining establishment with the hope of seeing Swedish meatballs on the menu? When's the last time an au courant Parisioner, or a hip New Yorker, or an uber urban Berliner said to his group of friends, "hey gang, who's up for Swedish meatballs tonight?"

Swedish meatballs have all the gastronomic flair and culinary cachet of SPAM burgers. In fact, SPAM burgers could be America's national counterpart to Swedish meatballs. Although Swedish meatballs probably contain animal products that come from parts of the animal beyond its nose, trotters or entrails. SPAM, on the other hand, is an acronym for Some Pretty Awful Meat by-products.

It's hard to believe that SPAM still exists. It's more like a legend from the 1950s, a Betty Crocker cookbook kind of product. Those cookbooks had page after page of photographs of unholy food combinations: Vienna sausages festooned with canned pineapple rings swimming in a Worcestershire and MSG sauce; a tomato compote studded with green pimento-stuffed olives; a circular jello mold filled with carrot shavings and raisins and displayed on a bed of Cool Whip. Cookbooks like these are where SPAM belongs but amazingly enough, it can still be found on grocery store shelves. Maybe not in the LED-illuminated, sustainably-harvested-wood-product floored aisles of Whole Foods but in my neighborhood Safeway? To quote our almost-vice president, "You Betcha!"

I bet that SPAM was the subject of old cowboy ballads, back when Cookie prepared grub for the cowhands after a long day of herding cattle on the trail. I can almost hear the plaintive refrain of "SPAM, SPAM on the range . . ."

"I'm herdin' some steers,

For their hooves, guts and ears,

To go into a product called SPAM.

Some say that it's meat,

But my hat I will eat,

If it's more than just cattle toe-jam."

Maybe there's a haunting Swedish ballad for their meatballs? Something dark and mysterious, played at family gatherings or as background music for Ingmar Bergman films?

"Gunter was out drinkin'

One dark and freezing night

When he got to thinkin'

A meatball would taste right.

He found Lars and Sven and Gustav

Drinking vodka and feeling glum

And he said, "I think I must have

Some meatballs, my dear old chums."

So they powered down some meatballs

A pile they did eat

And their aortas swelled with greaseballs

And their Maker they did meet."

So the next time you need a bookcase or a storage unit, grab your wallet and your IKEA catalogue and head on down to your nearest store. Why not get yourself a big plate of Swedish meatballs while you're at it, with maybe a little SPAM on the side if you happen to have a can handy? You can practice your Swedish pronunciations while you eat since you'll likely be making a lot of hacking Viking sounds anyway as you try to choke down the food. Then you can ready yourself for the ultimate shopping experience! Yes, it's time to go to hell!

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Posted by Scott Semegran, on 03-22-2010, 1. Thumbs up! Very funny.   » Report this Comment to the site administrators » Reply to this Comment... Posted by vjw100, on 04-26-2009, 2. Now wait a minute here, Ms. M... :grin     Now wait just a kinder minute here Ms. Beth (I'll bet your next name is Ann) Millimann.    My father just happens to have a 20 lb. can of Spam in his basement that he's been saving since WWII -- yes, the Big One -- just "in case". He brought it back on the Queen Mary II -- a gift from Eisenhower. Since, he's had 8 kids which, of course, blames on Hitler; but that's besides the point. We spent our entire lives knowing that the Spam was down there -- just in case.     For example, if Armageddon happens in the next few years -- we'll all have that Spam for our last meal...and, last meal it'll be the second he puts it in the stew. Yep, dad is right proud of that can of Spam.     Also, I received a History of Spam book for my birthday last year, which I passed onto my dear old dad for Father's Day. He immediately pulled out his 8X spy glass and enjoys reading it to this day. In fact, today on Big Bob's 89th b.day he sent my brother down into the depths of the basement to find the can, dusted it off, and passed it around. I believe by the end of the night it was tucked away safely in his easy chair side panel.    As for IKEA -- we'll recall those many nuts and bolts, shag rug and Vlermik Sunvusen we picked up....just before enjoying our Sweedish meatballs.    XXOO   » Report this Comment to the site administrators » Reply to this Comment...