Atlantica - 01.09.2007, Síða 41

a t l a n t i c a 39
“Fatty girls are the most beautiful,” Mr. Vihma
tells me without pause. “Just take a look at
this one!” He has a bag of coarse sea salt in
one hand and points to the intended subject
with a ten-inch-long knife he holds in his other hand.
Before you get offended, this isn’t the new brand of kinky,
this is just Mr. Vihma talking about the perfect wild salmon he’s
about to filet in front of a line of customers snaking around his
stand at Helsinki’s open-air Market Square. Plus, he adds, it’s his
job “to only tell the truth about fish.”
I first heard about Mr. Vihma from a local who frequents his
stand. The market itself, located at the foot of the harbor, has
been in existence since the 18th century and for gourmands
and non-gourmands alike, it’s impossible not to appreciate the
crates upon crates brimming with fresh fruits and veggies, espe-
cially the snap peas and criminally sweet Finnish strawberries
that appear by the truckful in summer.
Unsure of where Vihma’s stand was located in the market, I
inquired with the first fishmonger I found.
“I’m looking for a Mr. Vihma, he supposedly has a fish stand
around here?”
“Oh yeah, he’s right down there,” the man tells me, pointing
to a stand 50 meters down the walkway. “He’s a legend around
here.”
And that’s coming from one fishmonger about another.
Take a close look at Mr. Vihma’s thick, coarse hands and you
can tell he’s handled a few fish in his life. His mother started the
family’s fish mongering business in 1946 and he and his broth-
ers got corralled into the trade by default. His fish is delivered
daily by three separate Finnish fishermen and you can find Mr.
Vihma, who sells some herring but mostly wild salmon, at his
market stand most Mondays through Saturdays between 1 and
6 pm. Fifty-two weeks a year. In summer, when the market’s
aisles are jammed with people à la Times Square, and in winter;
in light and, as it turns out, in dark.
“One Christmas, two years ago, the lamps weren’t working,”
Mr. Vihma tells me with levity, while skillfully placing a hand-
ful of fresh dill onto one of the thickest, pinkest, most perfect
pieces of wild salmon I’ve ever seen. “It was no big deal, we just
lit candles. We all know each other by our voices.”
The “we” to whom Mr. Vihma refers are his loyal customers.
Despite his ability to multi-task with the cutting, salting and
wax-wrapping, I sense that my presence is becoming a bit dis-
tracting, not exactly for Mr. Vihma himself, but to the custom-
ers that continue lining up one-by-one to purchase a piece of
the daily catch for their dinner. I thank Mr. Vihma for his time
and apologize if I’ve been an inconvenience.
“Don’t thank me,” he tells me, smiling. “Thank my custom-
ers.”
Temppeliaukio Church in Helsinki.
Top right: Mr. Vihma at work.