Icelandic Food Post.

Icelandic Food Post.

I have been slacking. As usual.
Internet connections, and time, and wanting to actively post.. It happens. It takes me a while to get these things up, and sometimes I just do not have the energy.
FROM ICELAND. (Which I am not currently in.)

I ate whale. It was seared and raw in the middle. It tasted like a cross between steak and ahi tuna. It was good, but I wouldn’t say it was a meat I would crave.

I ate raw reindeer. Which was good and gamey.

This is an opened face sandwich that we served at the cafe made with smoked lamb. Icelanders eat this all the time, and the lamb all over the island is only smoked at one place in Myvatn.
The wood(or whatever) they use to smoke the meat smells like cigarettes. That is the truth.
It did not taste like cigarettes, but made my teeth feel weird when I ate it. I ate the whole thing…
But I had to choke it down.

Judy also bought the makings of their Christmas drink, which they don’t drink any other time but on Christmas. It consists of Applesin (a less sweet, more delicious Orange Fanta) and MaltXtract. The second has a sweet Guiness flavor, with a bit of liquorice. This was created during Iceland’s version of prohibition.
All you have to do is mix the two, and viola!
It’s pretty good.

We also all tried this bread that Icelanders make in a hole. It’s basically a bunch of seeds pushed together really hard. It tasted like that.

This last one I bought at a bookstore. It is Icelandic moss, and you can make it into a tea, or boil it in milk. It is supposed to be good for the stomach.
For me, and everyone else, it was bitter, and hard to swallow. And when I cleaned out the tea pot, super slimy.

On another Icelandic note… I did go see the penis museum. Which was a lot more macabre than I was expecting. A lot of whale penises, and one particular picture of dolphin being.. Uh.. Fondled? .. With a rope.
Also, the guy that worked behind the counter did not have a sense of humor about it. Or perhaps, he has dealt with far too many ladies in their late thirties giggling uncontrollably upon entry. (take that however you want to.)
If you’re going to work in a penis museum, don’t be such a vagina.

Also, seal skin boots.