When I read my first guidebook about Iceland, the thing that stuck in my mind—as it sticks in every tourist’s mind—was Þorrablót (also written Thorrablot for those of you who want to google it). This is the (in)famous Icelandic festival-of-all-nasty-traditional-winter-foods, and it’s happening right now.
For some reason, every time you talk to an Icelander, or you tell someone you’ve been to Iceland, one of the first things they ask is, “Have you tried the rotten shark?” Well, thanks to the very obliging Erasmus Student Network that arranged a Þorrablót event on campus, I can now answer a very definitive “yes.” Oh, yes indeed.I do not know what ever possessed a farmer to look at a tube of sausage and think, “You know what? I bet it would keep better if we put it in sour whey.” I further do not know why a fisherman would look at a dead shark, which is poisonous if eaten fresh, and think, “Let’s try burying it in the sand for six weeks and see if that helps.” But they did (the shark much more recently than the sausage, actually), and I have those brave souls to thank for all the truly unique palatal experiences I had this past Friday.
A little history on Þorrablót before I launch into the gastronomic excursus: it’s actually a very modern festival, started in Reykjavík in 1958 by a restaurant called Naustið. It therefore has nothing to do with Thor (Þorr) or pagan sacrifice (blót), which some tourists find disappointing. Why you’d sacrifice soured whale fat to a god anyway is also beyond me, unless it’s to avoid having to eat it yourself. In the words of an Englishman who’s been a professor here for some 30 years (he gave a lecture on Icelanders before the food was wheeled out), Þorrablót is a festival in which modern, wealthy, urban Icelanders can celebrate what they don’t have to eat all winter. The younger generation doesn’t seem to appreciate the value of this celebration very much, but their parents find it very patriotic. 
On to the food itself. I’m just going to list each thing that was given to us in its Icelandic name (or the best I can do), along with its translation, and then I’ll reflect a little on what it’s like to put this stuff in your mouth. I apologize in advance to vegetarians. I am an animal lover myself and hardly eat meat at all, but this I did in the name of cultural exploration; I hope you'll excuse me. You may not want to read this if you’re eating (and that goes for carnivores too). 
- Hangikjöt með flatbrauði og smjöri (lamb smoked over manure fires, served on flatbread with butter): This is actually palatable. It tastes like mild ham without any salt. Nothing eaten at Þorrablót has any salt in it. The addition of said spice (or any spice!) might help immensely.
- Blóðmör (blood pudding): Lacking the spices of the delightful Irish blood pudding, this stuff is served cold and is practically tasteless. It has the consistency of polenta and is almost black in color.
- Lifrarpylsa (liver sausage): Tastes just like the blood pudding, only it’s white.
- Lundabaggi (sour fat pudding): I have been told this is made from whale fat, but I could have sworn the girl serving it up said it was sheep fat. It probably doesn’t make a great different in taste, but I object to it more if it’s from a whale. It both looks and tastes about as you would expect from the name.
- Súr lifrarpylsa (sour liver sausage): Perhaps I’m a philistine, but to me all of the soured puddings and sausages tasted pretty much the same—like sour cream with the consistency of meat. It is really only possible to get a small amount down at one go.
- Sviðasulta (sheep's head pâté, a.k.a. head cheese): This is another soured concoction, tasting just like all the other soured concoctions. It’s the name that makes it stand out.
- Súr blóðmör (sour blood pudding): Why must every dish have a soured equivalent? This stuff truly is black in color.
- Hrútspungur (pickled ram's testicles): Another Icelandic culinary gem. Sweet meats, they call them—jellied and cut like sausage, but you can still see the borders between the…organs. Again, tastes just like the soured sausages, only it’s worse because you know what it is.
- Hákarl (putrefied shark): Small, rubbery yellow-white bits that smell like urine and taste, as you might imagine, like rotten fish. Actually not as strong as I thought it would be, and I had to try a second piece to remember what it tasted like. I needn’t have bothered; the flavor came back even after brushing my teeth and stayed in my mouth for more than 24 hours.
- Brennivín (“burning wine” also called Black Death): Clear schnapps, they call it, though it has about the flavor and aroma of rubbing alcohol. Used as a chaser for the hákarl. It’s 37.5% pure alcohol, made of fermented potato pulp and flavored with caraway seeds, they say. Prove it, say I. The only reasons I can think for drinking this noxious beverage is to rid one’s mouth of the shark flavor, and to kill any bacteria that might have made it through the putrefaction process.
- Svið (jellied sheep's head): Actually I’m not sure whether what we had was the jellied variety or the boiled. I’m not sure it would make a difference. The head is served cut in half down the middle, which is really the most barbaric and disturbing thing about it. The meat is rather flavorless and therefore quite a relief to the taste buds, but it’s the thing’s eyes that get you! As if it wasn’t bad enough to have your food looking at you in the first place, the Icelanders serve up the eyes as the best part. And this is the worst of all: I ended up with a sheep’s eye on my plate and didn’t realize what it was. (How can that be? you say—It’s an eye for heaven’s sake! But having been jellied or boiled or otherwise abused, it just looked like a rather fatty chunk of meat.) I should say, I didn’t realize what it was until I bit into the thing—and the casing around the pupil shot out into my mouth as I bit down! I realize many cultures eat the eyes of animals, but I just have to say, from my squeamish, girly perspective, the whole pupil-projectile thing entirely trumps the putrefied shark for disgustingness.
Now, aren’t you glad you can go have a salad for lunch instead?
- Blóðmör (blood pudding): Lacking the spices of the delightful Irish blood pudding, this stuff is served cold and is practically tasteless. It has the consistency of polenta and is almost black in color.
- Lifrarpylsa (liver sausage): Tastes just like the blood pudding, only it’s white.
- Lundabaggi (sour fat pudding): I have been told this is made from whale fat, but I could have sworn the girl serving it up said it was sheep fat. It probably doesn’t make a great different in taste, but I object to it more if it’s from a whale. It both looks and tastes about as you would expect from the name.
- Súr lifrarpylsa (sour liver sausage): Perhaps I’m a philistine, but to me all of the soured puddings and sausages tasted pretty much the same—like sour cream with the consistency of meat. It is really only possible to get a small amount down at one go.
- Sviðasulta (sheep's head pâté, a.k.a. head cheese): This is another soured concoction, tasting just like all the other soured concoctions. It’s the name that makes it stand out.
- Súr blóðmör (sour blood pudding): Why must every dish have a soured equivalent? This stuff truly is black in color.
- Hrútspungur (pickled ram's testicles): Another Icelandic culinary gem. Sweet meats, they call them—jellied and cut like sausage, but you can still see the borders between the…organs. Again, tastes just like the soured sausages, only it’s worse because you know what it is.
- Hákarl (putrefied shark): Small, rubbery yellow-white bits that smell like urine and taste, as you might imagine, like rotten fish. Actually not as strong as I thought it would be, and I had to try a second piece to remember what it tasted like. I needn’t have bothered; the flavor came back even after brushing my teeth and stayed in my mouth for more than 24 hours.
- Brennivín (“burning wine” also called Black Death): Clear schnapps, they call it, though it has about the flavor and aroma of rubbing alcohol. Used as a chaser for the hákarl. It’s 37.5% pure alcohol, made of fermented potato pulp and flavored with caraway seeds, they say. Prove it, say I. The only reasons I can think for drinking this noxious beverage is to rid one’s mouth of the shark flavor, and to kill any bacteria that might have made it through the putrefaction process.
- Svið (jellied sheep's head): Actually I’m not sure whether what we had was the jellied variety or the boiled. I’m not sure it would make a difference. The head is served cut in half down the middle, which is really the most barbaric and disturbing thing about it. The meat is rather flavorless and therefore quite a relief to the taste buds, but it’s the thing’s eyes that get you! As if it wasn’t bad enough to have your food looking at you in the first place, the Icelanders serve up the eyes as the best part. And this is the worst of all: I ended up with a sheep’s eye on my plate and didn’t realize what it was. (How can that be? you say—It’s an eye for heaven’s sake! But having been jellied or boiled or otherwise abused, it just looked like a rather fatty chunk of meat.) I should say, I didn’t realize what it was until I bit into the thing—and the casing around the pupil shot out into my mouth as I bit down! I realize many cultures eat the eyes of animals, but I just have to say, from my squeamish, girly perspective, the whole pupil-projectile thing entirely trumps the putrefied shark for disgustingness.
Now, aren’t you glad you can go have a salad for lunch instead?
No comments:
Post a Comment