The Girl Who Ate Everything

This entry originally took place on April 22. Yup, this is the longest reblog of a one-week vacation ever. Check out my other posts about Iceland to refresh your memory.

I ate it.

Ain't no better way to start the day than with a blood sugar spike! And that is why I was so happy that just up the street from our hotel was Sandholt Bakery, one of the oldest (or perhaps the oldest?) bakeries in Reykjavik, opened and family-operated since 1920. Many pastries were recognizable as French, while others looked familiar, but not quite. Here's a pictorial tour of the goods.

Fig. 1

Huge-ass rolled-up bready buns called snúður slathered with chocolate or toffee icing, doughnuts, and chocolate-dipped puffed rice treats.

"You can't make ice cream from sea cows."

Alice got Mr. Ice Cream Cone from Food Party to give me a personalized greeting. And then MY HEAD EXPLODED FROM JOOOOOOY, UNBRIDLED JOOOY, PURE GOLDEN RAINBOW (wait, huh?) JOOOOOOY with sparkly marshmallows.

So, backstory. I've loved that freakin' Mr. Ice Cream Cone every since seeing this video way back when:

Heh.

Look at those hollow beady eyes! That oddly emotive mouth. AND THAT VOICE. THE VOICE. THE...SQUEAKY...yeah. Alice and Greg can attest that I sometimes go into Squeaky High-Pitched Mr. Ice Cream Voice Mode, perhaps by quietly going, "Yeah...yeah...yeah," (um, you have to be there to see what I mean, or watch the video a lot) or suddenly exclaiming, "LOOK, A PIG! HE'S DEAD!"

Thank you Alice, Kogi, Mr. Ice Cream Cone, and Peter Van Hyning for giving life to the cone puppet. However, I am disappointed that Mr. Hyning doesn't list "Life Force of Mr. Ice Cream Cone" under the "Skills" heading in his resume. If I could do that, I so would. And then if I were a boss looking new new hires I'd see that little gem at the bottom of the resume and be like, "I AM HIRING THAT ICE CREAM CONE GUY. HE MIGHT BE A LITTLE STRANGE, BUT I THINK HE'S A KEEPER."

You can buy a plush Mr. Ice Cream Cone from foodparty.tv but it doesn't look like a puppet, which isn't quite as magical. I need the version where I can stick my hand in it and make its mouth go all bloopy.

This entry originally took place on April 22. I was going to originally make this one post, but it was too freakin' long. There's not much food in this one, I'm afraid. Trust me, I pretty much keep thinking, "Oh sweet Jesus fugnutter this is like the series that will never die." Anyhoo. Check out my other posts about Iceland to refresh your memory.

In Iceland, bananas look the same, but BETTER.

After getting my day's worth of calories, Diana, Greg, and I decided we should fit in some of that "non-food related cultural stuff"—museums and such—that everyone has to do when they're on vacation.

It's red.

Like observing the many houses featuring corrugated metal of all sorts of colors. Greg was the first to notice this. I just took this picture because I like red.

Oo...gray.

We also visited the National Museum of Iceland where we saw...

This entry originally took place on April 22 and is the final part of a three-part series. Of one day. Of a longer series. I swear that I'm almost done with these Iceland posts. Check out my other posts about Iceland to refresh your memory.

For dinner we met up with my New York City-based friend Melkorka (food blog readers may be familiar with her sister, Ulla of Goldilocks Finds Manhattan) and her boyfriend Jeff who just happened to be in Iceland at the same time as we were. Sweeeet! She had a more important reason to be there than "vacation" though: Her parents are Icelandic and she had some errands to do for them. But there was plenty of time for them to do fun stuff, like eat lobster soup and fish on sticks.

Sea Baron / Saegreifinn

We ate dinner at Saegreifinn, aka Sea Baron, a famous seafood "shack" by the water known for their fresh seafood skewers and lobster soup.

Holy crap holy crap wtf.

If you eat there with Greg, it might look like this. (It looks oddly Photoshopped, but nope—that's the real Greg.)

Lately I've been going to bed at around 3 a.m. or later. Why? Because the Internet is another boundless dimension where all I do is waste time as my muscles atrophy and my eyesight worsens and my brain cells die.

Actually, it's not all the Internet's fault. I've been fiddling with LSDJ a lot lately and it's one of the biggest time sucks to ever grace my computer. I treat this fiddling process as a learning experience, but in my mind, when I'm learning something that has no use outside of "fun hobby," it goes into the steaming pile of "wasting time." I don't waste time by doing nothing/mindless activities; I consider "wasted time" as anything that isn't TGWAE, work, food, housekeeping, or photo-related. Like fiddling with LSDJ and updating my manatee blog.

On the bright side, I'm never bored. On the dim side, I'm not sure I'm ever teaching myself anything useful that the rest of humanity could actually benefit from. All I can hope for is that the manatee blog brightens someone's day. Someone's very sad, boring day that can only be redeemed by the power of photos and words about the lumbering, tubby sea cow.

Oh well. Hey, how's it going? Okay.

Before I get to my story about the Scary Hostess, here are some posts I've done lately for Serious Eats New York. Despite the ongoing posts about Iceland in which I've managed to stretch a one-week trip into two months of posts, I actually do live in New York City and, since I'm not a robot, eat food here as well. It's a lot easier to write posts for Serious Eats instead of my blog because 1) it's my full time job which means 2) I can actually write stuff during the day while at the office and 3) they give me deadlines.

Cafe Kashkar

Lambsplosion of Uyghur Food at Cafe Kashkar in Brighton Beach: I'll have to write about this epic day on TGWAE at some point, but basically, I went to Brighton Beach with Diana, Greg, Kathy, and Edd for the purposes of helping Diana on her photoshoot and frolicking in that fun substance we call "sand." We followed our beach romping with dinner at Cafe Kashkar because Kathy and I had eaten there before and really liked it. It's still good. (If you're wondering if this trip also include the carrot cake from M&I, they had unfortunately run out by the time we got there. SAD.)

This entry originally took place on April 23. I've just got two more posts to do and then I'm done with Iceland!—and we can get back to my boring life in New York City. Check out my other posts about Iceland to refresh your memory.

April 23 was a national holiday in Iceland: The First Day of Summer. What summer? The summer that took place way back when Icelanders only recognized two seasons, but today feels like you're still stuck in winter, or a cold form of spring. This holiday takes place on the first Thursday after April 18 and, from what I witnessed, gives the whole city of Reykjavik reason to treat the previous Wednesday night like a Saturday night: BOOZIN' 'N TALKIN' LOUDLY UNTIL THE SUN COMES UP.

Melkorka told us it usually snowed on the "first day of summer." "Snow? It hasn't snowed all week," I thought. That's not gonna hap-

View from our hotel.

...And then it snowed that night. The weather works in mysterious ways in Iceland. Iceland knows of that thing called "normal weather" and just poops all over it. Figurative poop.

Hello, snow.

The next day Greg and I ventured back into nature to cover the popular Golden Circle path while Diana stayed in the city center to meet up with a friend. The ground was covered with a thin layer of snow that was mostly gone by the time we got to our destination of...

This entry originally took place on April 23, meaning that I am now officially two months behind. TWO. MONTHS. Anyhoo, I have just one more post about Iceland after this. Pinky swear. Check out my other posts about Iceland to refresh your memory because, like me, you've probably forgotten a lot already.

Icelandic Fish and Chips

We ate dinner at Icelandic Fish and Chips per Sarah's recommendation, besides that I always have an underlying craving for that beloved food group: deep fried things. (It's the purple section on the right! ...Haha, no it's not. I don't know what the hell that is. "Purple food.") Fried meat. Fried carbs. Fried sugar. Fried ice cream. Fried batter. Frying is the magical process that can turn anything into a crispier, tastier, and less healthy version of its original self. And since I'm not a doctor nor a nutritionist, I have no problem endorsing the dumping of foodstuffs into vats of gurgling oil.

In a world where people like to deep fry anything—because dammit, we humans just like exercising our rights to create extravagantly disgusting dishes that no one would ever actually want to eat—Icelandic Fish and Chips is taking a healthier approach to deep fried fish and potato sticks. Their batter is made of spelt and barley, they bake their fries instead of fry them, and their dipping sauces are made of skyr, the beloved Icelandic yogurt/really soft yogurt-like cheese. Judging from the packed dining room that Thursday night, Icelandic people are loving it.

FOOD.

Greg, Diana, and I split three orders of fish, three sides, a vegetable dish, and a bunch of desserts. On retrospect, I don't know why we ordered so much. Granted, we ate just about everything, either out of hunger or because "it was there; why wouldn't I eat it?"

HOLY CRAP, LAST POST ABOUT ICELAND. Only two months after I finished my vacation. Yeeeah. This post originally took place on April 24. Check out my other posts about Iceland if you don't know what the hell I'm talking about.

Bye...leftovers.

It was time to say goodbye to Iceland...starting with the leftovers in our fridge. Some of it was donated by Melkorka a few nights before, but the neglected bottle of orange juice was completely our doing. Oops.

MAYO!

We left behind or threw out everything except for this container of Gunnars mayonnaise. I felt that it was much too charmingly cute and quaint to be destined for the landfill. So now it's sitting on my shelf. Without the mayonnaise, of course. (It's the loveliest container of mayonnaise I've ever seen; if you ever find a nicer one I want you to show it to me, and then we can have a DUEL.)

Cafe...that I never bought anything from.

This was the cafe/coffee shop that we went to just about every day for Greg's morning cup of coffee, but I never got anything from there. I did, however, become well acquainted with its Bible-themed wares.