Last night I had a particularly Icelandic dinner. It all started in the supermarket, where I was feeling brave, and decided to buy a "Lyfra Pylsur", the traditional, haggis-like thing, sewn up in a sheep's stomach and eaten at this time of year as a matter of national pride.
Once cooked, I nibbled tentatively, and found that it didn't taste all that terrible. But I still threw it away. So repulsed was I at the smell of the thing, that I couldn't bring myself to eat it. And that brings me to my typically Icelandic dinner.
I immediately went downstairs (for I am ideally placed for culinary disasters) to a well-known takeaway food outlet, and joined the queue of people partaking in another national institution - pizza.
With a kitchen full of boiled potatoes and salad I thought a mini pizza would be an ideal substitute for the sheep bits I had discarded. Before you say it, yes, I know salad is not traditional Thorrablót fare, but I'm a bit of a diet freak when it comes to this sort of thing - I actually eat my Brussels sprouts at Christmas, and I leave the gherkins and limp lettuce in my Big Mac.
Anyway. Faced with tough competition from Thorrablót and the Food and Fun cooking festival, the pizza place is celebrating "Mega Week", where all pizzas cost the same and large is the only size available - what could I do?
I had to be a man and accept that I was fated to have an unhealthy (but oh, so tasty) meal. I followed that with a couple of beers with friends at a local bar and decided that it had been a pretty good evening after all.
The downside is that tonight's feast is old salad and cold boiled potatoes.