18 Unique Foods To Try When You Visit Iceland

Iceland is a cold country. A bleak, dark, wintry land forged from fire and ice and some seriously alarming mythology. While its name may be a bit of a misnomer (possibly a trick of the Vikings to make others think it was uninhabitable), Iceland is nevertheless really frigid much of the year. So obviously, my family hopped on a plane to visit in December.

We were warned about many things. The Northern Lights are fickle! (We did not see them). The weather can be real bad! (My daughter was knocked down by the wind ... while wearing ice cleats). The buses in Reykjavik run late! But overall, it was a magical experience, which extended to the food. Iceland has a reputation for exporting delicious seafood. For example, the Masago that goes on sushi) and smart choices, such as banning McDonald's.

As a disclaimer, I invite you to notice that the title of this post is *unique* foods to try, not *delicious* ones. Now, some of them were, but others are guaranteed not to make your next charcuterie board, and that's okay ... they're still worth trying if you ever find yourself visiting this island country. On a final note, please don't ask me how to pronounce any of these. That's between you and the Icelanders.

Icelandic hot dogs are, as the name suggests, hot dogs. However, they're a more interesting sort than you get here. First of all, the hot dog itself is skinny and lighter-tasting, while simultaneously maintaining the juicy and rich flavors we associate with our own dogs. That's because Icelanders usually use lamb in theirs, either on its own or in combination with beef and pork, and the result is lovely.

The Icelanders don't have a specific recipe for topping their hot dogs, but it's common to see people eating them with everything: mustard, ketchup, relish, and both raw and fried onions. We got ours at a bus station, where bored people milled around eating theirs with various combinations. The one my daughter and I tried had only ketchup and fried onions, and I gotta say, I recommend it.

Hardfiskur (roughly translated as fish jerky) is not a common food, and there's probably a reason. The reason is we are not hardscrabble peasants eking out a scant 9^th-century existence on a dark and frozen stretch of coastal wasteland, so we no longer have to eat things that smell worse than cat treats. Okay? That's the reason.

In all seriousness, I know a guy in my taekwondo class who would probably eat this, but that same guy is obsessed enough with fitness and nutrition to also eat things like mushroom jerky, so he doesn't count. Everyone else I know would have the same reaction we did trying this, which is to immediately spit it out. Or, as was the case for the rest of my weakling family, to smell it once and refuse to go further. Turns out, they were right.

If you're not convinced, though, good news! You can get Icelandic dried fish from enterprising online purveyors and decide.

Being sober, I did not actually try this beer myself. However, Icelanders are diehard attached to their Christmas ales, so it was obviously important that we brought back a report. We assigned the tasting to my mother, who likes a nice dark ale and has the most experience with it.

Although Iceland hardly corners the market on Christmas brew (think Jubelale from Deschutes Brewery), their offering made by Tuborg is apparently a gold standard. It was a pretty enough drink, especially in the glass they put it in. The taste, however, didn't measure up. My mom described it as a lame pilsner with notes of caramel. Then again, she likes her ales pretty strong and dark.

Now, I enjoy strong flavors. I've never distinguished between licorice and anise, which I love for their bitter bite. Fennel? Caraway? Bring it on. I actually brought a bag of black licorice with me from the States to chew when landing, because my ears frequently hurt like a child's. So you can see why I thought I was a diehard black licorice fan whose palate was unable to be overpowered by licorice. Boy, was I wrong.

The Icelandic version of black licorice is wicked. There's more anise flavor than you can imagine, chased by too little sugar. It's hard, chewy, and leaves a lasting aftertaste. If you're the type who can never get enough black licorice, then this candy might be for you. For me, a few pieces were enough.

Kleinur, on the other hand, goes down easier. Also called angel wings, these twisted donuts are heavier than they look, more like a cake donut or buttermilk bar than a regular glazed donut or maple bar. We got them multiple times throughout our trip. Sometimes they came along with hot cocoa at a coffee shop, other times we bought them from a bakery.

Their sizes ranged hugely, from little ones no bigger than a medium-sized cookie to huge pastries that three people could share. Their bakery treatment also ranged. While the classic kleinur is fried to a brown color and either unfrosted or rolled lightly in sugar, some are fried more lightly and topped with frosting. Where we went they were sold refrigerated (why?), so if you try them, do what we did and pop them in the microwave for a few seconds when you get home. Much better!

Icelanders are big on their cod, the same species that you usually find in your fish and chips. Like, they are *big* on it. Economically and culinarily, it's their most important seafood. Indeed, the Icelandic coat of arms featured salted cod for hundreds of years ... how's that for dedication? Of course, if you eat cod all the time, you can't possibly use it all up every night, which is how plokkfiskur was born.

As far as uniqueness goes, this dish is way up there. It translates to "stewed fish," which is a bit of a misnomer, as this dish isn't very juicy. Instead, it's a mixture of mashed or gratineed potatoes with already cooked white fish, mixed with a bit of milk and flour to give everything body. The kind we tried also had cheese on it. While it wasn't my favorite Icelandic dish, I have to say, it sticks with you.

Everyone loves Nutella. Some people love it so much that their husbands are not allowed to bring it home, even if they hide it well because it will be found. (Ahem. Speaking for a friend.) But Icelanders take the love of Nutella to a whole new level. They had multiple brands that all did the same basic hazelnut-chocolate thing, as well as regular chocolate spreads and other chocolate-nut mixtures.

We couldn't try them all, so we opted for the strangest of the bunch: a cream and chocolate twist. Part of it tasted pretty standard, while the other had a cream-and-hazelnut flavor that was interesting, though definitely not better than its mate. If you want to try it at home, there's a hazelnut cream cocoa spread available online.

Pickled fish sounds like manna to some (my mom), a cultural experience to others (me), and a torture device to the rest (my dad, husband, and children). Although "síld" technically translates to herring, the word was used on many menus to refer specifically to pickled herring. And although this is a staple we traditionally associate with Sweden, pickled herring is big in Iceland as well.

We bought herring from the store, not wanting to pay restaurant prices for something that might be a total miss, and it was actually quite good. We ate it on rye bread with soft cheese, and I have to say, I see where the Vikings are coming from on this one. If you're curious, you can find jars of pickled herring online and try the combination yourself.

Read any blog post about foods to try in Iceland, and you will run across skyr. Touted as a high-protein yogurt that definitely boasts a similar flavor, skyr is actually more than that. While yogurt is made of milk and bacteria, then heated until it thickens and ferments, skyr is closer to cheese.

For one thing, skyr contains rennet as well as bacterial cultures, which is the thickening agent that cheesemakers use. For another, it is strained after thickening, much like other cheeses. This leads to a very thick product, with a similar consistency to Greek yogurt but a greater density. The sour flavor is also similar, but richer, almost like a mascarpone cheese.

Iceland had no lack of skyr flavors to try, and we enjoyed them all. Berry was fun, while chocolate was interesting (as it contained chocolate chips rather than being chocolatey throughout). However, plain skyr was the best, perfect for eating plain or with a drizzle of honey. If you want to try it, you can get Icelandic-style skyr online or at the grocery store.

The airplane is possibly the least Instagrammable place on or above Earth, so please forgive the terrible lighting in this photo, which hardly does justice to the majesty that is Icelandair plane food. The only time I've had better fare was on Fiji Air, which is basically the gold standard for trying to make you forget you're stuck in a space smaller than your closet for hours on end.

Icelandair is close behind, though, and their Nordic open-faced sandwich or smørrebrød option is super good. It comes with two different takes: one with roast beef, remoulade, cornichons, and fried onion; and one with smoked salmon, gravlax sauce, lemon, and dill. It was one of the Iceland-iest things I tried, and I urge you to do the same if you get the chance.

Iceland is known for its geothermal heat. When you've got 200 volcanoes to work with, you can produce a lot of energy, which explains why more than 90% of its homes are heated from below. It only makes sense that settlers would have used this trait to other ends, such as rúgbrauð, a bread traditionally made by burying the dough in a tightly covered pot near a geyser or volcano.

While today's rúgbrauð isn't made quite as magically, it is still cooked low and slow. This gives the rye starches time to break down and become nice and sweet, all without sugar. Because it is covered, it steams more than bakes, which leads to a moist and pudding-like result. It was absolutely amazing with butter and lox, a traditional combination, or just on its own.

The bromance between Icelanders and sheep goes back a thousand years or more when Vikings brought them over in the 9^th and 10^th centuries. Today, Icelandic sheep genes are kept very pure, as it's illegal to import outside stock. They're so important to the country that the woolly population outnumbers the human by a hefty margin.

It's no surprise, then, that the lamb in Iceland was delicious. One of the best dishes we tried there was the smoked lamb beetroot tartar (pictured), a mixture of meat and veggies presented atop rye bread and garnished with capers and dill. That wasn't the only yummy lamb dish, either. My husband got a lamb steak one night and lamb stew another, and as discussed above, the tartar and the hot dog were excellent as well. If you're an omnivore, put it on your list.

On our first night in Iceland, we were wandering through a pretty standard grocery, Bónus. With a friendly pink pig for their logo, Reykjavik's many Bónus stores were a cheerful addition to corners across the city. I stumbled across a small jar of what looked like yogurt, with a label that showed a picture of sliced apples and cinnamon. It was adorable, so obviously I grabbed it.

I then spent a week avoiding it, because TBH, who really has the time to eat cinnamon yogurt when there are ten thousand kinds of pastry available? Eventually, though, I pulled it out of the fridge and gave it a go, and I'm so glad I did. It tasted amazingly sweet, mellow, and apple-cinnamony, the perfect flavor combination for Christmas.

Which, as it happens, is not an accident. While I was pretty clear on the meaning of "jógúrt," I spent forever googling possible translations of "jóla." Apple? No. Cinnamon? No. Spice? No. (Somehow it did not occur to me to just google the Icelandic word? Jet lag is real, people.) Eventually, I figured it out: Christmas yogurt, and it truly does taste like it. Highly recommend!

Aside from the apparent urge to get as many Gs into one word as possible, Icelandic mulled wine is much like other mulled wines. Or at least it smelled much like other mulled wines to me, and my mother confirmed that it was a pretty basic rendition of the old Christmas classic with a Nordic spice twist.

The good news is this is an easy one to recreate at home. The standard recipe includes orange and lemon juice, honey, sugar, cocoa nibs, cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, and vanilla. Throw in a star anise for that licorice twist, add gobs of red wine, and simmer it up. Once everything is nice and mulled, you can add vodka, salt, sugar, almonds, and cranberries to taste.

Icelandic ice cream is truly amazeballs. (Are we allowed to say amazeballs in food publications?) It is thick, creamy, and eggy, halfway between gelato and frozen custard. We got ours at the Perlan Museum, which cost a mint. It was absolutely worth it, especially considering the crazy range of flavors.

We're talking Christmas Sorbet (a spicy yes), Licorice (hard pass), Prickly Pear and Blood Orange (super yum), Apple Cinnamon (amazing), Gingerbread (epic), and Spiced Chai (no thank you). For the young or young-at-heart, don't worry: They also had vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry.

You can also get Icelandic ice cream at the store, which we did one night when the daughter suddenly "had" to have a milkshake. That night we learned that if you can't find a Bónus, don't worry! You're never far from a Krónan, and instead of a happy pig, its logo is a happy lemon. Truly, the Icelander's way is a cheerful one.

Together, Hákarl and Brennivín comprise Iceland's national dish. This hair-raising combo of fermented shark meat (buried and fermented for several weeks to several months before air-drying) and caraway-flavored clear alcohol. It's a dish that could only have been devised by those of Viking stock. I tried the shark, which was shocking enough to the American sensibilities. My mother once again did the heavy lifting of tasting the booze.

Here's how it works. You pop a bite of shark in your mouth. And it truly is only a bite; I couldn't even get a picture of the shark because of how small the cube was. That's what's on the end of the toothpicks sticking up in the picture. Chew for about 10 seconds, until the shark releases its potent ammonia flavor. Then swallow the shark and immediately chase it with the Brennivín. It is guaranteed to put hair on your chest, even if you don't want it there. My mom said the full effect was, while not mild, still pretty fun. I can only confirm that, yes, Hákarl is incredibly ammonia-forward. So if you're into that ...

Although I didn't expect to try it on our trip, reindeer pâté was one of my favorite experiences in Iceland. Rich, creamy, and meaty, it was truly amazing on crackers and bread. It was mild enough for breakfast or an early lunch, and it kept me full for hours of tromping around in the cold.

My Google Lens translator didn't work on the jar, so I can't tell you exactly what was in this. However, it tasted like your standard pork pâté, with lots of butter, cream, salt, and mild seasonings. And unlike chicken liver pâté, which blends up so smoothly, this one had a bit of body to it. Sadly, there is no online equivalent, so put this on the list if you ever go there.

The first rule of vínarbrauð is you can never get enough vínarbrauð. The second rule of vínarbrauð is you can never get enough vínarbrauð. Yes, it's good enough to rip off "Fight Club," because it is literally the best thing on Earth, and I don't know how I'll live without it now that I'm back in the States. So, what is it?

Vínarbrauð is essentially a long pastry that seems like it was designed by someone who couldn't decide what kind of Danish they wanted to make, so they made everything. It is puff pastry laid flat, slathered in marzipan, rolled at the edges to create a long trough, then filled with custard and sprinkled with rock sugar. After baking, it is liberally spread with chocolate or Nutella along one side. It's ... insane. I will never be the same again.

The good news is this one probably won't be that hard to recreate. You can buy puff pastry, marzipan, Nutella, and rock sugar at the store, and there are recipes aplenty online (with a surprising variation in approach compared to what we saw in the shops). Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an oven to preheat.