Iceland review - 2007, Page 66

72 ICELAND REVIEW
A
mong the myriad of traditional Icelandic foodstuffs, few are best known for
their delicious ness. Amid the pickled ram testicles, sheep head jam and putre­
fied shark, hangikjöt stands out as a notable exception to the rule.
Literally meaning ‘hung meat’, hangikjöt is smoked lamb that comes with strict
cultural proto col and Christmas links almost as strong as tinsel. Christmas just wouldn’t be
Christmas in Ice land without hangikjöt.
You can eat thin slices in sandwiches all year round, but at Yule time, hangikjöt needs to
be served with tinned marrowfat peas, white sauce, hot pickled red cabbage, boiled pota­
toes and thin fried bread (called laufabraud) and butter.
All the supermarkets carry hangikjöt from two or three big brands, but the luckiest
among us are able to get it the traditional way.
In the north of Iceland, in the strange and deservedly romanticized landscape around
Lake Mývatn, many of the farms have their own smoke houses. Periodically punctuating
the journey through the bewitching area and its cold, crisp air with strong, wholesome
smells, Christmas preparations are well underway by early November.
Farmer Halldór Árnason has a flock of 400 sheep, which makes his farm one of the
bigg est in the region. But there is little evidence of the sheep on this cold November day
with new snow on the ground and steam on the breath. “Bloody snow,” mutters the
farmer only half joking, failing to appreciate how pretty it is, especially to a foreigner
who lives in rainy Reykjavík.
At the end of the slaughter season, there is no sight or sound of sheep from the
farmyard. The sheep have not all been slaughtered of course: small groups can be seen
from the road quietly trying to root up some grass and wondering why the land is
suddenly trying to camouflage itself against them. But the somewhat unlikely sound of
excited parakeets wafting out from inside the farmhouse and the playful curiosity of the
dogs ensures that the farm is by no means lifeless.