Sometimes you eat something and magic happens. Yes, magic. No really, like full-on expecto patronum and junk. This sort of alchemical reaction can lead to uncontrollable drooling and really bad poetry, as is evidenced below in my ode to the Icelandic hot dog.
Sappy, savory, hand-held treat,
Iceland’s cheapest thing to eat.
After fish that smelled so foul,
Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur makes the stomach growl.
Snuggly nestled underneath,
saucy, salty, savory, sweet… toppings.
At each baseball game and boardwalk jaunt,
my taste buds will you ever haunt.
Pathetic prose aside, Iceland might actually make the world’s best hotdog. I say this as a connoisseur, a life-long devotee of ground meats stuffed into a casing. I might even suggest one venture to this amazing island simply to ensure the life-changing experience of these dogs.