After exfoliating a layer or five off my face at the Horn, the Iceland wind had found its way into my hollow stomach, so we headed to the reputedly better of Höfn’s two restaurants open this time of year, a cabin-looking place of soft light, clean chairs, and hearty food.
I don’t eat much beef (I produce my own fair share of greenhouse gases, I don’t need their contributions on my tab), but a big ol' burger and fries sounded perfect to me. But there, next to the beef, was a reindeer burger.
I've never understood how we delineate which animals it's okay/normal to kill and eat, Pulp Fiction rationales notwithstanding. And it seems like a good idea to...
Keep reading on the wordpress version of my blog, here.
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