Red, 'Chala and I drove up to Gimli, Manitoba last weekend for Islendingadagurinn, the annual Icelandic festival. The Parking Gods found us a lovely spot just off Centre Street. After a quick lunch at the Gimli Hotel (Pickerel burgers FTW!) we started exploring.
There is something uniquely disturbing about an Icelandic festival that has more than one booth selling henna mehndi tattoos. And the butter chicken mobile unit was definitely over the top. Although it's possible that the Æsir did migrate from India (by way of Mesopotamia, Anatolia, Troy, and perhaps the Etruscan territories, I would guess), I distinctly do *not* recall any Viking raids on Mumbai or Delhi. Or vice versa, for that matter.
The great irony in all this is that I adore East Indian cuisine. Never met a curry I didn't like; made ghee innumerable times; enjoy samosas with lots of sweet tamarind sauce; and someday hope to perfect My dhalpuri roti recipe.
But in the end we skipped the butter chicken and had ice cream instead. Then we watched an exhibition of Viking fighting techniques, rescued a slab of vinatarta from the bakery, and headed back to Winnipeg.
And stopped off at Tim Horton's for coffee before finally driving home.
Darn, this post is making Me hungry. (eats handwritten notes for essay and heads downstairs for a snack)