That's How It Happened

I brought a plague upon my own refridgerator. Last year I asked the kindly denizens of AskMe for advice about the worst tasting foods. The third suggestion included Hákarl, a putrified form of shark meat that is one of Iceland's national dishes. Traditionally the shark is skinned, and then buried for up to 6 months in a gravel pit. During that time the shark is cured by salt water and decomposition, and the uric acid in the flesh turns to ammonia.

"In many sub-societies of Iceland, a person is considered a weakling if he cannot eat the shark."

My brother arranged to go trout fishing in Iceland, and consequently I felt compelled to suggest some Hákarl, as a possible gift upon his return. He was good enough to bring back some Brennivin too, an Icelandic aquavit, used as a chaser to take away the taste of the rotten flesh. He did consider getting me some Minke whale as a starter, but decided sensibly not to chance it through customs.
The shark comes as small cubes, and is supposed to be eaten one dainty bite at a time, with a toothpick. Strangely for something that's been cured for months the expiry date was 15/05/2007. That was hardly reassuring, and meant that I couldn't delay. Opening the jar is the worst part. The ammonia given off burns your nasal mucosa (I think the official chemistry phrase would be "pungent odour"), and left me choking until I could get to an open window. After that, the actually eating isn't too traumatic. The shark flesh is very soft, almost buttery, a bit like lutefisk. The foretaste is strong, of unfresh oily fish, and that's quickly followed by a flood of ammonia filling the back of your mouth, and nose. It's not really something to savour. The Brennivin tastes strongly of peppery caraway and quickly "clears the palate".
Overall I'm slightly underwhelmed, because it's actually almost tasty. It certainly has a strong flavour, but it's not repulsive and nauseating like ika no shiokara (salted fermented squid guts). If I was a hunter needing cured food to take on a prolonged trip away from the Icelandic homestead, I'd relish a hearty plate of Hákarl, after a hard day clubbing seals.