It's been a long time. And I'm back here to disapooint John T. Edge, to whom I made hasty promises of having discovered ya-ka-mein in Iceland, some 3,718 miles northeast of New Orleans. When the cinetrix and I visited this rather imposing church, the Cod noticed a truck and people eating soup nearby.
The soup was in tall styrofoam cups, and appeared to have noodles. We'd just lunched at Snaps, so there was no room for soup, but I was intrigued. Sneaking back later, I got a better look at the operation:
This is what they do:
It was an aptly named soup. Not the most spicy soup ever. But satisfying. I got a small, which probably looks smaller from the angle of the photo:
Ultimately, the only real similarity to ya-ka-mein is the serving container, somewhat surprisingly Styrofoam, given the pretty intense environmental ethos we felt elsewhere in Iceland. At least according to legend, the late night Iceland drunk food of choice is the hot dog, which was good, but not the transcendent experience I was primed for. There is, however, much to be said for a cilmate where you can have a business selling lamb soup in the summer. If it ever cools off here, I'll look forward to recreating. Finally, the two young women who seemed to make photobombing tourists at the cathedral their job.