My friend Amy just came back from a trip to Iceland, and she brought back the best souvenirs ever: the edible kind.
Foreign countries, apart from having amazing public health care (a friend told me recently that women in Austria get three years of maternity leave. THREE. YEARS. Shoot me in the face. Well, no, don't, because my insurance is crappy and I'd probably end up without a nose...) also have way better snackfoods than we do here in the old US of A. Pringles in Iceland, for example, come flavored like pork ribs. Hell yes. It gives me great hope that somewhere—perhaps in the back room of a bodega in a dusty Mexican village—Sabor de Soledad actually exists.
Amy also brought back candy, which would normally be awesome. Except she unwittingly brought back this:
Harmless-looking enough, right? WRONG. So very wrong. Apparently Nordic tastebuds are as freakish as their cornsilk-colored eyebrows, because Draumur is made of chocolate-covered licorice.
That's like dipping a circus peanut in caramel or burying a Mike & Ike in center of a Tootsie Roll. That is a cruel, cruel surprise. That, my friends, is worse than gorilla balls.