In my Jaws.

Somehow, managed to fin-ish.

Reykjavik, Iceland – Anthony Bourdain called it "the single worst, most disgusting and terrible tasting thing" he had ever eaten.

The quick whiff of ammonia wafting over the table does little to counter that analysis.

Even without Bourdain's ringing endorsement, however, it doesn't take much to convince me to try Iceland's national dish: Hákarl, or fermented shark. That I'm getting to share the experience with my parents is an added bonus.

Sitting at Kaffi Loki, we're presented with a small bowl of nondescript white cubes, into which toothpicks have been stuck like porcupine quills – include one topped by the country's flag.

The flavour is anything but nondescript.

Somewhat grainy and spongy, like a fishy cheese, each cube is immediately reminiscent of how I'd imagine urine tasting. The accompanying shot of Bennevin, an aquavit flavoured with caraway, helps.

Somewhat.

Is Hákarl to my tastes? Not in the slightest. But food traditions always provide interesting insight into cultures, particularly when they have been shaped by the environments in which they were forced to take root. So I'm glad I tried it.

Still, the rye ice cream that follows is better.