Show us your junk

Among the delights of travel is the chance to try foreign junk food. Sometimes because it tastes great, other times because it affords a weird little window into what a country wants to eat. In the case of Japan, for example, this is as often as not a gorgeously and antiseptically packaged bag of cuttlefish-flavored corn pops.

Iceland, on the other hand, is all about liquorice. Appolo brand is what you want; get the 400g size and share. I've been evangelizing this stuff for years in a largely vain attempt to let people know that perfectly fresh, supple liquorice allsorts, minus the gross little beady ones that resemble defective urinal cakes, is the best candy ever. Eating it is a revelation, as though you had been raised from infancy wholly on Kraft Singles and then one day were given your first bite of aged Cheddar.

You could also try a Nizza bar, a confection embodying the assertion that liquorice and chocolate go together. Or maybe you'd like a Príns Polo, which is not unlike a Kit Kat.

Opal candies are little jewel-colored hard candies in fruit flavours. If you mention them to a local person, her eyes may grow misty in Proustian reminiscence as she relates the tale of the legendary lost Blue Opals. According to the ancients, blue Opals bestowed a rapturous taste sensation beyond mortal ken. There then dawned a day when the certain officious philistines deemed the principal ingredient to be a carcinogen and central nervous system depressant or some such piffle, and Blue Opals were no more. In certain lands it is rumoured that once in a season, decade-old boxes may appear on eBay at kingly prices.

Enough sweets - let's talk hotdogs. They're made of local lamb. They're very good. They come with fried onions and remoulade. Still, one is at a loss to account for their freakishly amplified prominence on the local food scene. The place to get them is Bæjarins Beztu down by the harbour.

Or do you really enjoy a robust, old-fashioned hamburger? With a mess of fries and Coke just jammed full of old-timey enamel-dissolving cane sugar? Served in a stylish dive? Yeah? Head to Hamborgarabúllan Tómasar. Look for the weird little teardrop-shaped building by the harbour.

Next up: village filling stations. Those picturesque microtowns of 400 people always include a filling station/general store/greasy spoon where you can get some fast food, including but not limited to the lesser sort of hotdog that has clocked trillions of revolutions on a rotisserie before you get to it.

One more thing you should try that's not junk: skyr. Imagine yogurt, but zero fat and better. Blueberry and vanilla are the yummiest, and there's a little folding spoon on top. Perfect for hikes.

Okay, now I've got to bestir myself from this lavishly appointed row of collapsible seating in this sumptuous concourse and catch my plane to Iceland.