This morning I made Palmer some oatmeal (Irish btw, not American) and although I put plenty of brown sugar and honey in it, I also put way too much salt in it. It was not very good.

On the way taking him to school, I was remembering a more successful batch of oatmeal I made, when I was working at Víkingaheimar in Iceland. I think it was just over a year ago, when the Ríkistjorn decided to come have their meeting in Suðurnesja, and Víkingaheimar had the honor of hosting. The meeting started really early, and although the township came in with bread and cheese and pastries for the officials, I thought to also whip up a batch of oatmeal. While the meeting was going on, our staff and the drivers for the raðherrar ate the oatmeal.

Everyone raved about how good it was. I don't know if this was just because no one usually bothers to feed the drivers, or if it actually was that good, but they said anyhow that it was much sweeter and creamier than regular Icelandic hafragraut. I was informed this must be because I was American, that I had done it this way, with maple syrup and honey and raisins.

But the funny thing is, this is how I remember my mom, and my grandma, making hafragraut also. I guess it just runs in the family.


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