Paper short abstract:

Drawing on fieldwork in Iceland and among Icelanders abroad, archival material and media images, this paper will discuss extreme food performances as, often ironic, negotiations of the ambiguous boundaries between in-groups and outsiders, human and non-human animals, in and out of place.

Paper long abstract:

We are what we eat, materially, but also in the sense of identification (Brubaker and Cooper 2000), which so often elevates the near-obsolete to the status of heritage. Such processes may add value to the unviable (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1995) but why do certain performances of food culture seem to push the boundaries of the acceptable, or tolerable? Whether sitting face to face with a singed sheep‘s head, wolfing down a ram‘s soured testicles or getting the shocking whiff of fermented shark or skate, many Icelandic food traditions, and performances there-of, can be considered extreme (even by locals to say nothing of visitors). On the tamer end, the proliferation of homemade blood pudding and liver sausage may express an engagement with the precarity of past generations. In uncertain times nostalgic expressions of pastness may provide a sense of security, thrift, or sustainability. On the wilder side, carnivores and pescatarians test the limits of contemporary sensibilities. Yet, such performances may form an integral part of the cohesion of in-group congregations on festive holidays, such as Thorlak‘s Mass and the midwinter thorrablót. They are also part of the reflexive liminality of transnational processes through immigration, marketing and (last chance) tourism. Narratives related to hunting, farming, fishing and food processing also remind us how these practices feed on other-than-human entities, animal and microbial, both literally and figuratively. The playfulness of these performances also suggests a sense of irony common among those who are faced with uncertainty and unwelcome contradictions (Huber and Fernandez 2001).