I made a bunch of plates with two of my favourite cooks in a community hall on the Westernmost Tip of the Western Fjords for wonderful friends, new and old, all aligned with impacting the health of our planet in a major and urgent way.
Everything was foraged, fished and finished within a few miles of the hall it was served in, most of it by hand and on the same day we prepared it.
And then one day, in the middle of no where, I ran out of gas. Because I was supposed to.
Frankly, Iceland had me stunned to distraction. Slipping mid-conversation, wandering away, staring. For context, the urgency of the work and company were riveting; the whole experience a bunch of my "why's" compounding to drive action at the same time.
But, the light!
One more thing.
Fuck. I love people.