The baker's wife was fully competent to superintend the cooking according to the Danish and Icelandic schools of the art; but unfortunately these modes of cookery differ widely from ours.

One thing only was good, the morning cup of coffee with cream, with which the most accomplished gourmand could have found no fault: since my departure from Iceland I have not found such coffee.

I could have wished for some of my dear Viennese friends to breakfast with me.

The cream was so thick, that I at first thought my hostess had misunderstood me, and brought me curds.

The butter made from the milk of Icelandic cows and ewes did not look very inviting, and was as white as lard, but the taste was good.