A wanderlust, I am happiest with my feet firmly planted in someone else’s land.  Dump me off on a cracked tarmac, slap a stamp in my passport, shuffle me through customs and feel my pulse race.  Travel clears my head, opens my eyes and enlivens my life in countless ways.   One of the biggest impacts that roaming the globe has had is in terms of cuisine.  Where once I limited myself to the basic foods of my childhood, I now dabble in delicacies from Asia, Africa, Europe and Latin America.  Anything that I taste and enjoy overseas I later attempt to replicate in my kitchen.    When my husband Sean and I first discussed visiting Iceland in the spring of 2000, I assumed that I would sample such local delicacies as shark, herring and turnips.  I imagined the Icelandic-themed dinner party that I would later host, one featuring the culinary highlights of the country.    Seven years later “Icelandic Night” has yet to take place.   The delay is not due to snobbery, laziness or distate.  Rather it has to do with our limited experiences with the native foods of this highly productive and prosperous country. Our trip began on the western …