Gastronomy Report Part 2. Iceland

Eating our way around Iceland.

Charles O: 23/06/2026

Ég er blanker !

In my first missive I opened with the Irish greeting Beannachtaí na hÉireann – Blessings of Ireland. And whilst there are many culinary blessings to be had here also, “I’m skint!” – as translated from Icelandic to English – is probably the crew’s abiding feeling on leaving these rugged, snow-capped shores.

Norway, move over. London restaurant prices? Chicken feed, if you excuse the pun. And I thought cod was the food of the masses.

Anyway, moaning over. The grub up here is pretty good. For the squeamish among you, I will record some of the dishes on local menus without admitting that any of the crew necessarily partook of them.

Puffin breast, apparently a gamier version duck, almost liver-like in its density and flavour with no hint of sand eel flavour which is, of course, a puffin’s favourite food. Smoked, we were told, it makes a delicious hors d’oeuvre, particularly when accompanied with wasabi. Grimsey Island, off the north coast of Iceland and just inside the Arctic Circle, is the place to go for puffin watching and Other Puffin Related Activities. And speaking of wasabi and things Japanese I spied a happy diner in down-town Reykjavik enjoying some (Fin) whale sashimi. Craning my neck, the meat looked dense and dark brown - and very delicious.

What else? The Faroese do a good line in air dried mutton- preferable I suspect to the fermented version which none of us dared try but is a local delicacy with hundreds of different family recipes; hard to believe really.

In Iceland we ate excellent locally reared lamb cutlets, notably at the Café Dunhagi in Patricksfjord in the Western Fjords, languorously atop a bed of buttery mash bathed in a delicious chimichurri. Our charming hostess used to live in Brighton and longs to settle there, which is odd.

And on to Cod. Lots of it and invariably lightly salted which creates a firm and rich texture as a loin and holds together well in a fish soup. We also catch them off the side of Belle Colombe. First blood to me but the skipper’s competitive spirit quickly took him to the top of the leader board. Filleted as soon as we land them, Mark whisks them below and they emerge shortly afterwards in a steaming bowl of reviving cod and bean stew.

Some words about the grog. Get a loan. We confine our wine drinking to depleting the ship’s stores and doing things we would airily condemn in the younger generation – like pre-loading. It’s not that the Carte de Vin is generally bad, it’s just that even the most ordinary plonk will set you back £100 and the better stuff is literally in the £000’s. It looks like we will be enjoying boxed wine from Vinbudin, the Icelandic state alcohol monopoly. Unless, of course, our re-supply from the excellent A&B Vintners in the UK, arrives before our departure for Greenland!

But the final word on Icelandic cuisine comes courtesy of my youngest son Trumble and his boss. In early June I received a mysterious text from Trumble telling me to go to the (only) hot dog stand in the north Icelandic town of Akureyri. On proving my bone fides, I would receive a gift left by his boss some weeks before. After a careful reconnoitre to ensure this wasn’t a stake-out, I collected a package which contained a bottle of Brennivin (the local aquavit) and a small tub of Hakarl. Brennivin is nick-named “Black Death” which really should apply to Hakarl which is fermented and air-dried Greenland shark meat. The Hakari lurked in the fridge until released on mid summer’s night – one piece of shark, one shot of Brennivin. Yellowish, slightly squidgy and moist (I know, terrible word) in texture, a generous tasting note would be ammonia followed by a whack of very mature parmesan. It’s taken us days to get the smell out of the doghouse!

Onwards to Greenland, where I will probably hand over to Mark who will tell you all about our provisioning for that leg of the voyage.

Áfram!