iceland day 8 and a half

Well, I’ve been awake for around 2 days, so I can’t say I’ll be able to remember it much, but here goes. After another excellent dinner at Orange, I headed out on the town once more. Nina, the super-adorable waitress from Orange, invited me to meet her at Cafe Paris, giving me her “new” phone number to get a hold of her later. Women in this country are good at lying!

See, earlier in my trip, when I was tracking down the owner of a camera and set of keys that I accidentally took from one of the bars here, I discovered this incredible utility that lets you find down anyone in the country simply by entering their name, phone number or address. It’s like the white pages on steroids, and while it seems like a complete civil liberties violation, it proved very useful in determining that Nina was full of shit.

All was not lost, however; on my way back to base camp, I heard the siren song of Nordic death metal crunchiness emanating from the place with the cheapest ($5 pints) beer in town, Belly’s. I’m pretty sure this is where the alcoholics go because in addition to the prices, the chalkboard with beer specials lists the alcohol content of the various beers. Good times.

So the name of the band was Noise, and they rocked incredibly hard. They weren’t death metal, either, more like a more depressing Guns N’ Roses, but their singer can WAIL. Their myspace page doesn’t really do the band justice–they sounded awesome. Apparently, they’ve achieved some measure of success back home, so I don’t quite understand what they were doing playing for crowd of 20 people at some random bar, but they have plans to come to America, and when they do, I’m going to be there for sure. And you should too. Their drummer had a gong set up, Def Leppard style!

So the next day, I crammed down one last free continental breakfast before going to tourist trap Blue Lagoon, an outdoor geothermal pool filled with milky blue saltwater. It was cool and all but it’s really the kind of place you bring your wife, especially if you’re German. Still, it was a nice, relaxing way to wrap things up–and my skin feels so silky-smooth now!

At the airport, I got my sales tax refund–about $60, and saw some cool fish lamps hanging in the food court. Yes, the lampshades are made from tanned fish skins. On the flight back to Boston, we passed over Greenland, affording some amazing views of the ice caps there. I thought the Icelandic glacier was epic, but this was something else. Combine that with a chicken cutlet and curry risotto for dinner, and you have the makings of a pleasant flight home. Icelandair wins. Coming back to California proved to be another story altogether…

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Maybe the best restaurant in the world

Orange, on the edge of Reykjavik harbor, is maybe the best restaurant in the world. Okay, the food at Per Se is better, but do they have alcoholic slurpees? No.

So I was wondering where to have dinner tonight, knowing that today was my last chance to eat the famous Icelandic lamb. I walked past several restaurants before I said “fuckit, I’m going back to Orange.” and while the second time lacked the personal service that comes from being the only one in the place, it was no less tasty or fun.

Basically I got a lot of the same gimmicks, but with different flavors. I also got Nina, the cutest waitress in the whole wide world. Here’s what she brought me:

Amuse: duck confit in a pickle jar.
Second amuse: roasted langoustine with confit tomato floating on a helium balloon.
1st course: Smoked artic char, apples, celeriac
2nd: wild deer soup, foie gras, mushrooms
3rd: monkfish, chorizo, olives, potato purée
4th: lamb, celeriac gratin, natural jus, sauce bearnaise
Dessert: brownie, skyr mousse, sorrel ice, liquid nitrogen ice cream

To prove that I’m internationally adept at crashing parties of large groups of women, a super-gaggle of Icelandic cougars bought me a green apple alcoholic slurpee. I also had a Dracula cocktail, made with blooberri, razzberi and red chile. Mmm and only 20 dollars! And when the kitchen was about to go down like a sack of shit, they stopped everything and the whole restaurant played Bingo for 5 minutes. Umm. Yeah. Let’s rock.

There are a lot of places that do this kind of gimmicky shit, but none can match the quality of food. Orange is clearly deserving of a spot on the top tier of restaurants worldwide.

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glaciers are the coolest

I said *ice* spelunker. ICE.

Walking through a glacial ice cave was probably my number one goal of coming here (number two hasn’t been accomplished, but I have one more Friday night left), so my trip to the Solheimsjokull glacier didn’t disappoint. Words and pictures can’t really describe how majestic and awesome it is to stand on the precipice of a deadly crevasse or drink ice-cold glacial meltwater straight from the source, but here’s some pictures anyway. The weather was absolutely perfect (at one point I was walking around in a t-shirt) you could see the ocean from the glacier, our mountain guide was a burly Viking dude, and we were in a small group of 6 so it didn’t feel touristy at all. I even convinced the group to climb out of the ice cave the hard way, Gollum/ninja-style! Even if the rest of my time here had sucked, the glacier walk pretty much would have made the trip worth it. Everyone should do it sometime, whther here or in Alaska or wherever. Get ‘em before Dick Cheney makes them all melt into the oceans!

After the glacier we made a couple quick stops at two more waterfalls, which in my opinion were more impressive than Gullfoss, the main touristy waterfall. This was probably because you could see them from the ground, from the top, from behind…wow, I sound like Amber Waves talking about Dirk Diggler here. When combined with the football match and the dinner I had at Vox, this was definitely the best day of the trip. Where else can you walk through an ice cave and behind a waterfall, attend a World Cup qualifying match and eat a world-class meal within 6 hours?

Tags: iceland, naaaature
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why iceland sucks at football

So, Wednesday night I attended the Island v. Skotland World Cup qualifier match. It. was. awesome. In addition to thousands of kilt-wearing Scotsmen (and approximately 2 skirt-wearing Scotswomen) patrolling the streets of Reykjavik, you had kids wearing Viking helmets in the Icelandic color palette and other displays of national pride. In US and A, wearing anything with an American flag on it makes you retarded, or Texan, but here the nationalism is quite charming.

Icelanders, you'd have more goal-scoring celebrations like this if you had better fight songs!

So, Iceland lost, 2-1, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. They had many more scoring chances, they had better kits, they had the home crowd. Why, then, apart from taking a stupid penalty and giving the Scots a free kick, did they lose?

In the eyes of this impartial observer, the answer is simple: Scotland had MUCH better chants. The main one seemed to be a version of “Let’s Go,” you know, clap, clap, clap-clap-clap, clap-clap-clap-clap, SCOTLAND! They also had a tight-knit version of “Hey Baby,” and some other melodic chants that sounded very well-rehearsed. They brought bagpipers, they were loud, they made the difference.

Iceland, meanwhile, has two lousy crowd anthems: “Island, clap-clap-clap,” and “Afram Island (Go Iceland), clap-clap, clap-clap, clap.”  What the fuck? If I were in charge of the Icelandic Sports Federation, my first duty would be to commission some new fight songs using a percentage of the 38% income tax and 24% sales tax everyone pays here. Icelanders, you deserve better results from your exorbitant tax rates! And another thing, if there’s any country in the world that needs its own national cheerleading team, it’s this one. Other countries would scarcely be able to focus in the face of gyrating, leggy, ridiculous-hot blonde girls! Get it together, Iceland.

After the match, which clocked in at a tidy 2 hours, I walked a couple blocks to Vox, home of lox that rocks your socks. Actually, I can’t speculate as to the quality of their smoked salmon, but the tasting menu I had was pretty good. They emphasize traditionl Nordic flavors and ingredients, but with soigne technique applied. It turned out pretty well, though it wasn’t as good or as fun as Orange. The Duckling was amazing though, paired with a Hautes Cotes de Nuits Pinot Noir. mmm.

Tags: food, iceland, soccer
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Reykjavik day 7 – lunch

It’s a beautiful day today, 60 degrees and sunny, so today I’ll be walking around randomly some more. My first stop is the Seafood Cellar, a restaurant that comes highly recommended by my flight attendant on Icelandair. There’s a bit of a problem, though: what am I supposed to do with bread, oil and chopped nuts??? I settled on dipping the bread in the oil, then the nuts–whither bread with nuts baked into it? The bread is straight bush league compared to the other bread I’ve eaten here. I’m pretty sure they buy it frozen, par-baked, and bake it here.

First course is cured hamachi with cream cheese and some sort of jelly. Ummm. I like the idea of cured hamachi, and the cream cheese and jelly go great with the bread. At least the plate was cool.

Next up is tuna with pumpkin and sesame seeds, and my hopes are low. I should mention the techno-accordion music that’s pounding away.

But wait, the tuna saves the day! With a spring roll of eel and langoustines (of course), enoki mushroom and miso sauce, it’s effing delicious. A bit over-garnished (raw bok choy???), the fish gets a little lost, but all the flavors are there. Good. And filling.

Dessert is called savarin “I’m a donut,” which I hope is a reference to Eddie Izzard’s take on John Kennedy’s line, “Ich bin ein Berliner,” wherein he meant to say “I’m a citizen of Berlin” but actually said, right, “I’m a donut.”

And…the plate is covered with Pop Rocks!

Okay, sjávarkjallarinn, you win. This was a comeback of 2004 ALCS proportions, as you’ve keep my good food streak alive at 7 days.

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iceland night 6 – liquid nitrogen ice cream

So after buying my new shoes and making my bus loop-de-loop, I arrived at Orange Restaurant, and my meal was as good as any I’ve had anywhere but Per Se. I was the only one in the restaurant–for the second night in a row–so I received extra special attention and a very memorable meal.

Orange’s motto is mixing fun with fine dining, which seems hackneyed unless you just say “Fuckit.” So when they floated out a deep-fried, peanut-encrusted shrimp attached to a helium balloon, I just went with it. The shrimp was very good–all the shellfish here is somehow velvety in texture–and came alongside a pickle jar filled with artic char, wasabi tobiko, potatoes and lime foam. Good. I should mention that, due to my ordeal in getting to Orange, I ordered the wine flight with dinner. This will explain the photography. Also, I should mention that the name of the tasting menu here is “Let’s Go Crazy.”

So speaking of wine, the first drink to arrive was the Tony Montana cocktail, a champagne glass filled wigth some champagne, a shot of vodka, a dissolving sugarcube and some red stuff, and dusted with powdered sugar, so that when you tilt your glass back, you get Chris Farley Nose. (Aww. Too soon?)

Every restaurant here seems to feature Icelandic langoustines–and with good reason, because they’re freaking delicious. At Orange they came with a sunchoke puree and a frothy pumpkin soup, served out of a Tetrapak container of milk. Perfect. Next was a tuna carpaccio with seared foie gras and porcini, then salt cod stuffed with more lobster and pickled asparagus. The meat course was local beef filet with heart attack potato galette and wild mushrooms–unexpectedly classic, but very good, and excellent with an Argentinian Malbec. Then it was time for dessert, a suite of passionfruit custards and foams and ice cream, which the waiter made tableside using a bowl of liquid nitrogen.

Now, I’ve been sceptical about the whole liquid nitrogen ice cream thing for a long time. It seems far to gimmicky to be true. But the reality is that it yields something totally unique–popcorn-like chunks of crispy, melty frozen goodness that tastes an awful like Dippin’ Dots (the ice cream of the future–today!) but better. Another interesting fact: You can stick you hand in liquid nitrogen; your hand won’t instantly freeze and shatter like in a Wesley Snipes movie.

So after dessert and 6 or 7 glasses of wine, I’m absolutely wasted. But I haven’t sampled the alcoholic Slurpees! That’s right, they feature a rotating menu of alcoholic slushies in such flavors as bloo razzberi (my spelling) and green apple. And the cocktail menu has the following quote:

“Here’s to alcohol, the cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems.”

Score!

Then it was a shot of Brennivin, this odd cumin-flavored schnapps that Dave Grohl apparently loves, before I stumbled back to the hotel and passed out. Good times!

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geyser so-so

I haven't seen a spray like this since I was a fluffer for Peter North.

After Gullfoss, the bus pulled up to the Geysir hot springs area, home of the original geyser, Geysir, which was pretty gay, sir. Actually, it was quite good, I just wanted to see how far I could take the joke. Geysir doesn’t erupt very frequently–like every 100 years–but there were many other interesting hot springs, including Strokkur, which erupts like every 5 minutes. Continuing the LOTR landscape, Geysir is a bit like Emyn Muil, although it’s Mordor-ish too; the very air you breathe is a poisonous fume owing to the high sulfur content of the hot springs.

Some of the springs are filled with boiling mud, which sounds like a pack of wild hungry dogs. Then there’s other mud, which appears solid until you fall in it. There were these mysterious signs featuring a pair of shoes inside a “No Smoking” circle, which I took to be Icelandic for “Explore this area, you stupid American jackass.” The Muddy Shoe Incident of 2008 would set in motion a chain of events heretofore unexperienced by humans, about which much is written in the Saga of Stefan Davidsson.

The landscape around Geysir was really amazing–hills covered in moss and delicious wild blueberries, giant porcini mushrooms that I would have taken with me if I had any way to cook them, views for miles and miles. And there was a remarkable sense of impromptu community amongst the people waiting for Strokkur to erupt; you could sense the anticipation as it bubbled up, and when it finally blew, everyone went nuts. It doesn’t matter how many times you see a geyser blow up, it’s still cool.

Tags: iceland, naaaature
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The saga of stefan davidsson

It’s 6:30 pm. Everything closes at “18.” I need some shoes to go glacier walking in–actually, to walk in, period–and I have dinner reservations at 8:30. It’s pouring rain. I take a $25, maybe more, cab ride to Smáralind, the only shopping center still open, and buy the most expensively wretched/wretchedly expensive shoes you can imagine. At this point, having no idea where I am, I start walking to where a bus *might* be, and I get it halfway right, so I ask a gas station attendant which bus to take. She’s useless. A customer walks in. I ask him; his reply is “I haven’t taken a bus in ten years.” Damn this most socialized, 10th-richest country–its inhabitants are too gentrified to use public transportation!

At a nearby police station, I stop short or asking them to arrest me, given that they’d hold me on the premises unless I, like, murdered someone, and manage to get the right bus number. The police were friendly and sympathetic, and had cooler uniforms than American cops.

At the bus transfer terminal, I get on a second bus. Any bus will do. The driver says “I go to Reykjavik harbor, but I’m going the long way.”

“Eh,” I say.

The sights and street names along the bus route are completely unfamiliar. At least I’m getting my money’s worth–the bus here is about $3.50. I’ve got ample time to dry out before my dinner at Orange, which appears to be Iceland’s version of the Fat Duck or Moto or Alinea, with liquid nitrogen ice cream made tableside.

Oh, wait, I don’t have ample time, I have 9 minutes, as I’ve just spent the last 20 riding around in a fucking circle!!! Scenery started to get familiar as I realized “Oh right, the looong way!”

So we get going towards Reykjavik (maybe) and the cast of characters increases. One woman gets on apparently full of righteous indignation that she even has to be on a bus. I didn’t think DUI was illegal here. A guy a little younger than me sits down and starts picking his teeth–I’m 64 percent sure the instrument he’s using is made from a tourist’s rib.

And…I recognize a street name! Hell yeah! Borgartún, Icelandic for “stupid American,” I never thought I’d be so happy to see you. It’s not long before we pass DeVito’s Pizza, where I ate 3 nights ago, before the dark times. Now it’s on to Hverfisgata, where my hotel is…I can practically taste the liquid nitrogen. Wait. No, that’s the hair frozen to my forehead. Eh. I’m only 15 minutes late and I’ve just killed the last hour writing this with my thumbs. What a beautiful country.

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iceland day 6: gullfoss

Exploring the countryside has yielded a lot of pictures, so I’m breaking each event into separate posts.

The first stop was Gullfoss, Icelandic for “Golden Falls,” which is the largest waterfall in the country. These pictures just can’t do the landscape here justice. Everything is so big and majestic and almost scary. It’s also really cool to think that it’s virtually unchanged from 1000 years ago. This country could easily have been the setting for the LOTR movies. As such, I did my share of Golluming around the waterfall, getting pretty much soaking wet and eating wild blueberries off of moss-covered cliffs. And I’m still alive!

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Mini-update, day 5

Here on the tour bus to Gullfoss are two drastically different approaches to dealing with baldness:

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