This post started out as a simple tuna salad recipe but evolved into musings about the food I miss so much from Iceland. We’ve been gone from there now for 6 years and one of the things I miss so much is the food. Partly because it’s so good (don’t believe Gordan Ramsay or Anthony Bourdain), and partly because the food brings back the warm and welcoming memories of B’s mom’s and grandmother’s kitchens. It took me over 3 hours to post this and kept me up until 2am; this is probably my longest post ever and in order to read it, you’ll need to call your doctor for a prescription of Lipitor.

Butter: I was going to put this somewhere in the middle of this entry but realized you’ll need to know right now about butter in Iceland. Watch out Wisconsin, Iceland is moving in for the kill when it comes to dairy. The butter there is so perfectly perfect, and so is just about every other dairy product I can think of. Except maybe that G-Mjölk, the stuff that sits on the shelf until the Second Coming at which time Jesus will be able to pour himself a nice glass of room temperature milk and contemplate maybe a Third Coming just so he can try the butter next time.

Lamb: Pay attention now: If you can ever find a grocery store that sells real Icelandic lamb, do yourself a favor and take out a second mortgage and buy the store out. I’d never been a big fan of lamb, not that I’d eaten much of it before living there because my dad had lambophobia, and ever since I’ve left I’ve never met a lamb I liked anywhere near as much as the ones I met on my dinner plate in Iceland. Lamb soup? Smoked lamb? Lamb marinated in wine and herbs? Mary, bring me my dinner please. And while you’re at it, make me a sweater.

Tuna salad: This is where this post originally began. The tuna salad in Iceland is different. Better. Better than any tuna salad I’d ever had in my life. Ever since learning how to make it right a few weeks ago, my kids now actually like me. Although my very tactful son still won’t give in to my repeated bribes to say “Your tuna salad is as good as Amma’s.”

Dried fish: My sweet grandmother-in-law sent an entire grocery bag full of harðfiskur to us from Iceland when B’s mom and dad came to visit recently. It’s a funny little treat, because one would think that dried fish (haddock) would be pretty, well, gross, but in reality it’s a salty, chewy treat that has so far been unequivocally loved by every child that we’ve given it to. Even the kids that don’t like fish. Now, the smell of it is, to the untrained adult nose, admittedly not the most pleasant aroma, and some may advise not eating a large piece of it before transporting heavily pregnant women in tiny, hot cars, but I’ll just say that it’s one of my favorite treats from Iceland. And my cat’s, too. I know this because he told me right after I found him at 6am on the kitchen floor with the grocery bag that he pulled out of the cabinet over the microwave, opened, pulled out one of the sealed bags inside, opened that, and pulled out a piece of fish to eat. He’s currently on probation and has a restraining order out against B who attempted felinicide.

Icelandic chocolate: Especially the little Gullmolar golden-wrapped delights. I surprised myself when I declared the rum-filled ones to be the best. The chocolate from Iceland is different from all the other chocolate I’ve ever had, and while it probably isn’t the absolute best chocolate on earth, it is definitely one of my favorite treats.

Icelandic pancakes with rhubarb jam: One of the best investments we made before leaving Iceland was a pönnukokur pan. At about $80, it wasn’t cheap but it is the most used piece of equipment in my kitchen. I’m not allowed to go to potlucks or barbeques without a foot-high stack of the paper-thin crepe-like pancakes. They’re often accompanied by B’s rhubarb jam, which is no more than chopped rhubarb cooked down with a whole lotta sugar. A smear of that, a puff of whipped cream, and everyone is happy.

Fresh-caught arctic char: When I was pregnant with Anja, B occasionally got the opportunity to go on an overnight fishing expedition to Þingvellir where he would catch arctic char in the crystal clear, ice-cold water, and then he would come home, clean them up, and pan fry them for me with some potatoes and a generous amount of melted butter over the entire plate. I would like to go on the record at this time to blame Iceland as the cause of my high cholesterol. I’m still surprised I made it out of there with my arteries intact.

Skyr: Everyone who lives near a Whole Foods, I am ordering you right now to minimize your browser, get in your car, and drive there. Fork over the obscene amount of money to buy yourself a little container of Skyr (OK, $2.79 isn’t obscene but for the size and compared to the price of that much yogurt it is!). Come home, add a little milk to thin it out to a yogurt-like consistency, and perhaps a bit of sugar to sweeten it up a little bit, and then you can leave me a comment elaborating your deep, amaranthine love for me for sharing this little secret with you. Skyr is sky-high in protein, with almost no fat, and just may be the world’s most perfect food. It helps that it tastes like a cross between yogurt and strained sour cream, and really, can you go wrong when sour cream is involved?

Graflax and graflaxsosa: I can’t tell you how excited I was the first time I visited Ikea in the U.S. They sell cured salmon and a lovely mustard-dill sauce for it that is nearly identical to what I ate in Iceland that I loved so much.

Caramel potatoes: “Caramel? With potatoes? But Karyn, that’s just gross!” Au contraire, my friends: The most perfect side dish ever to lamb, and more on that later, is small white potatoes glazed with a generous amount of simple caramel - browned sugar and butter. While the goal is to have a perfectly smooth glaze to coat the potatoes, I secretly hope it turns out lumpy whenever B makes it because the little chunks that sneak through are one of my favorite parts of dinner. Sugar during the main course? So daring! So delicious! So stop whining about caramel and potatoes not going together already!

Fish balls: Sorry, no testicles here. In fact, while I’m at it, you’ll notice that any mention of the “traditional” foods that you may have heard of are not on this list. No rotten shark here, no jellied sheep’s head either. But fish balls, so simply made with white fish, onion, egg, flour and milk, and then shaped and pan fried (in what else? Lots and lots of BUTTER!), are definitely a comfort food…I’d make them if only I could find some fish worthy of actually eating here.

Rugbrauð: A different kind of bread. Dense, wet-ish, and dark, it’s best topped with guess, guess what it’s best topped with because I bet you’d never guess I’m about to say butter. The general rule of thumb in our house was that you had to put a layer of butter on the bread that was at least as thick as the slice of bread itself. Really.

Hangikjöt, flatbread, and hangikjöt sandwiches from the supermarket: Hangikjöt is smoked lamb that’s usually only eaten during the holidays, except that the grocery stores sell pre-made sandwiches and one of them contains hangikjöt with remoulade, peas, and fried onions. The fried onions really deserve their own description, but I’ll just say that if you live anywhere close to an Ikea, they sell them there and you must buy a small bag of them and then put them on anything else you ever make in your life. The flatbread is unlike anything I’ve had before, a thin, flat bread that I haven’t quite figured out how to describe; you spread on a layer of butter and then top with some thinly sliced cold hangikjöt and then call your doctor for a refill on your cholesterol medication.

Puffin: I’m mean. But it’s good. It’s really good. And I still feel like shit whenever I see a cute little puffin and can’t stop thinking about grilling it for dinner.

And last of all, I’d like to talk about 4 restaurants that anyone who ever visits Iceland should go to:

B and I met at Bæjarins Bestu on a cold and typically blustery winter night. I never actually got to eat a hot dog until weeks? months? later, but let me just say, they really are the best in the city. The steamy buns, the perfect smoked lamb dogs, the wonderful brown mustard, definitely un-Heinz ketchup, remolaði, and the crispy fried onions make Bæjarins Bestu one of my favorite places in Reykjavik.

Perlan - the Pearl - is overpriced. But the food was great, and the view is unforgettable. The restaurant is a huge glass dome that sits atop five hot water storage tanks and slowly revolves, giving you views of downtown Reykjavik, the ocean, and the Moon-like stretch of the Reykjanes peninsula. In the winter, if you’re lucky enough to have a clear night, the northern lights dance above your head.

Fjöruborðið: The menu is tiny but really, who needs more than the lobster bisque? This tiny restaurant is where I ate for my 30th birthday dinner and was so good that my mouth still waters whenever I think about it. I posted about our dinner here and posted pictures of my dinner here, here, and here, and I just hope that the next time we go visit Iceland we can make it back out to Stokkseyri so I can have another unforgettably delicious dinner.

Hlölla Bátur: One of my biggest regrets was not discovering this sandwich shop until just before we moved away. I think the first time I went there was the day Anja took her first steps. She needed a Sýslumannsbátur, STAT! At “only” about $15 for a sandwich and a Coke, it’s a near bargain for downtown Reykjavik. The sandwiches are hot and juicy and fresh and are perfect food to sustain yourself while you stumble around in the cold looking for a cab to take you home from the bar.

I’m tired from all of this reminiscing. I think I’ll go eat a stick of butter now.

Thanks to Andy for sending this uplifting bit of news from Iceland:

Gas prices hit a record high in Iceland. The price for one liter of gas increased by ISK 2 last week, but by ISK 6-7 two days ago.

The price for one liter of gas is now ISK 170.4 (USD $8.44 per gallon, EUR 1.43 per liter) and ISK 186.8 for diesel (USD $9.25 per gallon, EUR 1.57).

My favorite places, my favorite pictures, from Iceland.

Click to see bigger pictures - and I’m being shameless here - if you like them, leave comments on their pages. Help me get into Explore!

The restaurant we went to for dinner on my birthday:

On a glacier:

Anja’s gift to me one morning:

Just a pretty place:

The Glacial Lagoon:

Amma preparing dinner:

A dead whale - but a cool picture nonetheless:

And…the waterfalls. Oh, the waterfalls.

Gullfoss (Gold Falls)

Skogarfoss (Skogar Falls)

Svartifoss (Black Falls)

I could stay here forever.

The day before yesterday was full of adventure - and I mean adventure.  We went to a waterfall where we hiked around the back of it.  We went to Jókulsalón where we took a boat ride through a lagoon littered with massive icebergs while seals fished around us.  We hiked up the side of a mountain and down onto a glacier where we walked on millions of years-old ice.  We hiked a few miles up to one of the most beautiful places I´ve been, water cascading from perfect columns of hexagon-shaped basalt.  We drove through black sand deltas, through fields of thick, moss covered lava, next to glaciers spilling onto the grass, through fields dotted with rolls of hay that looked just like giant marshmallows, along mountains whose peaks were in the clouds, next to rocky islands jutting out of the water, below dramatic skies of surreal clouds, through sandstorms and windstorms and rainstorms.  It was 15 hours of unbelievable fun, one adventure after another, truly enjoying being together as a family. 

Alas, the pictures won´t be along until next weekend, after I get back.  I don´t want to go back.  Who would when you could be in a place like this?

There are still so many things I want to do, and not enough time to do them all.  We´ve had such a nice balance of adventure and sightseeing mixed with complete peace and quiet.  I just love it here.

We spent several days in Stokkseyri at the new (ca. 1901) house.  We went up there on my birthday and stayed until last night and just relaxed and hung out.  For my birthday, we went to a fantastic restaurant on the seashore and had an absolutely amazing dinner that still makes my mouth water just thinking about it: beef carpaccio with fresh mozzarella and tomatoes and delicate greens, the most fantastically simple yet most delicious lobster bisque, and basket after basket of freshly baked bread with wonderful sauces - olive tapenade, a sweet garlic sauce, and my favorite with the soup, tarragon yoghurt sauce.  The restaurant was serene: quiet, with simple, beautiful paintings on the wall from local artists, a really great chardonnay served in handmade clay decanters, and of course it´s right on the shore.

We went back to the house afterwards, a little tipsy from the wine and fat and happy from the dinner.  We put the kids to bed and relaxed for a while, and then just before midnight, B and I took a walk and took midnight pictures in the area - summer solstice. 

The next few days were spent playing Sequence, the kids running free, visiting the beached (dead and smelly) sperm whale, doing touristy stuff that I´ll post photos of later, and mostly just enjoying the solitude afforded by a house with no television, no radio, no internet or even a computer.  On Saturday night, we went to visit one of B´s friends that lives out in the middle of pretty much nowhere, with a view of Mt. Hekla (a volcano) and Vatnajökull in the distance and rode horses at midnight. 

I promise to post lots of pictures when we get back to Spain, but for now I have just a couple from our horseback riding adventure.

This horse was my buddy - everywhere I went, there he was. I´d turn around and he´d be right behind me. I´d go to the ground for a picture and he´d be right over me. He´s a younger horse and a total Mamma´s boy - any time she went outside of his eyesight when we were getting them ready to ride, he would get very agitated and start whinnying for her. Such a sweet horse!

I was taking a picture of something completely different and felt his breath in my ear and looked up and there he was - it´s a very impromptu picture but one of my favorite of the set.

Our very first full day back in Iceland, we visited the house in Stokkseyri that we´re buying in on - cute and charming and such a nice place to have a little home - and had grilled lamb and all the yummy fixins.

The next day was quieter and we had caught up on some much-needed rest and by the time we were going to get moving it was already noon.  B asked me what I wanted to do, and I didn´t really want to go far, so we decided to hit the Reykjanes peninsula which is where the other pictures have been so far.

My favorite part of the Reykjanes peninsula is Gunnuhver, which is the very very active geothermal area not too far from where the base was. The base where they had just pumped lots and lots of my taxpayer money just to close it down, nice!

At any rate, part of Gunnuhver was closed off because it is so active that the wooden walkways were too hot to walk on but we walked around the other areas and the kids got as much of a kick out of it as I did. The sights, the sounds, the smells were all very exciting.

Arctic terns are so aggressive - it´s the bird I think B hates the most.  The first time I was introduced to them, he wanted to show me how they are, so he took me out to an open field - I had no idea birds nested in huge open fields, silly me at the time (10 years ago) thought birds only nested in trees - and said, “Watch this.”  I sat in the car and thought it strange that he was taking a glass squeegee with him to the field, but whatever.

He took a few steps out and the birds started swirling overhead and making a strange “clicking” sound.  He reached down to pick up a baby bird and then the terns really started attacking.  Every time they´d start clicking, they´d dive and would go for the highest point - hence the squeegee.  That way the birds would only get so far as the squeegee.

The birds attacked the car, got past the squeegee and left him with a few small puncture wounds, and I understood why he didn´t like terns!  Not that he ever made a habit out of picking up baby birds, but if you even do so much as accidentally wander into a nesting field, they will let loose the furor of the birds from Alfred Hitchcock´s movie “The Birds”.