Reykjavík Grapevine - 03.12.2010, Síða 35

Reykjavík Grapevine - 03.12.2010, Síða 35
F D For your mind, body and soul classically accessible food and made it something dazzling, without a hint of pretension. My date and I discussed the food. We discussed music. We discussed our respective careers and career aspirations. We discussed our childhoods and our adulthoods and our hopes and dreams and a million other things as we waited to depart the United States. Then we waited some more. Then we started discussing just how long we were waiting and dwelled on this topic for a lengthy amount of time as we waited longer still. Maybe the restaurant was understaffed; it was very busy that night. Maybe the chef forgot about us. Maybe we’re just horribly impatient. No, that can’t be it. When fresh glasses and a Saint Clair from New Zealand were poured we saw an end to our wait was nigh. One sip later and we were simultaneously back in Iceland, and in France and Italy. France offered a large portion of coconut crème brulée with passion fruit jelly and chocolate ganache, which was good (crème brulée) and offensive (passion fruit jelly). Seriously, the passion fruit jelly incited pulling of horrendous faces both from myself and my date, it was so horrendously strong and sour that it added a massive imbalance to the dish and did not at all meld with the dainty coconut f lavour of the crème brulée. Iceland’s hazelnut brownie with skyr ice cream missed the mark and Italy’s tiramisu with chocolate chip ice cream, melon and melon foam led my date to liken it to “my mum’s dodgy trif le”. That’s not a good thing. It was confusing and disjointed and poorly executed. Overall dessert was a letdown, especially after waiting ages for it to arrive. After spending in excess of four hours at our tiny little table my date and I ventured back out into the cold, with nothing left to talk about but how long a night that was. In The White Room Vox. I had heard the name as if it were legend. This mythical place that sends taste buds to heaven and wallets into therapy. To say that I was anxious to discover for myself what all the fuss was about is an understatement; I was downright giddy. Thus, my date and I procured a taxi to the Hilton Nordica Hotel (Suðurlandsbraut 2) at the hour of our reservation and quickly found ourselves ushered toward a miniscule table for two, butted up against a wall at the far end of the pure white space in which we were the only diners. The combination of the stark design, the lack of other patrons and the isolation of our table made us feel rather isolated. We whispered across the tiny table to one another for fear that our voices would carry all the way out to the reception desk with a complete lack of other bodies to absorb the decibels. Our waiter came to take our order. We would have the Seasonal Menu with wines (18.400 ISK, or 9.900 ISK without wines). I love a good surprise, so when the waiter brought out a lopsided set of bowls containing some homemade chips and a skyr-based dip I was thrilled. My date and I happily grazed upon this upscale snack until the amuse bouche arrived—Icelandic shrimp with horseradish granules, apple purée and sugar. This was an interesting bite, with the hottest (f lavour wise) item on the plate being presented in the form of icy shavings. Points for creativity. Next up was a small bite of slow- cooked cod with ceps and cep bullion, a rich little dish and the moistest, most tender cod I have ever sunk my teeth into. This was followed by a selection of breads to nosh on before the first course presented itself. While still devouring the breads we were presented with a langoustine doused in too much dill. The miniature crustacean was further f lavoured by unique f loral notes. The white wine that had tasted quite sour ahead of tasting the langoustine all of a sudden was light and fresh. The reindeer tartar that was served next was the opposite of what I expected. When I last had reindeer I found it too gamey, but this was so dainty and light that it melted in my mouth; doubly so when followed by a sip of the Spanish Mas Petit with which it was served. The sauce aside, the tartar tasted too much of mayonnaise, however, and did nothing for the dish but weigh it down. The waitress poured a glass of Abednego from Australia and I enjoyed its smoky f lavour while a duo of duck was placed before me. The breast was dry. It just was. It was disappointing. But the slow-cooked thigh meat was delightfully tender. The cabbage purée and beets were a nice combination, adding acidity and sweetness, but the chanterelles were unusually salty, almost offensively so. This would be the low point of the night. Pre-dessert presented itself to be a refreshing pallet cleanser of bumbleberry and juniper granité atop herbed skyr with crumbled brown sugar. It was a lovely and sweet segue into the real and simple dessert of skyr with blueberries and crispy oats. The Italian sweet wine with which dessert was served was, indeed, very sweet and didn’t appeal to me, but my date enjoyed his glass to the last drop. Dinner at Vox was enjoyable, that much I expected, but it didn’t blow my socks off to the extent that I was lead to believe. There were nearly as many misses as there were hits, though to be fair, a miss by Vox standards is still a grand slam in nearly any other establishment. But then again, expectations are high when dining at what has become known as one of Reykjavík’s finest dining establishments, so any misstep is a glaring disappointment. CATHARINE FULTON ALÍSA KALYANOVA Vox Suðurlandsbraut 2 What we think: Sufficiently impressive food Flavour: Sophisticated and complex Ambiance: Stark White Service: Professional

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