Reykjavík Grapevine - 29.07.2011, Blaðsíða 18

18
The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 11 — 2011
Food | Icelandic
REMINISCING WITH FUNGI
I recall once, while living in Zurich—
where every Friday morning behind the
Hauptbahnhof, vegetable vendors and
their allies, cheese makers, sauce stir-
rers, picklers and curers, displayed their
wares—falling deeply in love with food.
I remember, we had to prise our-
selves out of bed at the crack of dawn,
well before the beginnings of traffic, and
after a smooth coffee and a freshly-baked
croissant at a little bistro just down the
hill, we’d take tramline number nine all
the way to the open air market.
Here were carts displaying 40 kinds
of wild mushrooms and fungi, Chant-
relles and Porcini, Black Trumpets and
Truffles; homemade wild herb pestos;
chutneys, jams and jellies made with
alpine berries and f lowers; hundreds of
cheeses—from the softest Bries, to the
most pungent Gruyeres; the air-dried
meats, spiced sausages and salamis, doz-
ens of them in all shapes and sizes, all
cured to perfection by mountain breez-
es; and the breads baked with love by
Swiss Farmer’s wives; and vegetables—
almost anything your heart desired.
All this now seems like a distant
memory. And I recall the mouth-water-
ing seafood in the open-air markets of
Barcelona, of Valencia; the pates, confits
and cheeses of Paris and Lyon; the mad-
sprawl of the Tokyo fish market; the
weekend displays of epicurious delights
in every single, little Tuscan village—the
hundreds of shapes of pastas and home-
made raviolis, the Mamas sautéing and
stirring the pots; and in Corfu, the ol-
ives, the olives, always the olives.
Sometimes when I wake up in Reyk-
javík, I wonder what on earth I’m doing
here—virtually olive- and mushroom-
less.
Of course, the development of a
cuisine is a weather-beaten, historical
thingy, and we the survivors of Iceland’s
breezy / rainy summers well know that
these are not exactly conducive to grow-
ing a slew of veg and picklings; but the
fact is, even fifty years on, and even with
geothermally-heated greenhouses, pick-
ings are still slim.
SO WHAT IS AN ICELANDIC POT-A
TO, ExACTLY?
With over fifteen years eating in Icelan-
dic homes, I can firmly attest to the fact
that at least half of the people I’ve met
here have never even considered eat-
ing fresh asparagus, had the pleasure
of fresh vinaigrette-dipped artichoke
straight from the rumple—and baked
potatoes? Where in God’s name are the
baked potatoes?
Granted, supermarkets like Bónus
and Krónan flog potatoes, and they also
sell five-packs of what they term ‘baking
potatoes’ pre-wrapped in silver foil, for
those of us who don’t know how to wrap;
but quite honestly these are not baking
potatoes.
Ask any chef worth his salt, and he’ll
tell you that a real baking potato is the
King Edward or, at a pinch, a Maris Piper
or a Golden Wonder. As stated by Brit-
ish cook and food writer Nigel Slater, “To
get a really f luffy baked potato you need
'f loury', the sort that have white rather
than yellow flesh and crumble when you
cook them.” And the skin should get
crispy when baked in the oven.
Honestly, I have yet to eat a serious
baked potato in Iceland.
POTATO RESEARCH
Ask any member of staff at a local su-
permarket chain if he/she happens to
know when he’ll get some King Edward
potatoes in, and you’ll get a wide-berthed
shrug; and quite frankly the sheer lack of
designation on species of commercially-
sold veg in Icelandic supermarkets has
vexed this quasi-Icelander from day one.
Bearing this in mind, I conducted a
little potato-research at the major ‘bud-
get’ supermarket chains, Bónus and
Krónan, in Reykjavík and here is what I
discovered:
BóNUS
This week the two branches surveyed
were stocking five different ‘types’ of
potato:
1) Large, thin-skinned ones, loosely
called ‘Loose Baking Potatoes’
2) Ones termed ‘Bónus New Foreign
Potatoes’
3) Potatoes in a neutral plastic bag pack
of 2 kgs termed ‘Potatoes’
4) Icelandic grown potatoes called ‘Red
Potatoes’
5) And, of course, the obligatory, foil-
wrapped potato, called ‘Grill Potatoes’
KRóNAN
Krónan scored a little higher than Bónus
on variety (six ‘types’ in all), but were
also entirely unsure as to what potatoes
they were really selling. Here’s the low
down:
1) ‘Small white foreign potatoes’—af-
ter close examination, I found these to
be Maris Piper potatoes (aha, a possible
baking potato) from Mallorca, Spain
2) So-called large ‘Baking Potatoes’
3) The same large, thin-skinned ones
as in Bonus, also termed, ‘Loose Baking
Potatoes’
4) Icelandic grown ‘Red Potatoes’
5) Icelandic grown ‘Goldeneye Pota-
toes’ (perhaps a derivative of the ‘Golden
Wonder?’)
6) ‘Helga’ potatoes from Hornafjörður
Strangely, not a single potato was desig-
nated according to species (at least any
internationally known classification),
and there was not a single King Edward
(baking potato among them). Of course,
we all know that the potato originated in
the New World and saved the Irish na-
tion from starvation at the turn of the
last century, but in actual fact, there
are over 4000 varieties of commercial
potato, from the Adirondack Blue to the
Bamberg to the Fingerling all the way to
the Yukon Gold.
Can anybody out there tell me what
a ‘Red Potato’ or a ‘Loose Baking Potato’
is?
YOU SAY TOM-AYTO I SAY TOM-
AHTO
And then, the tomato—possibly the only
Icelandic grown vegetable (actually real-
ly classified as a fruit—but we won’t pull
hairs here) that always appears to be in
stock. Grown in greenhouses in places
like Flúðir and Hveragerði, there are
pretty much only three (scratch that—
four) ‘types’ of tomato on offer in Bónus
and Krónan:
1) Cherry tomatoes
2) Plum tomatoes
3) So-called ‘Icelandic’ tomatoes
4) And now, available in Bónus for a
limited period, ‘Health tomatoes,’ sup-
posedly grown with more oxygen…(we’ll
get to the bottom of that another time)
The tomato plant, also originally
from the New World, boasts over 7500
cultivated varieties, the most popular of
which are the Heirloom tomatoes—ex-
cept in Iceland. But even here at least
two out of four tomato ‘types’ do meet
with some sort of internationally rec-
ognisable variety—the cherry and the
plum—though true designation is lack-
ing here too. Internationally—among
many others, plum tomatoes are sub-
classified as the San Marzano or Big
Mama—each with its own characteris-
tics. A cherry tomato, too, is not just a
cherry tomato. Sometimes referred to
as tomatinas, varieties vary widely, from
the supposed original cherry tomato cul-
tivated in the Greek Santori Islands to
the cherry tomato popular in the US and
Britain, the ‘Sweet 100.’ And there are
others too.
And there’s a rumour going around
that the so-called ‘Icelandic’ tomato is
possibly its own cross-breed; one avid
gardener told me that in the early days
the seeds got all mixed up, so we’re really
not quite sure what variety an ‘Icelandic’
tomato is. Someone get out their DNA
test already.
So, folks, do any of you know what
exactly you are slicing into your salads?
Do you have a clue what you’re potato-
baking in your ovens?
Honestly speaking, unless you can
afford to splurge on Hagkaup or one of
the newer ‘organic’ places, as a serious
vegetarian, you’d be looking at an ex-
tremely meagre pickings indeed. And
fresh mushrooms? Well, I have heard
tell of Icelanders plucking wild ones in
the countryside, and occasionally you
do come across them in the higher-brow
restaurants, but for your budget con-
sumer it appears there’s only one local
variety—commercially-grown button
mushroom that don’t have an ounce of
f lavour at all—unless you smother them
in ‘Pepper Cheese.’
I know some of you are thinking
what’s the big deal? a potato is a potato,
a tomato a tomato. No, folks. Try a gaz-
pacho in Andalusia or a stuffed tomato
in Umbria and tell me there isn’t a mile
of a difference. I’d have to say, praise the
‘Icelandic’ tomato for being something
the rest of the world doesn’t have a clue
about.
Next time: I gorge on Iceland’s finest
smoked delicacies, and get into a punch-out
with the Icelandic Horticultural Society.
Words
Marc Vincenz
Illustration
Megan Herbert
In Consideration of the Icelandic Vegetable
How Icelanders eat, part three
“Sometimes when I wake up in Reykjavík, I wonder what on
earth I’m doing here—virtually olive- and mushroom-less.”
BOSTON
BAR - SUNNY TERRACE
LAUGAVEGUR (the main street)
SKÓLAVÖRÐUSTÍGUR
HVERFISGATA
HVERFISGATA
BANKASTRÆTI
AUSTURSTRÆTI
IN
GÓ
LF
SS
TÆ
TILÆ
KJA
RG
ATA
KL
AP
PA
RS
TÍG
UR
VA
TN
SS
TÍG
UR
BOSTON BAR
LAUGAVEGUR 28B
TEL: 517 7816
OPENING HOURS:
MONDAY-THURSDAY 16-01
FRIDAY-SATURDAY 16-03
SUNDAY 19-01
DJʼS AND/OR LIVE MUSIC
FROM THURSDAY TO SATURDAY
SMALL KITCHEN:
ENJOY A SNACK OR LIGHT MEAL
ON THE SUNNY TERRACE
OR AT YOUR TABLE
BOSTON
28
ABOVE THE SECOND HAND SHOP
HOW TO DRIVE ON GRAVEL ROADS
Conditions in Iceland are in many ways unusual and often quite unlike what foreign drivers are
accustomed to. It is therefore very important to find out how to drive in this country. In order
to reach your destination safely, you must keep your full attention on driving.
Where paved road suddenly
changes to gravel is a common
place for accidents to occur on
rural roads. The main reason is
that drivers do not reduce
speed before the changeover to gravel, and
consequently lose control.
Slow down and move your car as far to the
right as is safely possible when approaching
another car coming on a gravel road from
the opposite direction.
Blind hills, where lanes are not separate,
should be approached with caution. The
same applies to many blind curves.
Loose gravel on road shoulders has also
caused a great number of accidents.
See further instruction on www.drive.is
GRAVEL ROADS, BLIND HILLS & BLIND CORNERS
This is part three in an ongoing series. Find part one in issue 7
and part two in issue 9.