Reykjavík Grapevine - ágú. 2019, Blaðsíða 20

The Reykjavík Grapevine
Best of Reykjavík 2019
20
DINING
The Only Cod
War That
Matters
Three downtown fish ‘n’ chips joints,
rated for your pleasure
Words: John Rogers Photo: Art Bicnick
Ah, fish ‘n’ chips, the food of
kings. Greyjoy ones, anyway.
They’re best eaten piping hot in
the open air, doused in salt and
vinegar, and preferably within
spitting distance of the sea.
It seems like a dish that Reyk-
javík should excel in. Potatoes,
fish and sea? Triple check. Love
of all things deep fried? Check
again, bold and underlined.
But, much like a perfect pizza
Margherita, spaghetti carbonara
or Hungarian goulash, Britain’s
famous gift to the culinary world
is simple to make, and difficult to
perfect. We went to a few Reyk-
javík chippies to see how they fare
in the only cod war that matters.
Fear the walking
vinegar
Google’s top hit is Icelandic Fish
& Chips at Tryggvagata 11. It has a
rolling menu of different types of
fish—a promising start, suggest-
ing they have a connection to the
Icelandic supply chain. I opt for
the tusk, which—somewhat sac-
rilegiously—comes with wedges
instead of chips. What the heck,
Icelandic Fish & Chips? “Chips”
is in the name of the restaurant!
You had TWO JOBS.
A factor that partially rights
this affront is the sight of malt
vinegar on the tables. It comes in
a small glass bottle with a pipette,
which succinctly describes the
Icelandic attitude towards this
much-maligned condiment. It’s
stored like some kind of toxic,
dangerous chemical. All that’s
missing is a biohazard symbol.
The fish comes quickly, in a
generous portion of four fillets
about the right size to be con-
sidered finger food. The batter
is light, crisp and slightly salted,
like a tempura hybrid. The tusk is
flakey, juicy, and very enjoyable.
The wedges, however, are weird.
Deep-fried at high heat, they’re
charred and oily. Our tip is to skip
the chips, and buy a pint with the
change. Icelandic Fish & Beer—a
concept we can get firmly behind.
Weaponized
condiment
Next up is Reykjavík Fish at
Geirsgata 4a. Here, the vin-
egar-phobia manifests in a
spritzer with a tight lid; kind of
a mace-like weaponized spray
version. The only fish on offer,
outside of their wider non-fish-
‘n’-chips menu, is cod. Which
is fine. We can respect picking
a lane.
It comes as two big chunks
in a thin batter, much like you’d
find in an everyday British chip-
py. It even disintegrates in your
hands in such an authentic way
that I’m temporarily transport-
ed to Portsmouth harbour.
The chips? I’m shocked as
they’re revealed beneath the
brown paper. They’re not chips
at all, but skinny, crunchy, card-
board-y french fries. Not cool at
all, and a red card offence.
Vinegar for days
The third and final stop of the
day is the red Fish And Chips
Wagon, located on the har-
bourside street of Hlésgata.
There’s a big queue and plen-
ty of people happily munching
down their dinner on some
nearby benches. It looks right
and smells right. The condi-
ment shelf comes with big, glo-
rious vinegar bottles to proper-
ly douse the meal.
This must be the one, I
think, opening the box to
be serenaded by the perfect
fried fish aroma. The chunky,
fluffy chips are a sight for sore
eyes. I reach for the battered,
mouth-wateringly crispy fish...
and find that it’s a perfect min-
iaturised portion, around half
the size of the other places.
So very close, and yet so far.
If they upped the size of their of-
fering, this would be the place.
As it stands? It's time for either
a double-dinner, or a pilgrim-
age to Portsmouth Harbour.
“The chunky, fluffy chips
are a sight for sore eyes.”
Tryggvagata 22, Reykjavík 101 Opening hours: 16:00-21:00 Closed on Mondays
Cruelty Free Comfort Food, 100% Vegan, Restaurant & Take Away
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