I & I - 2011, Qupperneq 25

25I&I
We went to a 200-year-old house in Ísafjördur; the Tar
House. Why is it called Tar House? I don’t really know, but
I guess that it was tarred for protection. All the other houses
on the far end of the peninsula are tarred as well, but the other
houses have other names.
It has gained a reputation as the best fish restaurant in Iceland.
Best is a big word, so we were prepared to be disappointed.
When we arrived at 6:30 p.m. we looked inside, but there was
nobody there except for a young waitress. “We are not open
until seven,” she told us. But yes, we could get a glass of beer
or white wine.
We have never seen an ad for this restaurant, so we were not
surprised that we were still the only people around a quarter
of an hour later. The waitress told us that the cook was still out
shopping for fresh fish. When we asked if they had any tables
for eight, she told us that unfortunately they were fully booked,
though we were welcome to sit at the outside table.
But when we explained that we did in fact have a reservation,
but for six people, not eight, she smiled and said that would be
no trouble if we didn’t mind sitting tight. At the same time the
cook rushed in and asked if the pans were ready. It turns out that
his wife had been in the kitchen, preparing the salad. In almost
no time at all we could smell butter on the frying pan.
At precisely seven we stepped into the small restaurant. You
could smell the tar combined with the smell of food. As if some-
one had waved a magic wand, the restaurant filled up in one
minute. I have no idea where all these people came from, but
they obviously did not want to lose their seats by being late.
This night, and every night during summer, they offered the
seafood buffet. Any fresh fish might find its way in, so that no
two dinners are the same. We started out with the soup, filled
with fresh fish and shell fish. Those allergic to shell fish proceed-
ed directly to the Plokkfiskur, a type of fish gratin. After that, the
pans came out one after another: sole, trout, monkfish, mack-
erel. Each with a distinct taste, all good. Pan after pan emptied
and I could hear the cook wondering aloud if they needed to go
out for more.
In little over an hour our only regret was that we could not eat
more. At 8:30 p.m. a second group of people came in. I looked
into the kitchen to thank the cook for a delightful meal and dis-
covered that he was in a state of total confusion—What fish was
on which pan?—and by the speed of things you would imagine
that you were not in a fast food restaurant, but rather a turbo
restaurant. But suddenly he came to his senses and said: “This
needs some more mushrooms, the next one a little garlic,” and
everything was under control.
He was delighted that we enjoyed our meal and hoped we
would come again. And we will.
By Benedikt Jóhannesson.
Food is Fun
Many people are pleasantly surprised when
they come to Iceland and find culinary delights.
P
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