Iceland review - 2013, Blaðsíða 61

ICELAND REVIEW 59
PHoToS By Páll StEfánSSon
I often daydream about coffee. Some mornings I lie in bed
thinking how wonderful it would be if someone brought
me a fresh cup. I imagine the coffee smell in the kitchen
wafting upstairs first thing… and then I wake up.
With its warm, nutty flavor and steaming, liquid deliciousness,
a mug of coffee can get my day going in the right direction.
Research shows multiple benefits to coffee provided you don’t
get high-wired on too much caffeine. There’s the catch: too
much caffeine, too late in the day makes me a nervous wreck.
So my consumption is normally morning coffee, which ought
to be the best I can find.
Iceland is a nation with coffee written into the lifestyle.
Whether in the slashing horizontal rain of Reykjavík, the bril-
liant white snow of Akureyri or the high green cliffs of the
fjords east and west—coffee powers the nation.
As I roamed the streets of the capital on one unusually sunny
winter’s day, I wandered down to the wharf. My friend Iris and
I were here for lunch a few weeks ago, where we munched on
fish skewers at the Sea Baron restaurant. Later we strolled the
wharf ’s green shed-shops with eateries like Café Haiti. Alone,
this morning I walked back.
Coffee at Café Haiti was said to be very good. As I entered
and ordered a cup, the owner asked if I’d like a freshly-made
Icelandic pancake too. Soon, balancing a plate and a mug, I
gingerly walked to a big overstuffed armchair near the window
to enjoy breakfast.
The sunlight poured in the café window while the wind
whipped around the wharf beyond. My coffee was strong and
warm—the kind of thing I love on a frosty morning. I picked
up my fork and dug into the pancake.
It’s amazing how flour, sugar, egg and water, transformed by
heat, can create the tastiest things on this planet. The pancake
was light and redolent of sugar; thin enough to be a treat on its
own, yet a perfect foil for a spoonful of berry jam or whipped
cream.
On my last day in Reykjavík I would encounter Icelandic
pancakes again, when I ordered them as a sampler plate at Café
Loki, opposite Hallgrímskirkja church. These would be folded
together with whipped cream and a touch of jam—as ethereal
as eating angel’s wings.
But right now I had my hot coffee and a perfect Icelandic
pancake as I basked in the sunlight at Café Haiti. Icelandic
pancakes are all I’d need in the morning with a good cup of
coffee. It was a breakfast of sweet deliciousness in an overstuffed
chair, and not too far from heaven either: the perfect thing to
eat before braving the whipping Icelandic winds and the rest
of the day.
Although this will never change, I still fantasize someone
bringing coffee to me in bed. But lately American pancakes
seem too heavy to eat, even with real maple syrup. Unlike
Icelandic pancakes, our flapjacks are too heavy to fly as angel
wings either. They got canceled from my morning breakfast
fantasies. All in all, I might have to return to Iceland.
Until then I’ll invest in a crêpe pan and try making a simple
recipe for Icelandic pancakes. It will be another reason to look
forward to morning again. 
Heaven
in tHe Morning
one sunny winter’s day, deb Smith wandered
down to Reykjavík marina and found bliss in the
form of strong coffee and cream-filled pancake.
(Recipe on next page)