Tjöruhúsið

“Gellur! Gellur er kómin!”, yells the animated server as he plonks down a bubbling cast iron pan on the spacious counter separating the kitchen and dining hall. Like bees to nectar, a buzzing line quickly forms. Following suit with your fellow diners is always an excellent strategy while at Tjöruhúsið, Ísafjörður’s most popular restaurant, known across the country.

In a country where personal space is cherished above all, cramming diners into an old tar factory, seating them family style, shoulder to shoulder, is no small feat. Here they have to small talk with perfect strangers while waiting patiently for their fish. The dark timber beams, low ceilings, rustic cabin vibes lit mostly by candle stubs interjected with cries from the servers announcing a new pan of fish, harks to a medieval tavern, almost making one long for a bar fight. Pulling this off with none of the ‘viking’ gimmick of tasteless horned helmets is laudable

Despite the boisterous atmosphere, dinner runs smoothly. A family member introduces the rules, the self-deprecating jokes putting strangers at ease. Fish soup is to be had first. The much awaited fish-in-a-pan buffet will follow once the soup is cleared. Between sips of the bisque-like seafood soup, you chat with your fellow diners. Wine flows freely, but the laughter and conversation flows freer.

Catch of the day takes on a whole new meaning with Tjöruhúsið’s buffet. There may be salted cod with fresh grapes, crispy plaice, or wolf fish in a peppery cream and cheese sauce. Traditionally staid plokkfiskur, aka fish stew, packs a punch with a generous sprinkling of freshly ground black pepper. All the seafood is handled with care and diligence. Even when hoisin sauce makes an unexpected appearance, it somehow makes sense.

But the real star is the gellur. Often called cod tongue, technically they’re chins, if cod had chins. Too cheap to be sold, and once a reminder of poverty, today they’re a prized delicacy in Iceland. A bit like raw scallops, gellur are a delightful textural experience. Their recent popularity may be attributed in some part to Tjöruhúsið’s rendition––flour dusted and fried in butter, often with capers, they are at once light and creamy.

It is remarkable that many of Iceland’s definitive dining experiences lie not in the capital Reykjavík, but in places where folk strive to create value from what was once considered mundane. Tjöruhúsið wears its heart on its sleeve.

Published, October 2019.