Slippurinn

The experience of dining at Slippurinn begins long before setting foot in the restaurant. You’ll likely drive the scenic route to Landeyjahöfn and take a ferry to Vestmannaeyjar, a minute archipelago, remarkably enough home to an active volcano. As the boat draws closer, a towering oceanic island resembling a steep mountain will appear on the horizon and various sea birds squawking overhead will herald the forthcoming meal in more ways than one.

Housed in a former machinery depot, Slippurinn has been transformed into a homey space with a living room lounge, only the pulleys overhead squeal about the buildings past. Dinner will possibly unfurl with deep-fried cod skin chicharrón and fresh lumpfish roe cream or the exceptional cod wings; discarded fins honed into ‘wings’, the skillful butchery alone a feat to marvel at. Throughout the evening, you’ll receive a crash course in the flora and fauna of Iceland. There is lovage, a sweet summer herb, in emulsions and ice-creams, bitter rowanberries in cocktails, wild sorrel in the béarnaise, plump langoustines the size of your palm with pickled dulce, guillemot eggs, hand picked from those precarious island cliffs and turned into creamy scrambled eggs. Then there’s the piece-de-resistance, whole cod’s head, gently butterflied and torched tableside, it’s an ideal date-night pick. Traditionally discarded as an off-cut, the humble is elevated to a spectacle by cooking it whole in a rich chicken stock and glazing it with kelp. Unctuous and rich in collagen, cutlery is overkill for the succulent meat. It’s an engaging dish, and the accompanying gellur––cod ‘throats’––are a reminder of how much delicious food is otherwise thrown out. Foraged, local, sustainable, nose-to-tail slow food aren’t mere catchphrases at Slippurinn.

sIt isn’t just the food, even the restaurant is seasonal, open only during the short summer months. At a time when Icelandic cuisine continues to churn out images of the hackneyed hákarl, fermented shark, or svið, singed sheep’s head, Chef Gísli Matthías Auðunsson is slowly changing the narrative. To cook and source locally is the Holy Grail for many chefs. But to discover new ways to honor hitherto underutilized resources in one’s own backyard is an exciting opportunity. Without ever slipping into intellectual education, Slippurinn appeals to both the traditionalist as well as the adventurer. It’s apparent simplicity belies the sheer amount of research and experimentation that goes into its food.

Published, October 2019.