North The New Nordic Cuisine of Iceland PDF
Preview North The New Nordic Cuisine of Iceland
Copyright © 2014 by Gunnar Karl Gíslason and Jody Eddy Foreword copyright © 2014 by René Redzepi Photographs copyright © 2014 by Evan Sung All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Ten Speed Press, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York. www.crownpublishing.com www.tenspeed.com Ten Speed Press and the Ten Speed Press colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Gíslason, Gunnar Karl. North : the new Nordic cuisine of Iceland / Gunnar Karl Gíslason and Jody Eddy. — First edition. pages cm 1. Cooking, Icelandic. I. Eddy, Jody. II. Title. TX723.5.I2G57 2014 641.594912—dc23 2014003525 Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-60774-498-6 eBook ISBN: 978-1-60774-499-3 Design by Toni Tajima Original cover design by Emma Campion v3.1 CONTENTS Cover Title Page Copyright FOREWORD BY RENÉ REDZEPI IN GRATITUDE INTRODUCTION A NOTE ON THE RECIPES The Bacalao Producer The Arctic Char Smoker The Rugbraud Baker The Fisherman The Seabird Egg Collector The Barley Farmer The Dairy Farmer The Birch and Mushroom Forager The Sheep Farmer The Hardfiskur Producer The Salt Maker The Goat Farmer The Blue Mussel and Dulse Harvester INGREDIENTS FOR AN ICELANDIC PANTRY INDEX FOREWORD René Redzepi The first time I went to Iceland was in 2002. It was late autumn. We swam in the hot springs, visited the beautiful waterfalls, and saw wild thyme growing all over the volcanic plains—and that was just on the ride from the airport into Reykjavík. I thought I had landed in a fairytale. I was blown away, and I remember that my first desire was to eat, to experience all the things I’d seen so far, distilled on a plate. I thought to myself, This is going to be good; maybe the meal of a lifetime. As I glanced up at the crystal clear blue sky, I dreamed about all the impossibly good fish and shellfish that would be part of the dinner. I had virtually no experience with Iceland before that trip. I had heard of Björk and the crazy nightlife, of course, and if I remember right, we read the Sagas of Icelanders in school. (But that was in school, so there’s a one hundred percent chance I didn’t do much listening.) Prior to that first trip, I made the deliberate choice not to investigate the country’s culinary traditions. So when I finally reached the outskirts of the capital, ready for some food, I was filled with a childlike sense of wonder and excitement. On the ride from the airport, I wasn’t shy about telling my host how hungry I was. “I need to eat,” I reminded him again. “Don’t you worry,” he replied swiftly, in that distinct Icelandic-English accent that can at times seem a bit robotic and stern. “I have the right place for you.” We drove for a couple more minutes until we pulled over at Reykjavík’s premier sushi restaurant. I gave him a skeptical look. “You’re feeding me sushi? I’ve come here for inspiration,” I said. “Yes, but this is Icelandic fish they serve here,” he told me. My host apparently thought that even though it was sushi, the fact that the restaurant used local fish made it Icelandic. That was the first of several memorable moments for me. Just a few years later, during the early days of Noma, I found myself dissatisfied with making well-known, practically universal recipes with local ingredients. It didn’t feel right. I remembered that disconnected feeling I experienced at the “Icelandic” sushi parlor —simple substitution doesn’t make something of a place. During that first visit, I spent a good week eating around town. There was a tapas place, an Argentinean steakhouse, and, I must admit, a few traditional restaurants. But those seemed more like caricatures than genuine, proud interpretations of tradition. I left Iceland blown away by the people and their spirit, and I was so taken by the wonderfully untouched natural landscape. I remember being on the plane, thinking that “untouched” was the word that defined the experience. It’s a word, and an idea, that would become a major influence on our cooking in Copenhagen: untouched. When I left Iceland, I didn’t think I’d be returning for the food. Years passed. I traveled back and forth a few times, to spend time with the Icelandic people and to seek out that “untouched” element. The food was always secondary, or even tertiary. Then one day I received a phone call. “René, something is happening in Iceland,” said my friend from the region. “It’s our friend Gunni,” he murmured after a pause, using the nickname we’ve always had for Gunnar. “He wants to open a restaurant that works with the traditions and the history of our place.” I’ll be honest: I was skeptical. “Sounds good,” was my rather curt reply. We started talking about something else. Not too long after that, I got a package in the post from Gunni. The letter read something like, “Hey chef, here are some presents for you.” I opened up the box, and it was filled with food—food that I had seen before, but always in a mass-produced, industrial state. Suddenly I was tasting raw skyr and artisan bread that’s baked in hot earth. I tasted dried seaweed with an umami richness that’s matched only by certain Japanese varieties. As a chef, it was as if someone had gone to the bottom of the ocean, found a box full of treasures, and handed it over to me for free. I was in the clouds. I wanted everything. To this day, we use that seaweed throughout our menu—to add a little depth to a vegetable stock or to give that little extra bit of flavor to almost anything. That’s why I think chefs like Gunni and his restaurant Dill are immensely important: they rediscover lost traditions, breathe life into old techniques, and support the good people out there producing food with quality and deliciousness as their only guiding principles. I haven’t been back to Iceland for years. I’ve actually never eaten at Dill, although I’ve met Gunni many times in Copenhagen. But after more than a decade, I feel differently about how my next trip is going to shape up. I want to go back to Iceland for the food.
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