The Nordic countries are, as the name indicates, situated to
the north of just about everything except the North Pole. Made slightly warmer
than the latitude would justify by the presence of the Gulf Stream, these countries
are populated by people who enjoy lots of daylight in summer, endure lots of
darkness in winter, and imbibe lots of beer all year. The Nordics consist of
five independent countries: Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Finland and Iceland, which
together measure about 1.32 million square kilometres (about three-quarters the
size of Alaska) and are home to about 26 million people (about 35 times the
population of Alaska). By far the least populated, most mysterious and furthest
away of these is Iceland, a volcanic pile of rock situated so far out in the Atlantic
that you can practically smell North America.
Growing up in Norway, we learnt a fair bit about Iceland in
school, mainly because the country was settled by Norwegian Vikings who seemed
to think that it was a great idea to abandon the relatively mild (!) climate in
Norway and start a new life in conditions that even then would have pushed the
boundaries of harshness. Naturally they brought their language with them, but
because of the remoteness of the island the language evolved much slower than
back in Norway, with the end result that to this day, Icelandic is essentially
the Old Norse that was spoken by the Vikings more than 1000 years ago – vaguely
familiar to modern Norwegians when written, but utterly unintelligible when
spoken. Having learnt all this in elementary school back in the 1980s, I have
always been fascinated by this place, but never had the chance to visit – that
is, until a couple of weeks ago.
In the end, work sent me to Iceland, and the capital
Reykjavik to be specific. Reykjavik is actually a fairly big city, housing
around two thirds of the entire population of the country. It’s a pleasant
place to stroll around unless you’re facing the icy wind, and it’s also full of
nice pubs, bars and restaurants that serve up food and drinks of high quality
with prices to match. Of course, my main interest once work had finished for
the day was to explore the beer scene. On that note, Iceland has possibly the
saddest history of all European countries when it comes to beer. After a failed
experiment with prohibition of all alcoholic drinks in the early 1900s, wine
and spirits were allowed back in the shops in the 1930s, but for some utterly
unfathomable reason beer remained banned for another half century. No doubt
they knew that the soon-to-be-famous beer blogger would turn 18 in 1990 and
thereby start his quest to drink all the beer in the world, so Iceland decided
to legalize beer a few months before, on March 1st 1989 to be
precise. Iceland has not looked back since, though they may have looked forward
to my finally getting around to visiting.
As in almost all countries, a couple of big breweries have
risen to become the suppliers of the industrial lager that most people drink –
regular readers know what I’m talking about. Of course, since the total
population of Iceland is only about a third of a million, there’s a limit to
how big these breweries can actually get, and I did not expect a big selection
of interesting beer. Imagine my unbridled delight then, when I discovered that
there are surprisingly many microscopic breweries on this island, some of which
brew very good beer indeed. The main craft brewer seems to be one called
Einstök from Iceland’s second city Akureyri, and it was also this brewery that,
in careful consideration of my visit, had sent a selection of their finest
brews to the first restaurant I happened to stumble upon.
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| The beer was much better than this picture |
I went about the tasting job methodically by ordering one of
each. First up was “Icelandic White Ale” which proved to be surprisingly tart
and fresh, much better than most continental European equivalents. It was an
excellent aperitif beer which doubled nicely as a starter. Next up was Arctic
Pale Ale, a pleasantly hoppy interpretation of this style which also had a firm
malty body. It was an excellent second beer which also doubled beautifully as
the main course. Finally, the highlight of the evening: Icelandic Toasted
Porter. Unfortunately, I had not brought a tuba with me because this beer was
so good it was worth at least one oompah session, maybe two. As the name
hinted, the toasted barley was as much in evidence on the palate as on the
label, and since it also avoided the normal porter-trap of being too sweet – in
fact, it was delightfully dry – it was perhaps the best porter I have ever
sampled. The only problem with it is that my wife also likes it, which means
that the small selection I brought home for my fridge is in constant peril. It
was an excellent dessert beer which also doubled exquisitely as the cheese
plate, espresso, grappa and cigar.
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| The Toasted Porter. |
Impressed and very satisfied, I left the restaurant to
explore the city. There were definitely more bars than volcanoes, and loads of
people out drinking even on a Monday. It looked like a fun place, but the real
Iceland is elsewhere – and you don’t have to travel far to find it. Hop in a
car or a tour bus and you’ll find somewhere that emits some kind of steam
and/or reeks of sulphur within minutes. The whole place looks about to blow up,
but in the meantime you can dive into various hot springs for a revitalising
dip. Just make sure that you check the water temperature before you do, since
some of them are more suitable for boiling eggs. You can also gawp at wonderful
scenery, especially if the fog lifts to reveal it, and if it doesn’t you can
always check out Google Street View to see what it would have looked like if
you’d visited in whichever year the sun last paid a visit.
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| The scenery is quite impressive despite some low clouds |
In conclusion, Iceland should be on the shortlist both for
beery and non-beery reasons. It’s a fascinatingly remote and wild country, and
the population speaks excellent Icelandic when they’re tired of showing off
their flawless English. I only sampled a tiny portion of both the beer and the
country, but I was very impressed. An added bonus is that you can fart as much
as you like, because the hot water is not heated, but tapped straight from some
sulphuric hell-hole that causes everything to stink anyway. So, go ahead and read
up on a few of Snorri Sturluson’s old sagas to get in the proper mood, then
book a flight, bring a weatherproof jacket and head off. As the Vikings used to
say before cracking open a beer or a skull or whatever happened to be in the path of their axes: Skál!
