Grillið

The elevator doors open with a gentle ping to arresting views of Reykjavik; a 360° expanse of city, sky and ocean, as if Grillið had no walls, the soaring seagulls fly so close, you can spot the catches in their beaks. You’ll certainly have the sunchoke with a milky chicken liver mousse and bilberries, the tuber fashioned into a shatteringly crisp tuille, the crowning adornment of purple wood sorrel, like butterflies. Next you’ll receive a child’s palm sized bowl of fish roe. Set atop an unfurled blanket of seabuckthorn leather, the ruffled edges are tucked in with mini marigold buds.

A warm mother-of-pearl spoon to break through the tension reveals creamy arctic char underneath. Eaten together, it’s a precise display of heady flavors. Too often, fine dining can leave one with an amorphous ‘experience’ bolstered by the service and staff. But here at Grillið, the food plays the starring role, as it should.

Chef Sigurður Laufdal has worked both at Geranium in Copenhagen and OLO in Helsinki. He brings an assured fragility to what could otherwise have been an overworked bag of tricks. The food is playful, inviting you to pick things up, peer under, poke over. To do so with abandonment in a fine dining establishment has an undercurrent of forbidden joy.

Even in their bite-sized avatars, the kitchen manages to distill singular flavors from ingredients, all the while elevating them to edible works of art. This is food that is worth looking at and eating as well. The stream of snacks resumes its cutlery-free narrative with the potato bread. Tearing the warm fried bread leads one to an interesting fix––whether to swirl it into a well of garlic velouté, or schmear it with umami rich cep butter.

The attention to detail is heartening; there are warm towels to finish, an adult reminder. Elaborate crockery jostles for attention, sometimes upstaging the food, specifically the main courses. A butter poached cod is a tad rubbery and a grilled pork belly uncharacteristically staid. But desserts recast the spell.

A tempered-to-order orb of chocolate sits atop a perfectly trimmed rose. One swift bite and you’re awash with the alluring scent of rose, chocolate and a heart of caramel. Wine pairings are acceptable and there are a slew of home-brewed kombuchas and juices for the teetotallers. The elevator doors open with a gentle ping to arresting views of Reykjavik; a 360° expanse of city, sky and ocean, as if Grillið had no walls, the soaring seagulls fly so close, you can spot the catches in their beaks.

You’ll certainly have the sunchoke with a milky chicken liver mousse and bilberries, the tuber fashioned into a shatteringly crisp tuille, the crowning adornment of purple wood sorrel, like butterflies. Next you’ll receive a child’s palm sized bowl of fish roe. Set atop an unfurled blanket of seabuckthorn leather, the ruffled edges are tucked in with mini marigold buds. A warm mother-of-pearl spoon to break through the tension reveals creamy arctic char underneath.

Eaten together, it’s a precise display of heady flavors. Too often, fine dining can leave one with an amorphous ‘experience’ bolstered by the service and staff. But here at Grillið, the food plays the starring role, as it should. Chef Sigurður Laufdal has worked both at Geranium in Copenhagen and OLO in Helsinki.

He brings an assured fragility to what could otherwise have been an overworked bag of tricks. The food is playful, inviting you to pick things up, peer under, poke over. To do so with abandonment in a fine dining establishment has an undercurrent of forbidden joy. Even in their bite-sized avatars, the kitchen manages to distill singular flavors from ingredients, all the while elevating them to edible works of art.

This is food that is worth looking at and eating as well. The stream of snacks resumes its cutlery-free narrative with the potato bread. Tearing the warm fried bread leads one to an interesting fix––whether to swirl it into a well of garlic velouté, or schmear it with umami rich cep butter. The attention to detail is heartening; there are warm towels to finish, an adult reminder.

Elaborate crockery jostles for attention, sometimes upstaging the food, specifically the main courses. A butter poached cod is a tad rubbery and a grilled pork belly uncharacteristically staid. But desserts recast the spell. A tempered-to-order orb of chocolate sits atop a perfectly trimmed rose.

One swift bite and you’re awash with the alluring scent of rose, chocolate and a heart of caramel. Wine pairings are acceptable and there are a slew of home-brewed kombuchas and juices for the teetotallers. Published, October 2019.