It's famously spectacular – and expensive. But with the krona down, now is the perfect time to eat out in Iceland
Vogafjos cafe and guesthouse, on lake Myvatn in northern Iceland, is known for its local delicacies. But looking out of our small wooden hut across an expanse of bubbling mud and volcanic craters, steam rising from the ground, it was hard to feel hopeful about the meal we were about to embark on. What could possibly grow in a place like this?
Vogafjos is a working dairy farm, and we were seated against aglass wall, face-to-face with a herd of Icelandic cows about to be milked. Although it couldn't have been fresher, it felt almost indecent, eating the mozzarella and feta cheese made from their milk while they watched. And then the clear pipes running the length of the restaurant turned white, and warm milk was poured directly into our glasses: like a bovine Charlie And The Chocolate Factory.
Feeling a little squeamish, I gave my beaker to my boyfriend and concentrated on the tempting platter of cheese, tender smoked lamb and assortment of home-smoked fish – from a delicate trout to an odd, earthy variety that we later discovered had been smoked in cow dung. The real speciality, though, is the hverabrau, a rich rye bread baked underground in the same geothermal heat that makes the ground bubble and steam. And skyr – a national treasure of low-fat yogurt that's served with everything from fish to meat, puddings to porridge.
People come to Iceland for the eerily spectacular scenery, the geothermal spas, the famed Reykjavik nightlife – but not usually for the cuisine. Yet Iceland prides itself on local produce, and with the krona at less than half its pre-crash value, the fine dining scene here is suddenly more affordable.
And so the following night, in Fridrik V in Akureyri, Iceland's second city (population 17,000), we enjoyed wild goose with tangy crowberries, and beetroot and blue potatoes dug up just moments away. Fridrik Val Karlsson, chef and owner, is something of an Icelandic celebrity, but he was on the floor of his restaurant, talking guests through the tasting menu (around £47) in loving detail. Melting flakes of haddock came garnished with local radish and a rare Icelandic onion. Icelandic gouda cheese, matured for nine years, was dressed with a local rhubarb-infused balsamic vinegar. The meal alone was worth the hour-long flight from Reykjavik.
Back in the capital, we experienced skyr in all its forms. As frothy skyr mousse at Silfur, the restaurant in our classy art deco hotel, Borg. As skyronnaise, with fresh wolffish in spelt barley at the harbour-front Icelandic Fish and Chipsrestaurant. And skyr panna cotta at the Fish Company, where local ingredients are served up in speciality dishes from around the world: from wild goose moussaka to Icelandic baccalo. You don't have to like yogurt – or fish – to enjoy Icelandic cuisine, but it helps.
But it's the more traditional restaurants and cafes that really capture the charm of this cosy city. A warming cup of lobster soup from the Sea Baron shack in the harbour was a highlight, and our last night was spent at the family-run 3 Frakkar, feasting on rich hashed fish and black bread. Not sophisticated, but hearty and delicious.
Getting there Iceland Express flies from London Gatwick to Reykjavik, from £69 one way; icelandexpress.com.
Stay at Try a seven-night self-drive Northern Highlights holiday with Discover the World, from £739 per person, including flights. For more information, visit the Iceland Gourmet Guide, icelandgourmetguide.com.