I never got to know Anthony Bourdain's work until his suicide almost two years ago, when cable channels aired some episodes in tribute. But I'd read that Anthony had visited Iceland in his travels, and I was thrilled to have stumbled upon this episode about my favorite foreign country by happenstance this weekend.
It's surprising that the famed foodie visited Iceland so early in his show's career -- Season 1, episode 2, which was immediately following his entry on the culinary capital of France. Iceland doesn't have much of a gastronomic tradition; its people ate lamb, fish, and whatever else was at hand to survive in an austere environment. I'm guessing there were neither time nor energy for fussy presentations. (I visit Iceland every winter and I once asked about this at a historical museum in the capital of Reykjavik.)
I'm sure Anthony learned a lot in the course of putting together his scores of shows from around the world. In the few other episodes I've viewed, he came across as curious and respectful of the local culture. However, in this episode, Anthony seemed unusually jokey, to the point of sometimes appearing snarky or condescending. For example, in this show, Anthony meets with some of Iceland's famed musclemen, and there are jokes around the table about the hearty lamb soup they eat and its effects on virility.
Anthony later visits with Siggi Hall, who was chef at the Hilton Hotel, which is somewhat outside of the Old Town area in which typical Reykjavik visitors explore these days. We find the congenial Siggi preparing Anthony a picnic feast, even though it's January in the sub-arctic. Neither native nor tourist would dream of picnicking in mid-winter, but here we have Anthony speeding to his eating spot via a team of sleigh dogs. No one in Iceland would do this. (We're told this transpires 30 minutes outside of Reykjavik in a place with virtually no internet thumbprint called Hringsjá.) After jokes about the weather, Anthony confides, "I'm thinking of peeing in my pants just to warm up."
He subsequently visits the dark-of-winter feast known as Þorrablót, where we are serenaded by the Fun Boys 3 with "Icelandic doo-wop -- I'm putting this on my iPad," Anthony smirks, and served the likes of fermented shark -- "probably the single, worst thing I ever put in my mouth" -- and sheep heads. Again, we get a lot of leering jokes, as Anthony notes that "here's a buffet you're not gonna find in Las Vegas."
Later, Anthony does seriously enjoy a platter of plokkfiskur, a traditional fish stew, at the Þrír frakkar restaurant (a place I've visited for its hearty, simple fare).
Anthony rounds out his trip with a dunk in a mud bath at an unidentified clinic, site of one of the episode's numerous jokes about rubber gloves. Such mud baths are not commonly sought out in Iceland, as far as I've ever heard. However, Anthony does hit the well-worn tourist trail with a visit to the Blue Lagoon, often noted to be Iceland's most popular attraction. (In the days that Anthony visited, it was considerably less popular than it is today, and it seems in this episode that Anthony has the murky thermal pool to himself. Anthony perhaps correctly notes that Icelanders "have been hot-tubbing longer than any other people on Earth.")
He rounds out his tour with a visit to Bæjarins Beztu, an iconic hot-dog stand in Old Town that was patronized by Bill Clinton some three weeks, Anthony tells us, before he had a heart attack.
"That's one serious dog," Anthony concludes, and I'd agree. I always make sure to eat two of these on every one of my trips. They make a cheap and scrumptious dinner on the run.
On my most recent trip to Iceland, last month, a goose had wandered over to Bæjarins from the nearby Tjörninn pond, and waited patiently at my feet for a scrap. The cheery cashier gave me a bun to toss and we both enjoyed our meals.
It's surprising that the famed foodie visited Iceland so early in his show's career -- Season 1, episode 2, which was immediately following his entry on the culinary capital of France. Iceland doesn't have much of a gastronomic tradition; its people ate lamb, fish, and whatever else was at hand to survive in an austere environment. I'm guessing there were neither time nor energy for fussy presentations. (I visit Iceland every winter and I once asked about this at a historical museum in the capital of Reykjavik.)
I'm sure Anthony learned a lot in the course of putting together his scores of shows from around the world. In the few other episodes I've viewed, he came across as curious and respectful of the local culture. However, in this episode, Anthony seemed unusually jokey, to the point of sometimes appearing snarky or condescending. For example, in this show, Anthony meets with some of Iceland's famed musclemen, and there are jokes around the table about the hearty lamb soup they eat and its effects on virility.
Anthony later visits with Siggi Hall, who was chef at the Hilton Hotel, which is somewhat outside of the Old Town area in which typical Reykjavik visitors explore these days. We find the congenial Siggi preparing Anthony a picnic feast, even though it's January in the sub-arctic. Neither native nor tourist would dream of picnicking in mid-winter, but here we have Anthony speeding to his eating spot via a team of sleigh dogs. No one in Iceland would do this. (We're told this transpires 30 minutes outside of Reykjavik in a place with virtually no internet thumbprint called Hringsjá.) After jokes about the weather, Anthony confides, "I'm thinking of peeing in my pants just to warm up."
He subsequently visits the dark-of-winter feast known as Þorrablót, where we are serenaded by the Fun Boys 3 with "Icelandic doo-wop -- I'm putting this on my iPad," Anthony smirks, and served the likes of fermented shark -- "probably the single, worst thing I ever put in my mouth" -- and sheep heads. Again, we get a lot of leering jokes, as Anthony notes that "here's a buffet you're not gonna find in Las Vegas."
Later, Anthony does seriously enjoy a platter of plokkfiskur, a traditional fish stew, at the Þrír frakkar restaurant (a place I've visited for its hearty, simple fare).
Anthony rounds out his trip with a dunk in a mud bath at an unidentified clinic, site of one of the episode's numerous jokes about rubber gloves. Such mud baths are not commonly sought out in Iceland, as far as I've ever heard. However, Anthony does hit the well-worn tourist trail with a visit to the Blue Lagoon, often noted to be Iceland's most popular attraction. (In the days that Anthony visited, it was considerably less popular than it is today, and it seems in this episode that Anthony has the murky thermal pool to himself. Anthony perhaps correctly notes that Icelanders "have been hot-tubbing longer than any other people on Earth.")
He rounds out his tour with a visit to Bæjarins Beztu, an iconic hot-dog stand in Old Town that was patronized by Bill Clinton some three weeks, Anthony tells us, before he had a heart attack.
"That's one serious dog," Anthony concludes, and I'd agree. I always make sure to eat two of these on every one of my trips. They make a cheap and scrumptious dinner on the run.
On my most recent trip to Iceland, last month, a goose had wandered over to Bæjarins from the nearby Tjörninn pond, and waited patiently at my feet for a scrap. The cheery cashier gave me a bun to toss and we both enjoyed our meals.
