Culinary Road Trip: Tasting Iceland's Traditional and Modern Cuisine on the Ring Road

My culinary journey began in Reykjavik, where I spent two days acclimating to both the autumn chill and Iceland's distinctive flavor palette. The capital city serves as a perfect introduction to the country's food philosophy – one foot planted firmly in centuries-old traditions while the other steps boldly into Nordic culinary innovation.

At Dill, Iceland's first Michelin-starred restaurant, I experienced what can only be described as edible poetry. Chef Gunnar Karl Gíslason's tasting menu transformed humble local ingredients into sublime expressions of place. The langoustine with burnt butter and dulse seaweed particularly moved me – somehow capturing the essence of the North Atlantic in a single, perfect bite.

For breakfast, I fell in love with skyr, Iceland's protein-rich yogurt that puts Greek varieties to shame. I started each morning at Brauð & Co, where their cardamom buns and rugbrauð (traditional rye bread) became my ritual alongside cups of surprisingly excellent coffee. I even packed my insulated travel mug with their house blend before hitting the road each day.

The Old Harbor area offered more casual fare, where I sampled my first taste of the infamous hákarl at Café Loki, served traditionally with a shot of Brennivín (caraway-flavored schnapps) – both an acquired taste I'm still working on acquiring.

Leaving Reykjavik behind, I headed southeast along the Ring Road, where Iceland's dramatic coastline unfolds alongside extraordinary seafood opportunities. The fishing villages dotting this stretch offer some of the freshest catches I've experienced since my childhood in Hawaii.

In Stokkseyri, I discovered Fjöruborðið, a humble-looking restaurant that serves what locals widely consider the best langoustine soup in Iceland. The creamy bisque, rich with butter and herbs, showcases the sweetness of these delicate crustaceans harvested just offshore. I paired it with freshly baked bread and local beer while gazing out at the very waters where my meal had been swimming hours earlier.

Further east in Vík, I spent an afternoon at Smiðjan Brugghús, a craft brewery and restaurant where the Arctic char – pan-seared with a crackling skin and served with foraged herbs – paired beautifully with their house-made stout. The black sand beaches visible from my window seat created a dramatic backdrop for this memorable meal.

While driving between stops, I kept my cooler bag stocked with skyr, local cheeses, and smoked fish purchased from roadside stands – perfect for impromptu picnics overlooking waterfalls and glacier lagoons. This approach allowed me to experience Iceland's bounty even between destination meals.

The Eastern Fjords region offered a welcome shift from seafood to Iceland's pastoral traditions. Here, lamb reigns supreme, raised on wild herbs and grasses that impart a distinctive, almost sweet flavor to the meat.

At Klausturkaffi in Egilsstaðir, I experienced the traditional Icelandic buffet called 'Grand Kaffi' – featuring slow-roasted lamb, root vegetables, and an array of traditional side dishes. The lamb literally melted on my tongue, carrying subtle notes of wild thyme and Arctic herbs.

My most memorable meal in this region came from an unexpected source – a small guesthouse called Berunes, where the owner prepared a family-style dinner featuring her grandmother's recipes. The standout was 'kjötsúpa' (traditional meat soup) made with lamb, rutabaga, and potatoes harvested from their garden. As we dined, she explained how these recipes sustained generations through harsh Icelandic winters.

I captured these culinary moments with my mirrorless camera, which handled the moody lighting of Icelandic interiors beautifully. The evening light in fall creates a photographer's dream – soft, golden illumination that makes even simple dishes look extraordinary.

The northern stretch of the Ring Road introduced me to one of Iceland's most fascinating culinary traditions – geothermal cooking. In the Lake Mývatn area, locals have perfected the art of harnessing the earth's natural heat for food preparation.

At Vogafjós Farm Resort, I participated in a geothermal baking workshop where we prepared 'hverabrauð' (hot spring bread) by burying dough containers in the steaming ground. Twenty-four hours later, we unearthed perfectly baked, slightly sweet rye bread with a texture unlike anything I've experienced. Served warm with cultured butter and thin slices of smoked Arctic char, it was a revelation.

My yoga practice took on new meaning at the Mývatn Nature Baths, where I rolled out my travel yoga mat for a sunrise session before soaking in the mineral-rich waters. The geothermal energy that cooked our bread also warmed my body as I moved through asanas with steam rising around me – a perfect harmony of nourishment and movement.

In Akureyri, Iceland's northern capital, I discovered Rub23, where innovative sushi rolls incorporate local ingredients like Arctic char and Icelandic wasabi. The chef's creative 'rub' spice blends – applied to everything from seared scallops to lamb – showcase how global techniques can highlight local flavors rather than mask them.

The final stretch of my Ring Road journey took me through West Iceland, where the future of Nordic cuisine is being written by innovative chefs deeply connected to the land's bounty. This region epitomizes the concept of 'malama' that I carry from my Hawaiian heritage – caring for the land that in turn nourishes us.

In Borgarnes, I joined a guided foraging expedition with a local chef who showed me how to identify edible seaweeds, Arctic herbs, and berries. We collected dulse, angelica, and wild blueberries, which later became components of our multi-course dinner at Englendingavík restaurant. The experience transformed my understanding of terroir – these ingredients literally captured the essence of Iceland's volcanic soil and pure waters.

At Hotel Húsafell, I experienced the epitome of modern Icelandic cuisine at their restaurant, where Chef Steinn Óskar crafts elegant dishes highlighting foraged ingredients and sustainable proteins. His reindeer tartare with crowberry sauce and fermented mushrooms was a masterclass in balancing bold flavors with delicate technique.

For my final evening, I treated myself to dinner at Bjargarsteinn Mathús in Grundarfjörður, timing my reservation to coincide with sunset over Kirkjufell mountain. As I savored butter-poached cod with coastal herbs and barley risotto, the sky erupted in pink and gold – a fitting farewell feast before completing my circuit back to Reykjavik.

To capture these extraordinary landscapes and plated masterpieces, I relied on my camera lens, which proved versatile enough to handle both sweeping vistas and intimate food photography throughout my journey.