One of the peculiar things about Italian food is that its relative simplicity often leads folk to confidently, although falsely, assume that anyone can cook it. Some also feel like they could do the same thing at home, so why pay for it at a restaurant? And despite the prevalence of Italian restaurants in Iceland — delivered by way of heavy Icelandification, of course — good ones are hard to come by.
In his 1996 review of La Primavera, then at the Austurstræti location above where Laundromat is today, Steingrímur Sigurgeirsson advised readers to “put aside their prejudice and succumb to temptation” whilst describing a mushroom risotto. Rice may not entice diners, he remarks, as he goes on to make a note of the polenta with blue cheese. 28 years later, this is telling as to just how ahead of its time La Primavera was.
La Primavera wears this reputation well. Its second iteration has been nothing short of spectacular, and five years since our last review, it has gone from strength to strength.
Seasonal simplicity
La Primavera has a pervasive sense of calm from the moment you step through the glass doors. Its location is a former fish factory that’s now an art museum, thoughtfully restored to pared down modernity by local architecture firm Kurt og Pi. From the ground floor, you can see bobbing boars hauling in their catch with Harpa in the distance. Everything is primed for an easy time.
Behind the bar, however, is a reminder that ‘Scandinavian Pain’ is never too far away. A popular work by celebrated artist Ragnar Kjartansson, the glowing neon artwork is evidence of subtle luxury and discreet thoughtfulness that carries over to the food.
While seasonality is something restaurant menus propound with great enthusiasm, it’s a concept that clashes with Iceland’s chilly North Atlantic reality — but chef Leifur Kolbeinsson’s take on seasonality is one that thrills my little foodie heart. He effortlessly marries Italian traditions and techniques with local ingredients, as if they were always meant to be so.
Last winter, they had a pale rosy hued radicchio salad that was as snappy and crunchy as its blushing Italian twin. As early spring rolls around, they may celebrate with pan-fried cod eggs, a local delicacy, beloved by Icelanders of a certain age and shunned by others. But instead of boiling them grey, here the coral sacs offer resistance to piquant tomato-caper sauce.
Even tired old carpaccio (3.850 ISK) gets a new lease of life, by simply leaning on technique. At dinner recently, there was a sublime rendition of this tired trope. Velvety slices of fresh beef are stretched across the plate, the only adornments being a high pile of fresh rucola, shavings of sharp parmesan and a lemon wedge. The very first bite reveals that this may just have been a hand pounded slice of meat; the rich texture is simply not possible with industrial sliced beef.
This simplicity is woven through every dish. Often a single ingredient or flavor note takes command as others on the plate lend balance and harmony. Where bitterness is often ignored, shunned even, here it is celebrated. Like that seasonal radicchio, its stronger cousin chicory makes an appearance. The assertiveness of the intensely salty anchovies is tamed by olive oil and brioche. Vegetables so often assaulted by copious amounts of dairy, or pulverised beyond recognition find respite here in the same devotion afforded to ‘fancier’ ingredients. Cruciferous veggies are singed to perfection alongside hearty carrots, parsnips and beets. Lentils and beans make a quiet appearance, then grip you with their toothsome personalities. Warm cannellini beans at a recent lunch were served with torched broccoli, and my dining partner and I made quick work of it.
Quiet luxury
As someone who dines out more than your average customer, I’ve always been acutely aware of my anonymity slipping, and how that impacts the dining experience. After almost a decade of food reviews for the Grapevine, I notice when I’ve been ‘made’. My family and friends often ask if I’m worried that restaurants will give me special treatment when I dine out. So I maintain my anonymity as much as one can in a small society like ours. My job is to get you, the reader, to choose a place that’s worth your time and money. It’s then up to the restaurant to deliver that same experience to you.
La Primavera has been one of a handful of places I can comfortably recommend, safe in the knowledge that this attention to detail and warm service is not reserved for a select few. And if you have been to La Primavera already, you’ll know this to be true. For many Icelanders, barring its brief closure a decade ago, this was the ‘it’ restaurant. Now many are coming back with their kids and families — a full circle, if you will.
Lunch here is a bustling affair. It’s both the hardest table to get and the best-kept secret at the same time. The investment bankers, politicians, the art crew, and septuagenarian reunions all commingle in the dining room, with the fish of the day being the most popular choice. But if you spot a soup on the menu, get it! Offered both as a starter and a main course, the type varies, often leaning vegetarian like the puy lentil strewn warm carrot soup I tried at lunch recently. There’s a recurring seafood soup that is, in my humble opinion, one of the nicest soups in town. You could go all Italian, and get yourself a primo, secondi and dolci and turn a meh day into something worth remembering. But be warned, doing all three at once is like being at nonna’s house on a Friday afternoon, and you can safely kiss work goodbye. That said, many an insipid Tuesday has taken a turn for the better after a campari tonic with some pasta on the side.
Evening dame
How the bustling lunchtime La Primavera turns into a demure dame for dinner service with a swish of its crisp white tablecloths still seems magical to me. I have often lingered in those quiet moments before doors open for dinner and caught myself thinking, if I could live at a restaurant, this is where I’d be.
One of our most recent dinners saw a table heaving with food — the evergreen La Primavera classic of parma on toast with goat’s cheese sauce (3.850 ISK) that my 11-year old fought to the last crumb, a memorable squid ink penne with octopus and nduja (6.250 ISK), both brightened and heightened with the freshness of lemon brunoise stirred through the entire dish. The veal Milanese (7.250 ISK) was as good as ever: crispy thin cutlets delicately crumb fried, served with spaghetti in an arrabiata-esque sauce. My friends raved over what they described as ‘handkerchief-like ravioli’ (6.450 ISK).
There was once an overcooked lamb at lunch. But really, when you are consistently good, and the service unflinchingly so, a bad day is just that — a bad day. Besides, there is nothing that dessert cannot fix. The cheesecake la vina (2.300 ISK) sparked a Basque cheesecake craze in the city, but few held a candle to Primavera’s version. Leifur once shared that the recipe is straight outta San Sebastian. More traditional Italian bakes make frequent appearances, like the chewy ricciarelli almond cookies, olive oil cake — an underrated classic — and a deeply satisfying nubby polenta cake, potent with lemon zest.
The family experience
Wines span the classics from major Italian regions, and the staff is very good at recommending something to your liking. There is a small cocktail menu, with even the mocktails made thoughtfully. I like that there are plenty of good-with-food options by the glass, and magnum bottles for sharing if that’s how you roll.
My deep affection for La Primavera is no secret to those who know me. Andres and his front of house team have worked here for so long now, I think of them as an indelible part of the family experience. They remember your preference for certain tables from previous visits, or that you perhaps always make room for desserts.
And if you are thinking ‘that’s because they know you’, I want to share with you dear reader, that La Primavera is a one of a handful of places in town where this is the quality of service and experience that awaits each of you. Seldom have I pointed people in this direction and had them come back dissatisfied. And in a sea of middling experiences, it’s nice to have that one place that you can go back to again and again and again.
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