Words by

Shruthi Basappa

Photo by

Joana Fontinha for The Reykjavík Grapevine

BakaBaka wears many hats, some better than others

Whether you are a local or a visiting guest, chances are we have all experienced that same chaos that is the front room at BakaBaka. Despite three different entrances to the space, designers made the choice to have the bar extend almost to the door at the Bankastræti corner entrance. Which means you are cramped from the get-go in an uncomfortable hustle trying to figure out your next move.  

At any given point of time, there are at least three people behind the high bar trying to decipher the chaos for themselves. No one seems to have designated roles. So you join the confusion, wondering whether to be seated or grab a cinnamon bun to-go or, if you managed to cross all of those hurdles, you are now trying to pay and leave the cacophony.  

Bakery/Café/Pizzeria 

When news spread around town that Gústi bakari, as Ágúst Fannar Einþórsson, is fondly known, was opening a new place, there was palpable excitement. One of the co-founders of Brauð og Co, his exit from the bakery behemoth had set tongues wagging about the whys and nexts.  

Early in 2022, the iconic black timber house on the corner of Bankastræti and Lækjargata was reimagined as an all day dining establishment — bakery by day, lunchtime café, and a wine and pizza joint come dinner. Given Gústi’s reputation as a master baker, it is little surprise they named it BakaBaka (baka being “to bake” in Icelandic). 

Gústi’s background and experience as a baker in Iceland and Denmark continue to inform the selection at BakaBaka. The sensational cinnamon buns have found warm company in the cardamom knots, a bit of a cheeky Denmark meets Sweden but in Iceland moment. There are floppy rectangles of creme patisserie topped vínarbrauð, buttery croissants with honeycombed cross sections that make for Instagram-friendly content and a light, flaky and fantastic start to the day.  

Lunch options range from a sit-down menu of eggs and bread in some form to a picture-worthy lemon curd filled French toast and take-away attempts at Italian-inspired sandwiches that are more bread than filling. All are served with healthy lashings of the indifferent service I have come to expect at BakaBaka.  

Dinner is when the place comes alive, the chaos of the day giving way to some semblance of shaky balance at nightfall. Pizzas are stone baked and a healthy cross between a Napoli-NY pie that may be reminiscent of a Roberta’s slice for some. The pasta from the early days has given way to a pizza-focussed menu with small plates to share. They are also encouraging diners to splurge on a bottle of wine, with the promise of a free pizza with every bottle on Sundays through Thursdays.  

Pop-up’s happen regularly, so keep an eye out for collaborative nights. 

Exceptionally good pizza 

It is little surprise that a baker-led pizzeria would be this good. As every good baker knows, and pizzaiolo will agree, it all comes down to flour, water and time.  

So what exactly makes for a good pizza? As award-winning pizzaiolo Fabrizio Mancinetti explains, you’re looking for “lightness, flavour and texture.” Sure there are endless debates about the effect of water, of culinary tradition, and of comfort or nostalgia, but the one that stands head and shoulders above the rest is this: joy.  

Pizzas have the incredible capacity to be both a Þriðjudagstilbóð for tired parents and singletons, to being the perfect communal meal on Friday, or a low stakes litmus test for first dates and ensuing anniversaries. In Iceland, they have long been a symbol of modernity, access to the outside world and, in their newest avatar, a way to showcase technique and know-how.  

As expected, the pizzas here are sourdough, relying on the gentle fermentation of happy yeast over the aggressiveness of the dry yeast commonplace in industrial bread making. It is a style of pie that is great for a lingering dining experience: the dough has just enough hydration to keep it from being tough-when-cold. This is a pie you can hold a conversation over — as good within the first five minutes on arrival as it is 15 minutes later.  

Toppings are selective and restrained, a departure from the local preference for a heavily laden pie. My personal favourites are the biancos; the Scandinava, with mascarpone, pickled chillies, ramps when in season; and the Salsiccia (both 3600 ISK) with mozzarella, crumbled sausage and potatoes, confit garlic and parmesan. Red pies like the Margharita (3200 ISK) are as expected at a place that prides itself on its pizzas — milky and delicious to the last bite.  

While I nurse a soft spot for the garlicky langhos of BakaBaka’s early days, the baked nduja with cheese (2500 ISK) is a nice stand-in. The anchovies with salsa verde and tomatoes (2500 ISK) however, hides the star ingredient, perhaps an attempt to not put off diners new to the fish.  

Exceptionally bad service 

From being refused entry as an invited guest on their opening night, to dealing with slow service on slow mornings, to confused inefficiency, forgotten orders and being curtly told we cannot order our drinks before the food, dining at BakaBaka can leave you reeling from “what just happened?” to “what the fuck!” 

While the layout of the space itself leaves a lot to be desired in terms of synchronised flow between the guests, staff and food, it is the entirely manageable aspect of front of house training that is baffling. That it has gone unaddressed by the owners is alarming.   

What sets apart the service here is the refusal to redress the situation. Whether its bad planning — there is no one to tell you that back room seating is on two levels, or that you pay at the counter, or that your order was never delivered — raised concerns are met with indifference, dismissal, or sad attempts at jokes meant to make you feel like a burden for walking in. If you walk in after a snowstorm mid afternoon when crowds are low, you may have to wade through a giant puddle at the doorstep, as the staff just shrugs and blinks even as they see you turn around and walk away. Why bother cleaning up when guests will excuse themselves at the door step, literally. It is telling that I have dined at BakaBaka as often as I have turned away frustrated.  

At a time when restaurants struggle to break even, places like BakaBaka have the enormous privilege of investors, an invested audience, a city that is hungry for a genuinely good dining experience that doesn’t break the bank, and a location that would draw in crowds even if the food were terrible; it is a pity that reluctant hospitality threatens to overshadow the kitchen.  

Sure, the cardamom knot is doughier and has lost some of its shine since its early days, sure the savoury croissant bakes hardly seem to make a comeback and the vínarbrauð can at times be raw — you forgive that, because any place can have a bad day. But when bad days become the norm, you have to wonder if the place is run as it’s meant to be or expecting their guests to be servile and grateful that you deigned to serve them.  

Perhaps BakaBaka is stretched thin by the weight of its own expectations to be many places at once while being only one of those for some and rarely all of them everyone at the same time. No matter their lofty ambitions, disdain for paying customers will always leave you with a bitter aftertaste, no matter how sweet the buns.