Words by

Shruthi Basappa

Photo by

Sunna Ben

Chances are people rarely think of Polish cuisine in the upper echelons of the pantheon of global cuisines. Despite a visible presence across Europe and parts of the Americas, the cuisine suffers from the stereotypes of vodka and pierogies (s, intended. However, pierogi is the plural of pieróg). In Reykjavík, and Iceland, in general, the cuisine has always flown under the radar. A cursory look at the many Euro Markets and social media groups and accounts peddling karpatkas and frozen pierogi would have you believe there was a thriving community here, which there is, but unless you knew a Polish co-worker, neighbour or family, it’s been a challenge until recently to try the cuisine without that direct access.  

There are perhaps few countries in the world that have waxed and waned over the centuries, buffeted by the forces of regional histories. Which of course, translates to its dishes. With a pantry of ancestral ingredients, seasonal bounty of the forests and influences — both marked and marred over many a shifting boundary — Polish cuisine spans the range of sharp pungency from mustard, effervescent fermentation of soured vegetables and meats, to comforting heartiness from its love of starch and carbs to celebratory decadence of its sweet treats.   

Two Poles, three opinions

The Polish community makes up a significant part of the immigrant population in Iceland, in fact, the largest. Over the years, several waves of people have made their way to Iceland, significantly since 2004 when Poland became a part of the European Union. In spite of their continued presence, culinary exchange has largely remained insular, until now.  

Which meant that I could rely on the insights of my friend Katarzyna Dygul, long-term Iceland resident, and avid food enthusiast to guide me through the restaurant selection in Reykjavík. A popular Polish phrase goes, ‘where you have two Poles, you’ll get three opinions,’ humorously reflecting their love for debate. While only one of us is Polish, we certainly had thoughts on what we tried and what I learnt.

Modern-day Polish food is miles apart from the country’s 17th century version, which was fragrant with spices and sweet and sour, more like Eastern cuisine, Kasia says. She explains how the cuisine, too, is more diverse than it is presumed to be. Such is the diversity of the country that author and food writer Magdalena Kasprzyk-Chevriaux identifies ten culinary regions, with distinct dishes and traditions. Potatoes are a staple in the central plains while the mountainous regions of Podhale boast lamb and sheep’s milk cheese, officially recognised as a EU regional speciality. The area by the Baltic coast is known for its seafood.  

While we may have to settle for a broadstroke-ish offering at local restaurants, Kasia is quick to point out that despite surface similarities of name, the same dish reveals nuances and differences across restaurants. Little over a decade ago, one could hardly point to a Polish restaurant in the city or country. Today things are slowly shifting. While many still miss the canteen-style establishment in Skeifan that has now closed, the greater Reykjavík area now boasts of a handful of Polish restaurants, including a high street presence. We even have a local bakery, Deig, that celebrates Fat Thursday with traditional Polish doughnuts.  

The most important thing I’ve learnt, however, is to keep an eye on the social media handles of the restaurants to follow along for a vibrant weekly menu that changes with the seasons, and specials that range from Polish festivals to elections.  

Smakk Bistro 

Hagasmári 9, 200 Kópavogur 

Sun-Mon: 11:00-18:00 

Eagle-eyed readers will be quick to point out that this bistro is in fact in Kópavogur, and not Reykjavík. But that’s really beside the point. This is one little establishment I have sought out regularly, both on my own and with company. Kudos to the planning and design team that turned a gas station pit-stop into a mini food hall of sorts, in a resourceful demonstration of a retrofit project done well. Smakk Bistro seems to have been here the longest, whilst the other ‘options’ seem to be in a perpetual state of ongoing construction.  

The name Bistro is perhaps fancier than its settings (and timings). But the food is absolutely in the tradition of it: comforting plates that betray thoughtful flourishes and day specials that seem to attract a dedicated clientele.

My go-to, and judging by how often they run out of it, for many others as well, are the potato pancakes — placki ziemniaczane. Now, these are not pancakes à la Icelandic pönnukökur, but are just as more-ish and satisfying. Cooked to a crisp on a hot pan, you can choose to have it with a creamy mushroom sauce with oodles of fresh dill brightening everything, on its own, or with goulash. The schnitzel, or the kotlet schabowy, is a thinly pounded pork cutlet, lightly floured, breaded and fried. Most dishes are served with potatoes in some form, whole, boiled and peeled or as fries. Their take on the fresh cabbage salad, a common accompaniment, is lightly dressed with a zippy dressing and sometimes, slivers of chilli adding an unexpected punch.  

They do serve pierogi, and are made fresh to order. Unlike the other plates with their cheffy chiffonade of dill, and finely diced mushrooms in the sauce, these boiled parcels are doughy, rustic and meant to keep you going all day after a mere serving of them.  

Kemuri 

Hverfisgata 82, 101 Reykjavík 

All week: 12:00-21:00 

Kemuri is a lively, inviting little cafe-sized restaurant that punches above its weight across the board — the food, service, desserts are all thoughtfully made and shared, vegetarian/vegan and just stupid good. They’ve been open for a little over a year now and already boast a steadfast customer base. And, they are a Grapevine Best of Vegan winner! 

Focussed primarily on pierogi, they offer a few varieties of this beloved dish but with distinct regional flair, stirred in with the owners’ own childhood culinary memories. The Kemuri classic is a menu staple and a vegetarian filling of potatoes, twaróg and onions. Unlike other pierogi, these somehow feel lighter and more delicate. The dough itself is rolled out thinner than at other restaurants, and I particularly like the attention paid to the sealed edges, some have twisted rope, others are crimped.  

All the pierogi are served steaming hot, with a side of dressed salad, fresh veggies and a little sour cream, topped with caramelised white onions. There is always a ‘special’ on the menu that is not to be missed, and almost always vegan. The homemade desserts like the Karpatka and cheesecake are especially delicious, and if you are a fan of creamy desserts, these lightly sweetened desserts are the perfect treat.

Traditional Polish food 

Grandagarður 13, 101 Reykjavík 

Mon-Fri: 11:00-17:00, Sat: 11:00-21:00, Sun: 13:00-17:00 

Kasia tells me this Grandi restaurant has its roots in that Skeifan canteen, and is run by some of the same team. Each time I have visited, the restaurant is chock full of people. Don’t be fooled by the dark windows when you walk by it, it is surprisingly bright and cosy even in that bare minimum kinda way. 

The cabbage soup, kapuśniak, is a refreshingly zingy, pleasantly sour, piping hot bowl of stewed cabbage soup with chunks of smoked sausage, bits of pork, and at this restaurant, cooked without potatoes, Kasia notes, another regional distinction. She says that the Poles’ love for soup runs deep (just as deep as their love for potatoes, she chuckles) and that it is traditional to always start with a deep plate of soup, and then a second dish. It is little wonder that every restaurant has some kind of a soup of the day on their menu.  

The meatballs, or kotlety mieloni, arrive looking like underwhelming hockey pucks, but the very first bite tells me how wrong I am. What I assumed would be a dry minced meat situation, was more a juicy meatloaf-esque meaty affair, with assertive white pepper as seasoning. I’d go back just for these.   

Choose from menu classics or daily specials. We once tried sauteed chicken livers, served with hefty boiled potatoes and a side salad. So distinct from the versions I grew up with, Kasia is shocked we’d eat liver with ginger-garlic and aromatics, as Polish cuisine traditionally does not really use those ingredients. Here, the livers are cooked in butter just so, tender and lightly singed at the edges, rounded off with caramelised onions.