We find ourselves in what used to be the hinterlands of Reykjavík’s restaurant scene, at Hverfisgata 96, visiting the Italian restaurant Grazie Trattoria, which opened its doors in 2022.
This is another offering from Jón Arnar Guðbrandsson, of Lemon and Einn, tveir og elda fame, and has the stated goal of furnishing Reykjavík with an authentic Napolitana dining experience and wood-fired pizzas.
Spreading like window basil
Reykjavík has seen a notable evolution in its Italian dining scene over the past three years, with places spreading out like Mediterranean herbs in a window sill. The city’s first Italian restaurant, Hornið, opened its doors in 1979 and is still caking the chianti bottles with new layers of wax. Another long-running Italian restaurant “Ítalía” closed its doors last year following wage disputes between its new owners and staff. Others include Caruso, Ráðagerði, La Trattoria and, the grand poobah of the scene, La Primavera.
Then there’s the mushrooming of places serving wood-fired pizza. As recently as 20 years ago, Eldsmiðjan (rest in slices, beautiful haven for stoned pizzaiolos) might have been the only dependable source in town — now the city is teeming with them.
Bottomline, Grazie is entering into a scene with a wider selection of Italian offerings and stiff competition. Jón’s approach to carving out a distinction in interviews has been to emphasize the authenticity of the food and that he wished to recreate the experience of a family-run trattoria in Italy. This would be a laudable addition to the scene but it does seem that something has been lost in appropriation.
Grazie or no grazie?
The first problem would be the location within the monochrome, spatially-optimized, lego buildings recently erected on the corner of Hverfisgata and Barónsstígur — not that Reykjavík’s recent architectural trends are Grazie’s doing. These buildings may ooze affluence to some, but they hardly scream intimo to anyone.
You then have that name and logo which seem suspiciously similar to that of Grazia magazine. I’m not sure if that was intentional or if they handed it off to a designer who handed it in turn to ChatGPT. Hard to say.
We start with some appetizers, nothing heavy, just a small pile of meatballs and a slab of lasagna. You know, to whet the appetite. The meatballs (polpette when unaccompanied by their spaghetti brethren) were minced a little too finely and packed a little too tightly for my liking but that’s common in Northern Italy, so they’re pretty authentic as far as balls go.
The lasagna had a tasty meat sauce with a nice blend of pork and beef but I could have used some ricotta and another layer of pasta to break it up a bit. The overall effect was that it kind of melted into one goop, albeit a full-flavoured one.
The staff were helpful and seemed familiar with the menu. However, I did not notice that the average age of the servers did not appear to skew much higher than other restaurants downtown. Which is odd as Jón Arnar had taken out a full-page ad in the conservative daily Morgunblaðið, stating he was looking to specifically hire restaurant staff over 60, to recreate that feel of elderly relatives working in Italian restaurants in Italy.
The ad did not mention whether you had to be willing to work 7 days a week to support three adult men still living at home with mama, but imagine that would only further the air of authenticity.
Jón also claims to have imported “Italian grandmas” to work in the kitchen and while it is possible that they were lurking somewhere behind a Kitchenaid, I only spied the usual Icelandic and Polish restaurant staff grunting through their smile-clenched teeth.
This interesting marketing approach aside, the inside of the place gives less of the “when my grandma came here from Napoli 80-years ago she only had one strand of spaghetti to her name” atmosphere and feels more like stumbling into one of the better airport restaurants at modern European terminals.
The pizzas and tiramisu
The pizzas proved the winner of the evening — thin-crusted and roasted, with a good chew to them. Since Grazie has been hosting evening classes on how to make authentic Napoli pizza, I wouldn’t have settled for anything less. The toppings are playful, with shiitake, dates, honey, pistachios and more on the menu in various combinations with more classic accoutrements.
Opting to stick with the basics, we added a tiramisu to round out the order, which didn’t turn any heads. Arriving lopsided, it tasted simultaneously light (think soft meringue and canned whipped cream) while still coating the mouth with a layer of fat. Sweet as a Greek cake, without anything cake-like in its consistency or layers, and only a hint of coffee or booze.
Salient mediocrity
Italian cuisine is known for its passion, bold but simple flavours, and dedication to quality ingredients. While it’s not for me to doubt Grazie Trattoria’s passion, the results were underwhelming.
The menu boasts all the classic Italian fare, but it’s always just a hair’s breadth above what you would expect at a decent company cafeteria. While the dishes may be al forno they definitely aren’t al dente. I got the impression they are trying to appeal to an older generation, softer of teeth and more welcoming of large, salty portions.
It’s perfectly alright. Perfectly middling, almost outstandingly so. In fact, it could serve as the gold standard for the ultimate “yeah, it was alright” restaurant experience. It’s a place that, overall, perfectly replicated the split second after saying “sure, OK” to the statement “We don’t have Coca Cola, is Pepsi OK?” I’m not mad; I got my cola. It’s just not quite the real deal.
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