Let Them Eat Meat

Steikhúsið delivers an undeniably tasty portion of protein

Steikhúsið has made the bold choice of claiming the title of being “the steakhouse” in Iceland. It may have been a reasonable attempt at gaming the Google algorithm, but also makes for pretty big shoes to fill in light of the recent boom in steakhouse culture. So it felt only right for us to pay them a visit.

Meatsurgence

The steakhouse has its origins in the working class London chophouses of the 17th century, serving up hearty stews of mystery meat, before the emergence of the 19th century American steakhouse catering to well-heeled New Yorkers and Chicagoans.

The 1990s threw a multitude of new twists on the concept, whether they were Brazilian rodízio-style steakhouses with herds of cattle spiked in u-shaped formation on bullfighter spikes or upscale Japanese contemporary spots flogging wagyu beef raised on whispered lullabies and the finest cognac.

After a dip in popularity in the 2010s, steakhouses seem to be crawling their way back to the top among the culinary elite and hoi polloi alike, that seems to be part of a general resurgence in the type of old money status symbols one might associate with the roaring twenties, like gold trimming and stained glass lamps.

This has manifested itself in a range of opulent beef palaces in mainland Europe (usually called “beefbars”), as well as dimly lit neo-deco meat grottos like Daniel Boulud’s La Tête d’Or, which emerged in New York late last year. Meanwhile, U.S. steakhouse chains like LongHorn and Texas Roadhouse have enjoyed record sales and U.K. chains like Hawksmoor and Blacklock have taken the industry by surprise.

This is despite a steady growth in veganism and environmentalism within the restaurant industry and despite ballooning beef prices (largely due to price-fixing by international beef conglomerates like JBS and Tyson). Perhaps the resurgence is part of the general backswing against progressive policies. Perhaps it’s just another way to flaunt wealth. Or perhaps the allure of a grilled slab of meat is just that hard to resist.

Seared hunks of whale

Steikhúsið (Tryggvagata 4-6) leads the male of the species in balls first like a warm jockstrap. The yacht rock wafts gently from the speakers and the all-male wait staff greet guests confidently with full eye contact and guide guests to butt-worn leather cushions under the shadow of brick walls studded with metal gears. We took in the view of boat houses and passing cars and soaked in the Saturday atmosphere, dominated by couples having a pre-show dinner and lubricated groups of bearded men chowing on wooden planks like hungry beavers.

The mixed appetizer seems to be the most popular choice and consists of three dishes. First is an understandable crowd-pleaser of savory, braised beef ribs in a sticky glaze, served over richly creamed Jerusalem artichokes and topped with crisps of the same origin. The second app was a lightly-seared tuna tataki with prawn crackers, which was overly claggy with kewpie mayo and dominated by a crust of smoked paprika. The third was a grilled whale served cold with marinated cucumber and lotus root crisps — a tasty dish but a foolhardy choice, seeing as the inclusion of whale meat was not noted by the waiter.

I would urge diners to steer clear of this “novelty” meat on Icelandic menus. If someone is in the mood for an “edgier” choice, you can always ask for horse meat.

Penetrating flavours

We picked a bottle of Douro off the iPad wine menu and proceeded to tuck into our respective “grass fed cows” (I believe they meant to say “bull” on the menu). There is something undeniably evocative about that mouth watering sound of sizzling beef and the feeling of sliding a strip of semi-molten fat between your lips. It may not be doing your body any favours, but it yields to the pressure of the carbonized hunk of meat, bringing on a deep, near-cellular longing for the caramelized exterior of animal muscle.

The 300 gram cut of beef tenderloin served with garlic mushrooms and the Brazilian-style picanha with chimichurri fulfilled the meaty promise. Both were shockingly expensive, as was to be expected, but the uppercut to the wallet was offset by them being expertly seared to a level just south of medium-rare. The pungent kick of vinegar and dried oregano in the chimichurri was, as always, the perfect accompaniment to grilled meat (seriously, make that your go-to sauce).

Overall, Steikhúsið, doesn’t quite live up to the standard of being the “definite article” steakhouse in Iceland, but there is no denying the dependable quality of the cuts and the craftsmanship on display in the kitchen.