cia – Page 121 – Writing With My Mouth Full

Laugarvatn to Fljotsdalur, Iceland

The Dr. dreams a lot when we’re on vacation. As I tried to enjoy my morning sleep, the best type of all sleeps, he flinched and murmured with his eyes closed. I kept waking up because of him that by the time I felt like I’ve had a complete, uninterrupted sleep, it was already 1pm. Luckily, the sun does not start setting until about 11pm so we knew we had plenty of time.

We decided to go to Selfoss and get closer to the volcano Hekla since the road to LangjÃ¶kull and HofsjÃ¶kull was closed. On our way to Selfoss, we saw a tour bus make a turn to Kerio. We followed it and parked our car. There wasn’t anything on the map but it turned out to be a beautiful crater full of water.

There was nothing in the town of Selfoss except a closed bakery (what, no fresh bread after 3pm?) and a library where we paid 100 kronas to use the Internet and email back home. We continued on for what seemed like miles and miles of dark earth to Mount Hekla. In medieval Europe, it was known as one of the twin mouths of hell because of how menacing it looked, hiding behind thick clouds. It is still active and the last eruption was in 2000. We stopped a couple of times to film the vast bleak view ahead of us. I found a few horses who were willing to cooperate, but otherwise, we didn’t really do much except drive.

We made up for it the next day. We felt like we were finally, truly in Iceland. We started our drive early towards Fljotsdalur. There were few houses on the road past the town of Hella but it was a very scenic route. I remember thinking, I wish we can stay in one of those small barns with grass on the roof. To my delight, the Fljotsdalur was one of them!

We met Paul, one of the founders of the house with the infamous Dick Philipps of England. He’s been coming to Iceland for the summer the last 30 years. They do group hiking tours to Ã¾orsmork, or Thor’s forest. You can go there from hostel to hostel and cross the path between two icecaps, Eyjafjallajokull and Myrdalsjokull, but alas, we had to stay loyal to our tiny car which could only do so much. We only had a night so we decided to spend the rest of the day walking around the area.

We walked up to the gorge and crossed a sheep farm to get closer photographs of Eyjafjallajokull. We crossed a bridge to go over a raging river and get on the other side. It felt like we were the only two people in the world. We walked for about three hours, taking photographs, shooting videos. It got cold when the clouds moved in. The sheep started walking back to the farm. We knew it was time to head back.

When we returned to the hostel, we met a Dutch couple and two Germans. It wouldn’t be a quiet night after all. The six of us all ended up chatting with Paul during dinner. The Dr. made a mean potato-cabbage salad with stewed chicken for our meal. (Everyone was amazed at how we simply could not subject ourselves to a simpler meal when hiking. They obviously don’t know us that well.) In exchange for some cooking oil, we gave Paul a glass of wine. In exchange for a Tupperware container to take leftovers with us, we served him a plate during dinner. It was a nice night of getting to know strangers in a new country.

Keflavik to Laugarvatn, Iceland

We landed in Keflavik a quarter before seven in the morning. The line was long through customs. We had to go through X-ray again without our shoes and liquids since it was the point of entry to the rest of Europe for a lot of the passengers. Our luggage were waiting at baggage claim but we had to queue again to exchange our dollars to the local currency, krona. We picked up our light blue Honda Jazz from National with the pre-paid hostel vouchers I’ve reserved beforehand for the next six nights.

Driving outside of Reykjavik, my first impression was that the country was bleak and a little eerie. There were a lot of construction going on but the view was mostly a dry and flat valley as far as the eye can see. Our first stop was along a road marked Stardalur to take photos of the ice-capped mountains ahead of us. There would be more and better photo opportunities along the way but I was eager to start shooting.

We continued driving until we reached a spot with a tourist sign, the Ã¾ingvellir, home of the Ã¾ingvellir National Park set along the north of Ã¾ingvallavatn, Iceland’s largest lake at 30 square miles. There was really nothing there except squishy bog covered with dry wildflowers and a view of the blue lake, but apparently, it is the only place in Iceland declared by law as sacred because it was also the spot where the country’s first settlers formed a commonwealth in the midst of Europe’s feudal monarchies.

The next stop was our home for the next two nights: Laugarvatn. It’s a small town with a golf course and a small spas but they were all closed because it was still off-peak season. The bonus, of course, was the Laugarvatn lake outside our room which made the water safe to drink from tap. I never thought I would ever say that water tastes so good. But it’s not a myth: Iceland has the best-tasting water. (Showering felt like I was wasting water; showering using what tasted and felt like bottled water!)

After settling in, we heated up some of the food we packed: Korean jjajang tuna and Japanese rice with some pickled perillo leaves. We knew food was going to be expensive and if we wanted to eat well the rest of the week, we had to pack easy-open cans and microwavable packets. For the next few dinners, the Dr. cooked hot meals using ingredients we bought in gas station stores along the way. We drank all four bottles of wine I packed.

Jet lag began to set in so we napped for a couple of hours. We woke up at 5pm local time, four hours ahead of New York, showered and made it to the town grocery store before it closed. We bought pasta and some sauce with the country’s infamous yogurt, or skyr. (I’m not a big fan of yogurt but I found myself eating a tub of it every morning because they taste so much better in Iceland.)

We started driving again on Route 35 and 37 to the Great Geysir which, sadly, hasn’t spouted since several tourists poured gravel into its mouth to lower the water level and force an explosion. The Strokkur was more reliable and we watched it spout boiling water every five minutes or so up to 66 feet. The entire area is still geothermically active and it was hard not to try and test the hot temperatures while the cold numbing wind blew on our faces. In fact, there are reported “accidents” each year from people who forget what scalding water really means.

We kept driving until we saw the sign for Gulfoss. Foss is “waterfall” in Icelandic and Gulfoss means “golden falls.” The road to the falls was barren and serene so it was an amazing sight to see the raging and deafening waters. Out of the calm was a welcomed chaos in a way. The river Hvita falls 105 feet into a mile-deep ravine and clouds of spray created rainbows.

LangjÃ¶kull and HofsjÃ¶kull, two large ice caps, were ahead of us. Alas, the road was closed to cars until the F-road is dry and safe. This is known as the KjÃ¶lur route and could have been done in a day. We drove back to our hostel and thought we’d try the hot springs at the Laugarvatn lake instead but it was closed. The two restaurants next door were empty, too. We went back to our room dejected but we ended up cooking and playing Scrabble until the sun partially set at midnight (!).

Not so bad for our first day in Iceland.

Palacinka

28 Grand Street between Thompson and Sixth Avenue
212/625.0362
♥ ♥

I used to go to Palacinka way back when during the dot-com days. When my job moved offices back to the West Village, I was eager to visit again and eat one of their crepes. In Central Europe, a crepe is called palaÄinka and is filled with vegetables and meats. The savory kinds are reserved for desserts and are filled with fruits and cream.

At this spot near the Holland Tunnel, I love sitting at one of the long wooden tables and sharing a couple of crepes with friends. When the weather is nice, the glass doors are open. The laid-back attitude of the staff makes you forget that you’re inhaling the soot of New Jersey commuters. The salami, potato and cheese crepe is one of my favorites. When not in the mood for a crepe, I like the ham-gruyere salad with thinly sliced potatoes drizzled with a sweet chutney dressing. The pressed sandwiches are thin and crusty and are perfect with a glass of chilled Pinot Grigio.

Giorgione 508

508 Greenwich Street off Spring
212/219-2444
â™¥ â™¥

Giorgione is a jewel of a place found in the transforming neighborhood of Greenwich Street and the West Side Highway. It reminds me of the delis in Europe where locals eat and drink wine in the middle of the afternoon or leisurely enjoy coffee with a pastry. As soon as you walk in, you’re confronted with lunch boxes of greens with chicken or seared tuna. The long glass bars invite you to sit and casually enjoy your meal. It is that civilized way of living which delights me about Giorgione. When the restaurant is full during busy lunch hours, it looks like a happy communal space with beautifully-dressed New Yorkers.

My seared tuna looked more like sashimi but it was perfect with the bean and tomato salad. The baby arugula and endive salad with goat cheese became a more interesting dish when citrus and toasted pine nuts were added. I think a bowl of greens is easy to make, but a well-done salad is a hard feat. Giorgione does it easily and well. The hanger steak sandwich with stewed onions was large and filling, but the meatball sandwich covered in a big blob of mozarella looked unappetizing. All the lunch items are a bit pricey but this Italian joint is a nice break from the usual hangouts on Hudson Street.

Where to eat in Washington, D.C.: Central Michel Richard

I was too young to remember my first visit to Washington, D.C. with my parents. The Dr. has never been. So when we heard that Arcade Fire was playing in D.C. before New York, we bought tickets and decided to make a weekend out of it. It was just icing on the cake when I found out that Miriam was moving to the District from San Francisco (she’s in-love; bless hear heart).

Michel Richard was inducted in the James Beard Foundation even before bloggers out there knew how important James Beard was to the culinary industry. His flagship Washington, D.C. restaurant, Citronelle, has been numerously named as one of the best restaurants in the country. When he decided to open an affordable bistro on Pennsylvania Avenue called Central, loyal fans and curious eaters waited eagerly.

I’ve never been to Citronelle so I have no way to compare head chef Cedric Maupiller’s signature dishes with Michel Richard’s. The French onion soup was simple; breaking into the cheese was like opening a surprise gift. The frisÃ©e salad was served with a poached egg. I appreciated the fact that after we requested it be split in two, we each got our own egg. The filet mignon tartare tasted all of mustard and pickles. I couldn’t savor the beef flavor I always look for in tartare. The crispy fries that came with it, though, were addicting. My soft-shell crabs were meaty and I could have eaten them on their own without the coleslaw. The fried chicken was buttery but surprisingly light. Even though we were never told where the dozen oysters specifically came from, we enjoyed them with our rosÃ© sparkling wine. The small Brussels sprouts reminded me of mashed potatoes in my mouth, mushy and wet, but nothing cooked with bacon ever disappoints me. After a second bottle of wine, we ended our night with the famous Kit Kat bar which tasted like, well, a giant Kit Kat chocolate bar. It was so rich that the ice cream with it was almost unnecessary. It was definitely for someone with a sweet tooth and a lot of room after a full dinner. The mostly American fare came together at the end, but the service provided wasn’t up to par.

Our waiter was a little bit surly. Perhaps because we asked to move to another table as soon as we sat down. Perhaps because we couldn’t make a decision on what to order. When we finally did, we chose mostly appetizers. There was a lag in service in between our oysters and our orders. When our food came, the empty oyster shells were still on our table. He made up for the surlyness by requesting the kitchen to appropriately split a couple of our dishes in two as we requested, but he made me wonder about what we or anyone else did to ruin his night. And though most people may not care, I was a bit surprised that our used plates were stacked on top of each other when the staff was cleaning the table. Surely, they do not do the same thing at Citronelle. Do regular citizens like us have to receive a lesser quality of service just because we’re dining at the bistro and paying $100 less?

Central Michel Richard is at 1001 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, 202/626.0015
Where to stay in Washington, D.C.: The Carlyle Hotel

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Washington, D.C. photos on Flickr