I was told that this restaurant has the best lobster soup in the world. When it opened, according to my sources, the Icelandic government tried to shut the place down. The proprietors, it seems, did not have the right permits. Then, the NY Times sent someone up here to check out the restaurant. An article was written, and the rest, as they say, is history. For some, it may be history with a clear left-wing bias, but let’s leave politics out of good lobster soup.
I had to find out if the soup was up to the hype. Fortunately, Seabaron was on my way home from the puffin boat. Needing nourishment after such an arduous one-hour journey (I had visions of a storm, and given my hat, I’d be Gilligan. It was scary, so I wanted to eat.), I convinced my wife to try this place.
Everything in the guestbook was a rave, which probably means that assholes don’t eat at the Seabaron. Also, not all of it was in English, so somebody could have written a warning, and I wouldn’t know the difference. The first taste of lobster soup, though, put me at ease. In all honesty, it was the best lobster soup I had ever eaten, so score one for the rumor mill!
The unique aspect of my dinner was not the soup. I tried whale. If I were a member of Greenpeace, I’d quit now. I understand why most species of whale are endangered: they are incredibly tasty. Force out any visions you have of fish. Whale is the other red meat. It looks and tastes like steak. There is a slight hint of a fishy taste, but you have to hunt for it.
For my last meal in Reykjavik (not counting the hotel-provided breakfast at 4:30 tomorrow morning), I can’t think of a better one. The hotdogs were good, but whale won me over.