I’m one of those people that when the house goes up in flames, I’ll be running around frantically searching for the cat while grabbing pictures off the walls. Just to set the record straight, in my imaginary house-on-fire scenario I’m home alone.
Several large portraits are priceless (I had a garage sale to pay for the one of my son at 18-months) including the one of me and my two grown daughters. I had the presence of mind to have the portrait of my daughters and me done before touch ups would double the cost of this prized possession.
My son once remarked, in an adolescent stupor (aren’t those two one in the same?) he has since outgrown, “That doesn’t really look like you, mom.”
Why do moms get such a bad rap for unsolicited opinions?
Several large portraits are priceless (I had a garage sale to pay for the one of my son at 18-months) including the one of me and my two grown daughters. I had the presence of mind to have the portrait of my daughters and me done before touch ups would double the cost of this prized possession.
My son once remarked, in an adolescent stupor (aren’t those two one in the same?) he has since outgrown, “That doesn’t really look like you, mom.”
Why do moms get such a bad rap for unsolicited opinions?
In my defense, I considered expounding on the wear and tear of raising a family, particularly adolescents, but then reconsidered my audience. I was tempted to go for the shock value and direct him to the family albums. If he thought I didn’t look like me now, 15 years after the fact, I can’t imagine his surprise seeing the girl who looks to be sixteen when she married his father. I decided it might be more information about his mother than his adolescent brain could (or would want to) handle and let it go.
It’s probably the letting go that has fueled my passion for capturing the moment (the innocence of a child, the magic of a sunset, the splendor of a flower in full bloom) via a photograph and a few words (take that part lightly). Life, in all its wondrous moments can be very fleeting. Who knows what awaits my memories.
Ice cream can be very fleeting. I admit, that was quite a stretch – life’s wondrous moments segwaying into melting ice cream. My point (there is one, really) is this:
How can any respectable chef in his right mind create this picture of perfection,
this moment of magic, these delectable delights and then simply let them go to
some stranger on the street (no one stranger than me!)?
It’s probably the letting go that has fueled my passion for capturing the moment (the innocence of a child, the magic of a sunset, the splendor of a flower in full bloom) via a photograph and a few words (take that part lightly). Life, in all its wondrous moments can be very fleeting. Who knows what awaits my memories.
Ice cream can be very fleeting. I admit, that was quite a stretch – life’s wondrous moments segwaying into melting ice cream. My point (there is one, really) is this:
How can any respectable chef in his right mind create this picture of perfection,
this moment of magic, these delectable delights and then simply let them go to
some stranger on the street (no one stranger than me!)?
I swear, that's a Viking ship sailing for the shores of my Creme Brule.
Me, I’d run for the exit with this prized possession before the kitchen burns down or the ice cream melts.
I guess it all melts (or fades) eventually, which is why I came to my senses, enjoyed the moment and this decadent piece of art although I did manage to capture the moment with my Nikon.
The Crème Brule was the finishing touch to an outstanding experience (meal, ambiance, service; price a little steep but that's Iceland) at Strikid’s in Akureyi. Least you think I devoured both desserts, the Chocolate Mousse belonged to my sister Lynda and her husband Rod.
I guess it all melts (or fades) eventually, which is why I came to my senses, enjoyed the moment and this decadent piece of art although I did manage to capture the moment with my Nikon.
The Crème Brule was the finishing touch to an outstanding experience (meal, ambiance, service; price a little steep but that's Iceland) at Strikid’s in Akureyi. Least you think I devoured both desserts, the Chocolate Mousse belonged to my sister Lynda and her husband Rod.
You have to know of this place to not miss it given it's low keyed entrance into the lobby of the building.
Strikid's came highly recommended by our Iceland Travel tour guide, Arnguner. With only an afternoon and evening to see Iceland’s Capital of the North on our own, we chose not to leave our culinary explorations to chance. It was the perfect choice.
The setting, with a view of the harbor, was modern but not cold in a way that sacrifices comfort for ultra-sophistication. Our table was in the corner where two of the three large windows forming the perimeter of the restaurant intersected.
The setting, with a view of the harbor, was modern but not cold in a way that sacrifices comfort for ultra-sophistication. Our table was in the corner where two of the three large windows forming the perimeter of the restaurant intersected.
Black is always classy! Makes all the food less caloric too.
The bar was within shouting distance from our table but minus the typical shouting despite the later dinner hour. It was a refreshing change from American restaurant scenes where the noise level often threatens to negate the best efforts of the kitchen and staff when it comes to an enjoyable dining experience. We probably caused the most commotion with all my picture taking during the meal even though the family of six at the table adjacent to us was celebrating a birthday. We tried not to be the typical crass Americans but the camera probably gave us away! No camera at the adjacent table despite the celebration.
Evidence the bar scene in Iceland doesn't really start hopping until after midnight.
In fact every dining experience in Iceland was enveloped in a quiet ambiance I realized I missed given my new perspective.
I didn’t miss the food we’d had on the road for the last five days while navigating Iceland’s Ring Road, Route 1. As healthy as it was hearty, our lunches lacked the ambiance of a harbor view, a wait staff delighted to meet my every need (what wait staff?) and a chef with a culinary eye for exceeding my expectations while delighting all my senses. Dinners were much better, but reducing the guests around the table from 24 to 2 on this evening we could call our very own was heavenly.
Our entire dining experience at Strikid’s was memorable. We started with drinks, the obvious choice for Lynda and me the Blue Lagoon, a refreshing blend of vodka, Blue Curacao liqueur and lemonade. The guys stuck with tried and true, a Black Russian for Rod, a beer for Jim.
I didn’t miss the food we’d had on the road for the last five days while navigating Iceland’s Ring Road, Route 1. As healthy as it was hearty, our lunches lacked the ambiance of a harbor view, a wait staff delighted to meet my every need (what wait staff?) and a chef with a culinary eye for exceeding my expectations while delighting all my senses. Dinners were much better, but reducing the guests around the table from 24 to 2 on this evening we could call our very own was heavenly.
Our entire dining experience at Strikid’s was memorable. We started with drinks, the obvious choice for Lynda and me the Blue Lagoon, a refreshing blend of vodka, Blue Curacao liqueur and lemonade. The guys stuck with tried and true, a Black Russian for Rod, a beer for Jim.
Kool-aid with a kick.
While we went for the obvious, fish, the menu covered everything from light sandwiches and burgers (beef or reindeer) to salads, pasta and pizza. Icelanders live, breathe and eat fish day in and day out. If they don’t know how to fix it, nobody does. We couldn’t walk away from this opportunity to test the best.
Lynda and I chose the salmon with Hollandaise sauce, fried asparagus and potato mousse. I had to substitute rice for the potato mousse (damn that food allergy). The asparagus was tender yet firm, the fish cooked to perfection with a sprinkle of “fresh” unparalleled. With over 100 self-sustaining salmon rivers in Iceland, fresh is just a fly rod away.
Lynda and I chose the salmon with Hollandaise sauce, fried asparagus and potato mousse. I had to substitute rice for the potato mousse (damn that food allergy). The asparagus was tender yet firm, the fish cooked to perfection with a sprinkle of “fresh” unparalleled. With over 100 self-sustaining salmon rivers in Iceland, fresh is just a fly rod away.
The presentation is so yummy I had a hard time moving to the next stage of delight, eating.
Jim and Rod had the trout topped with shrimp and capers in butter, all sitting atop a luscious looking potato mousse. Obviously the chefs in Iceland have a head start in the race to culinary perfection with fresh such a big part of the menu.
“Cooked to perfection” was all I could get out of Jim as he grinned from ear to ear and beamed. He's so cute when he beams.
“Cooked to perfection” was all I could get out of Jim as he grinned from ear to ear and beamed. He's so cute when he beams.
The potato mousse looks a lot like the filler Jim uses to winterize the cracks in the house.
It's amazaing, but Jim made room for his Adult Milkshake while I managed to eat my Crème Brule and ice cream before the melt got underway; Lynda and Rod had no trouble sharing their Chocolate Mousse. I give them credit for being able to share such decadence, but then after 40 years of marriage, they’re good at completing each other’s sentences much less meals.
Does that come in chocolate?
We completed our meal with coffee and tea. No uncouth tea bag for this establishment’s guests.
Is this not the cutest, bestest invention ever?
Everything was top drawer at Strikid’s in Akureyri, including the prices. Dinner per person topped out at approximately $100. Given the gratituty is incorporated into Iceland's restaurant prices, we were able to keep our perspective, if not our money, and go for the moment.
For a moment, I did considered running from the building yelling, “Fire,” to escape the dent in my wallet as I gathered up my most prized possession (no, not my cat), my husband Jim. Well, he’s not a possession, but he’s extremely valuable to me, and oh so loveable. But with Iceland's extremely low crime rate, who was I to consider such a dastardly deed.
For a moment, I did considered running from the building yelling, “Fire,” to escape the dent in my wallet as I gathered up my most prized possession (no, not my cat), my husband Jim. Well, he’s not a possession, but he’s extremely valuable to me, and oh so loveable. But with Iceland's extremely low crime rate, who was I to consider such a dastardly deed.
No doubt about it, life is good with Jimmy.
After all, the memories (and pictures) are priceless. For everything else that evening at Strikid's, there was MasterCard.
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