two great tastes that go great together
Wow. I have just stumbled into greatness. Part of our evening meal plan tonight was fiskibollur (literally, fish-balls), the homemade-tasting kind that seem to only be available at weekend Kolaportið. These are made of tiny fish molecules blended with some kind of meal, usually white flour, and then deep-fried before they are frozen. I split the bollur into halves and then pan-fried them in their own oily juices. They got nice and brown and crispy on both the outside and the moist inside.
When I sat down at the table with a bowl of these fresh-fried delicacies and smelled their intricate wafting flavors, the thunderbolt struck. Something about the way they smelled reminded me of potato pancakes. And, since you can take the man out of New England but you can't take the New England out of the man, well the next step was logical. And by that I of course mean maple syrup.
We have a huge plastic jug of Massachusetts Maple in the fridge, and after the standard de-thread-locking under the hot water tap, I was good to go. I brought the whole gallon jug over to my plate and poured a nice little pool next to the golden-brown and gently oily fiskibollur. I mopped syrup onto the little pancake with the ease and skill borne of more than 30 years of American breakfast-eating practice.
On the first bite, I was in heaven. These two tastes have probably been waiting 1000 years to be brought together on the same plate, on the same fork, in the same mouth. It was brilliant. It was sweet and salty, all in one. It was home fries, Iceland style. It was the first item on the menu of that longstanding diner of dreams. Breakfast may never be the same.
Now go try it.
When I sat down at the table with a bowl of these fresh-fried delicacies and smelled their intricate wafting flavors, the thunderbolt struck. Something about the way they smelled reminded me of potato pancakes. And, since you can take the man out of New England but you can't take the New England out of the man, well the next step was logical. And by that I of course mean maple syrup.
We have a huge plastic jug of Massachusetts Maple in the fridge, and after the standard de-thread-locking under the hot water tap, I was good to go. I brought the whole gallon jug over to my plate and poured a nice little pool next to the golden-brown and gently oily fiskibollur. I mopped syrup onto the little pancake with the ease and skill borne of more than 30 years of American breakfast-eating practice.
On the first bite, I was in heaven. These two tastes have probably been waiting 1000 years to be brought together on the same plate, on the same fork, in the same mouth. It was brilliant. It was sweet and salty, all in one. It was home fries, Iceland style. It was the first item on the menu of that longstanding diner of dreams. Breakfast may never be the same.
Now go try it.
posted by JB at 20.3.09
3 Comments:
Now you really have gone native. This sort of 'add sweet to every savoury flavour' nonsense epitomises the Icelandic palate to me.
I'm still fascinated by the absence of a strict divide between savoury and sweet here. It's much more distinct in the UK and France. I should study the history of this: I have an urge to understand it because it's so alien to me.
Au contraire, my Episcopalian friend. This is not so much going native as returning to my roots: the American breakfast palate is chock full of such sweet/savory blends, most of them involving maple syrup in some form. Breakfast links + syrup would be one example. Home fries that happen to end up on the pancake side of the plate would be another. Perhaps you could benefit from a trip to the Deluxe Town Diner, with a native guide, of course.
Man I can go with the idea and Thank you kindly for thinking it up. Fishballs and maple syrup sounds magical to an [Irish] palate icelandified by marriage to a lass whose ma was born in Gravenis (now Grunderfjorder). I've always thought fishballs needed something to jizz em up and here we got it at last. Good on ya my man
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