Dipping and diving out when I could from working in the art world, one of my many adventures was being a cook (much multi tasking) with my team mate Helen Lloyd on the River Hofsá, the most northern river in Iceland, 400 miles from Reykjavik. The fishing lodge was spartan to say the least, but always filled with fun and laughter and mostly the finest fisherman in the UK.  And so it was in the late 70’s that for the next three-years Helen and I, with a young student to help on the fishing side, would embark to Iceland for two summer months on not the most normal journey. Before leaving the comforts of London we did much plotting, planning, and buying of dried food products which included bags and bags of flour, dried vegetables, and everything we could think of to enhance the cooking! We would collect three land rovers belonging to some of the fisherman and drive to Felixstowe Docks in Suffolk, deposit them over laden, to be shipped to Reykjavik.

Two weeks later we would fly to Reykjavik, pick up the vehicles from the port and set off heading towards Vopnafordur. Not tarmac roads, more like gravel endless pothole tracks or no track! We would vary the theme driving pass supa sonic waterfalls on the northern route, middle moonscape route or the southern route viewing in awe the glaciers. No matter which route there was stunning, ever changing scenery, an abundance of wildlife and often returning to Reykjavik, in early September, the awesome Northern Lights.

Overnight we would camp or stay in what seemed like ‘pop up’ hostels in minimal comfort! Arriving in one piece at the lodge overlooking the river was always a triumph and then we had a week to prepare the lodge which looked more like a bunker. But it there that I learnt the skills of housework: ace bed making, laundry, ironing, endless washing the stone floors and lots more. Above all, pretending I could cook so I was always watching Helen like a hawk who not only was an ace cook but her pastries and bread were awesome. The only food we could source there was from the local farmers like delicious lamb, eggs, butter, milk, and occasionally fresh vegetables. As luck would have it, there was a fish factory 20 miles away so turbot, sea bass and other varieties we had!  From the river there was salmon and more salmon and so the word ‘gravlax’ came into our lives – a word we had never heard of, let alone knew what it was, but once we got the hang of how to ‘gravlax ‘a salmon, one always under the bricks.

Looking back at those very hard working but brilliant months, being taught to salmon fish by the best of the bestest (which often involved plotting by taking a delicious afternoon tea to one of the rods, who would then feel obliged to let one of us fish a pool, as never without our rods!), I could never have imagined then that some thirty five years later I, with Peter my husband, sometimes return to fish on what is the most stunning breathtaking River Hofsá.

So the word and awesome dish ‘Gravlax or Gravadlax Salmon’ has a very special meaning bringing back the happiest of happy treasured memories. This dish is different and delicious served with a dill sauce and brown bread spread with acres of non-salted butter!

There are three methods of preparation to achieve the perfect gravlax salmon:

• Catch an 8Ibs/12lbs salmon, gut, debone and then proceed. Huge effort but loads of satisfaction!
• Buy at your local fish shop filleted salmon and then proceed with the process of ‘gravlaxing’. Minimal effort!
• Pop to Waitrose and buy their packed Gravadlax 120g, which comes with a small sachet of mustard and dill sauce.  No effort!

Chantal Cookson

Field Staff and Trustee NCCT