In 1915 Iceland had an idealistic fit of nation building. The ex-Vikings, whose forefathers invented gravadlax, battleaxes and vodka, voted to make their newly independent nation booze-free. I know. Mad isn’t it? 

Smugglers set sail the following day. Denmark became a source of aquavit. The ever-reliable Scots chipped in with whisky galore. France and Spain became hallowed fonts of brandy and sherry. On Iceland itself, illegal stills cooked up wild moonshine with literally blinding effects. 

The 1970s were a particularly bleak time in Iceland. The nation was beset by volcanic eruptions and an isolationist government. Visiting film director Roman Polanski was asked his thoughts on the nation: "It’s probably OK if you are raised here and know nothing else," came his reply. Icey.

Iceland’s state-run TV channel didn’t work on Thursdays (to promote family time). Or during the entire month of July (as all hands were needed during Iceland’s short harvest season). When the government did screen its three daily hours of domestic programming there was still “shit all on”, according to my local source. Hard alcohol became a national pastime. 

Curiously, during the booze ban the only available drink was the hardest snifter on the top shelf. Enter brennivín, Iceland’s most popular alcoholic escape since the 16th century. 

In Reykjavik the Eimverk Distillery brews the best stuff. The addition of meadowsweet, a fragrant herb found in glacial riversides, adds subtlety to the dragon's breath brew. Angelica archangelica, which blossoms each July across Greenland, Norway and the Faroe Islands, tames with a celery smack. Drinking this particular brennivín is like inviting the entire Nordic pantheon to barbeque moss, thyme, rhubarb and Icelandic barley inside your mouth. 

At Reykjavik’s harbourfront bar Slippbarinn, brennivín cocktails prove the drink has gone glitzy. Cocktails include ‘expressocism’, a post-coma heart-starter containing brennivín, creme de cacao and coffee. 

By reinventing local culture, Icelanders are reaping global rewards. It’s not only brennivín’s resurgence. It’s all of Iceland’s too. 

Read “Firewater and ice”, the full story of Kathryn Tomasetti’s drunken stumble across Iceland, in Tonic Volume 1.

(Photo by Evelyn Paris - Reykjavík, Iceland)

Kathryn is a Tonic Magazine contributor

For more stories like this one, be sure to subscribe to our printed magazine.